He shook his head and removed his hand from his mouth so I could hear him clearly.

“I loved her,” he said. “I loved her and now she’s gone.”

CHAPTER FORTY

I followed the man inside and watched as he started opening and closing kitchen cabinets. The house was neat and quiet, most of the blinds drawn.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“I need something to drink.”

“The one in the corner. On the left. That’s where they used to keep it. Blake stopped drinking. . . .”

The guy opened the cabinet and started moving things around. Glasses and bottles clinked against one another, a tinny, irritating noise.

“Come on, come on,” he said. He kept rummaging. “Who quits drinking?”

“Some people try.”

“Ah.” He took out a bottle of bourbon. He opened another cabinet and brought down two glasses, sticking his fingers inside to move them. “You’re right. They never really quit. You want one?”

“No, I’m okay.”

He unscrewed the cap and filled both glasses anyway, sloshing some of the amber liquid onto the counter.

“Who are you exactly?” I asked.

He lifted one of the glasses and swallowed all the contents, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Kyle Dornan. As if it matters to you. Or anyone else.”

His mood had slipped from anger to sadness to teenage melancholy right before my eyes. The black polo shirt bore the insignia of a medical supply company in town, one that sold scooters and ramps for the elderly and the handicapped.

“Why are you here, Kyle?” I asked.

He picked up the other glass but didn’t drink from it. He held it in his hand and stared at the liquid as if he expected something to materialize in it. “I loved her. That’s who I am.” Then he drank, swallowing everything in the second glass.

“You loved Jennifer,” I said.

He put the glass down and leaned against the granite counter. It looked as though he would collapse to the floor without the support. “Yes,” he said. “Jennifer. Jennifer Bates. My girl.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish—”

“What do you know about her?” he asked, looking over at me. His eyes were tired, the skin around them dark from lack of sleep. “Did you know her at all?” Something crossed his mind, and whatever it was stiffened his spine. He straightened up, his chin jutting out as he considered me. “Did you . . . ? You weren’t . . . ?”

I understood. He loved her. So he said. He wanted to know if I did too. I was more than happy to tell the truth.

“No,” I said. “Nothing like that. We worked together, in a way. She was a potential client of my PR firm.”