All I wanted to know was whether she’d heard from Marisa. I’d not spoken to my sister in seven months and was very curious. In fact, not knowing how she was doing was a little maddening. Was Marisa sober or was she drinking again? My money was on the booze. All this pressure from the police and media was a recipe for disaster. If the booze hadn’t gotten her yet, it would soon. It always did.

I’d insisted Jo-Jo and I meet at a neutral, discreet location. With Jack’s impending trial, the last thing I needed was to be seen with his wife. I should’ve said no to her request, but curiosity is deadly powerful.

My phone led me to the address she’d given me. It was in Hanover County on a rural stretch of road. Off the beaten path, as requested.

Dust kicked up around my car as I rolled down the long gravel driveway. I parked at the top portion in front of a two-story, newly constructed craftsman-style home. I checked my phone and switched on the recording app. (Never can be too careful.)

This place was well crafted, and I wondered if Jack had taken some of that cash he’d had tucked away and built this house. He always wanted a large home filled with children.

Climbing the stairs, I rang the bell and was quickly rewarded with the steady thud of lumbering feet. When the door opened, my gaze was immediately drawn to Jo-Jo’s round face and her very full belly. She looked bloated and pale, and there was no sign of the glow women in her state professed to have.

“Brit, thanks for coming.” Her voice echoed in the empty foyer.

“You look well.”

“I’m a beached whale.” She stepped aside, and I entered quickly. This was the country, but prying eyes existed in the sticks as well.

“As I told you on the phone, I can’t give you any legal advice.”

Jo-Jo closed the door. “I know. I just wanted to talk. I have coffee in the kitchen.”

“Where is Jack?” I asked. “Is he here?” He could have been lurking in the shadows, as he had been when Marisa had come home to her apartment.

She turned, slowly and carefully. “He’s meeting with his attorney today. He goes to trial next week.”

Jack was a smart man and knew the only real pieces of evidence against him were the assault and battery charges from his attack on Marisa. His attorney had already pressed for a dismissal, citing Marisa’s drug and alcohol use, but the judge had refused. If Jack had not punched Marisa, he could’ve skated free entirely because David—my lovable, manipulative David—hadn’t produced any evidence backing his claims that Jack had helped him dispose of Clare’s body.