“That’s crazy. Owen would never use drugs in a million years. Not even marijuana. He called it a gateway drug and was convinced people became addicts after one hit.”

The detective leaned back in his chair and its joints squeaked. “That’s actually why it killed him—he had no tolerance whatsoever. We believe someone sneaked into the house and spiked his whiskey with it—enough to kill a horse. That amount of cocaine to someone with no tolerance can easily cause a heart attack. I’m shocked he didn’t taste it going down, but he might have already been two sheets to the wind when he was drugged.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the shocking news or the lack of sustenance, but everything in the room spun around me like a Tilt-A-Whirl. I leaned over, pressing my forehead to my knees as the nausea swilled and heaved.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Aria’s arm draped across my back, her face next to mine. If I’d had anything in my stomach I’d have projectile vomited.

“I’m okay, honey.” The lies we tell our children to make them feel safe. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I need to catch my breath.” I sat back up, pushing the queasiness back down in my gut. “Do you have any leads on who might have drugged him?”

“We lifted fingerprints from the whiskey bottle as well as from the back door. We think the killer broke into the house while you were out, then spiked Owen’s liquor.” He fanned several photographs across the table, each one numbered in the corner. One showing sooty fingerprints on the bottle of whiskey Owen usually kept in the liquor cabinet. A picture of the back door where a mess of fingerprints collided. A close-up of the broken windowpane. And various other images from my house.

“And we got a match in the system. A drug addict who’s been arrested quite a few times for possession. Do you know someone by the name of Susan Faust?”

Faust.

“Oh my God.” I hadn’t meant for the recognition to slip out so obviously, but there it was.

“So you do know Susan. Who is she?”

I scrambled for an explanation—one that didn’t include Owen’s secret sin, the darkest one of all. No matter how much I wanted out of my marriage, I still loved him. I didn’t want to tarnish his memory. And it certainly wouldn’t look good for me to have been hiding the murder all these years. I wondered if I would go to jail if they found out what I knew. Was I an accomplice? It wasn’t a risk I could take.

“I knew a guy named Geoffrey Faust back in college. Well, knew is an exaggeration. He was more of an acquaintance. Worked at the local pizza shop. But I don’t know a Susan.”