“She slipped once, when we were first dating. We were out for a night on the town, at a restaurant in downtown Nashville. A group of people came in, men and women, our age. Looked like they’d come from a big event, they were in evening attire, tuxes, and long gowns. Sutton turned white, and insisted we leave. When I asked what was wrong, she clammed up. She made it to the car before she started to cry. She wouldn’t tell me why, or who had upset her, but when I asked if it was someone from her past, she said yes, but wouldn’t tell me any more. I tried for a week to get her to open up, but she wouldn’t. My wife is a vault when she wants to be, Officer Graham. Her mother’s right. Sometimes, I wonder if I ever really knew her at all.”

He poured out the tea, handed the cop a fresh cup. She declined the fake milk and sugar, took it straight.

“I’ll take a look, see if there’s anything she was involved in that might show up. And, Mr. Montclair, her friends aren’t as unkind to you as you think they are. They are very concerned for her well-being, yes, but so far, no one’s pointing any fingers. There is another odd thing that’s cropped up, though. The password on her laptop.”

“I love Ethan Montclair. Trite.”

“No, that wasn’t it. It was Ethan killed our baby.”

He set the cup carefully on the marble. “Wait. What?”

“The password you provided didn’t get us into your wife’s computer. We had to crack it on our own, and what we found was that accusation.”

“But the notebook, I logged in myself—bollocks. I am so confused.” Ethan set his head in his hands. His voice was soft. “We fought so badly when Dashiell died. We both accused the other of negligence, carelessness, of letting it happen. Accusations that would never have come up if Dashiell hadn’t... Trust me, Officer Graham. I didn’t kill our son, and neither did my wife. His death was a terrible, awful tragedy, and it tore us apart. But we loved him, more than we loved each other, maybe. Hurting him isn’t something either of us could do.”

“I believe you,” Graham said. “But it seems Sutton was sending a message. Could she be trying to get you in trouble, Mr. Montclair?”

A huge sigh, relief spreading through his body. “I can’t imagine why she would. She didn’t hate me that much. But Wilde? Wilde is responsible. Wilde is behind this. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I don’t think my marriage was so far gone that my wife would try to set me up.”