Ash’s face, handsome even behind the sandwich and the chewing, looked bleak. When I’d finished, he swallowed and looked past me. “We want different things,” he said. “It wasn’t going to work out in the long run, so we called it quits before either of us got hurt.”

I studied him and thought very loudly that that ship had already sailed. “Talk to me, Ash. What do you want that’s so different from Chelsea? I mean, I know your main goal in life is to simultaneously watch every major sport on the planet, but surely that’s something you can work out.”

He didn’t give even a hint of a smile. “Leave it alone, Minnie. There’s nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.”

I felt my face set into stubborn lines, into the expression my mother always told me would stick someday if I wasn’t careful. “There’s always something that can be done. Maybe you’re just not seeing it. Maybe what you need is another point of view, and how can I help with that if you don’t talk?”

We sat and stared at each other. Me, trying to look how I felt: imploring, sort of patient, and helpful. Ash, looking like a particularly silent rock. I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Barely breathed. Ash shifted. Shifted again. And, just as his mouth started to open, there was a knock on the doorjamb.

“Ms. Hamilton?” Detective Hal Inwood asked. “You wanted to see me?”

I gave Ash one last look. “Talk to you later,” I said in a tone laden with meaning, and trailed Hal into the interview room.

Not one to waste any time, the detective was already seated and paging through a small notebook, pen in hand. As I sat, he continued paging, head down. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked dryly.

So it was going to be one of those days.

“How’s Tabitha?” I asked. “How is her sister’s snowboarding injury coming along? What was it, a wrist?”

“Recovering from surgery as expected. Tabitha expects to be home next week,” Hal said, then added almost under his breath, “If she remembers how to get here, that is.”

Someone who hadn’t witnessed numerous interchanges between wife and husband might get the impression that their marriage was in jeopardy, but last year I’d watched—and listened to—enough Tabitha-and-Hal discussions to recognize that this was just the way they rolled.

“Good to hear,” I said. “Please tell her I said hello. And now,” I went on, sensing his rising restlessness, “to make best use of your time and mine, I’m going to talk until half past and you’re not going to say a word.” I pointed at the wall clock, which read 12:25. Hal nodded—wonder of wonders—and I launched into a prepared speech.