Chapters (78)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Remarkable Praise for Nicci French
- Also by Nicci French
- About the Publisher
“Are you going to the wake?” asked Leila, pulling on a thick coat as she came toward Jude.
“Me? No.”
“Me neither.” Leila hesitated, then nodded. “Bye then.”
“Goodbye.”
“And Jude.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know. Take care, I guess.”
Jude watched the detective leave. She replayed what Leila Fox had said about Nat and what she hadn’t said. Nat had an alibi for the night of the murder and it wasn’t only that he had been at the Bonfire Night gathering with their friends. He had left early and gone somewhere else. If it was something innocent, why hadn’t he told her that? Why had he let her think that he had been with Dee and their group of friends and then come home?
She tried to remember exactly what he’d said about the evening. He’d said that he had—what? A reasonably good time, yes. She was almost sure that was the phrase; the memory was clear because everything that had happened at the cottage and then the subsequent day was cruelly etched into her mind. And then he had told her that it had rained, so nobody stayed long. He came home early. Jude was certain about that, which meant he had been lying to her at the same time as she had been lying to him.
Her throat tightened when she thought of it: of Nat deciding whether to forgive her, that expression of hurt and solemn self-righteousness, when perhaps all the time it had been him, not her. Him with someone else, but looking at her as if she was the traitor.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she said under her breath.
“I’m sorry?” She looked round, startled, and saw Jan, the mathematician housemate. He was wearing an unequivocally yellow sweatshirt and his face above it looked uneasy and pink with cold.
“Something is wrong.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Something wrong,” he repeated, and she realized it wasn’t a question.
“What do you mean?”
“Jude. Thank goodness,” said a voice behind her.
It was Erika, though she could hardly be made out behind a great armful of greenery.
“Hi. That was a nice service.”
“That was just the beginning. Can you take these?”
She held out the branches that had been in the workshop, birch branches with a few yellow leaves still attached, eucalyptus, holly, and twigs covered with clusters of orange berries.
“Sorry. I’m not coming to the wake.”
“Really? Well, it’s only a few minutes from here and then you can go home.”
“Can’t Jan—?”
But Jan had drifted away. Jude could see his yellow top being swallowed up in the shadows. She took the greenery and its sharp fresh smell filled her nostrils.