“I didn’t do what you think I did, so stop calling the cops,” he said. “We have a deal, Paula. I give you the money, you don’t say anything, to anyone. That’s how this works.”

Something about the way he said it made me angry, and even though I knew I shouldn’t, I leaned across the gear shift and peered up at him. “No, I don’t say anything about the affair,” I said. “That was the agreement. If you had anything to do with what happened to Beverly, I’ll turn you into the police so fast, you won’t know what hit you. That’s how this works.”

He stared down at me, and I could see the wave of emotions cross his face in the moonlight. Disbelief, desperation, anger.

“You really don’t know what you’re doing,” he said. “But trust me, you’ll learn.”

He shut the door and walked away.

It was way too late, but as I watched him, I reached out with a shaking hand and locked the doors.

Chapter 24

Claire

Two days after

Claire walked into the station early on Monday morning, her eyes red from lack of sleep. She’d lain awake in bed the night before, Beverly’s face crowding her mind the way her victims always did.

In the last day and a half, she’d talked to almost everyone who’d been at the dinner party on Saturday night, with the exception of the mysterious and elusive artist named Chris.

Emma had given her all the information she could—the woman’s physical description (brown hair, with eyes that were two different colors—one blue and one brown), her profession (an artist), her demeanor (nervous, jumpy), but nothing of value like a last name or telephone number.

“Did you see her interact with Beverly at all?” Claire had asked.

Emma had shrugged. “Besides introductions and basic chitchat, not really,” she had said.

Claire sighed and looked at the file folders spread out on the table in front of her, one for each of the residents of the apartment building on Oak Street. She had them all open, and they stared out at her, pictures pulled together from social media sites, driver’s licenses, and the like. It was amazingly easy to find information on suspects these days with a few simple mouse clicks. As she looked at them, her mind went over the same question repeatedly.

Which one of you is lying?

Claire heard a noise behind her and saw Greg walking in with two cups of coffee in his hands and a file folder tucked beneath his arm. “I have so many presents for you this morning, I don’t even know where to start,” he said.

“Start with the caffeinated one,” she said with a smile as he placed one of the cups on her desk. “Thanks. Okay, hit me with the rest.”

“First, no fingerprints on the statue.”