Chapters (46)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- 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
As I LEFT the real estate agency, I was plotting my next move. When I saw a baby carriage blocking the sidewalk, I stopped so quickly I nearly fell into it. The woman behind it was in her early thirties with artfully streaked blond hair and the kind of designer blouse, slacks, and pumps ensemble you couldn’t find within fifty miles of Columbus.
“My husband didn’t kill Ginny Thompson,” she said.
It took a moment before I recognized her as the distant figure I’d seen in a doorway yesterday: Tiffany Radu.
I offered my hand and said, “Savannah Levine. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Radu.”
She gripped the carriage tighter. “He’s not a killer.”
“I’m an independent investigator. I have nothing to gain by sending your husband to jail if he’s innocent.”
“I don’t want you coming around the house.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“You already have.”
“Um, no. The closest I’ve been to your house is the police station, which is across the road. The only time I’ve spoken to your husband is this morning, when he bumped my bike with his SUV. Even then, I didn’t question him, let alone accuse him—”
“You’d better not. I won’t have my children hearing people say their father is a murderer.”
“They won’t hear it from me.” Given that I’d heard the older two were school age, I was pretty sure they’d heard already. “If you’ll excuse me ...”
I tried to sidestep, but she used her carriage as a roadblock. Now, normally, no one gets in my way like that, but I drew the line at shoving sleeping babies.
She scowled up at me. “I want you to—”
“—stay away from your house, your husband, your kids. I get it. But you know what? If you really want to protect your kids, tell your husband to stop screwing around or, if he has to and you’re okay with that, to be discreet. Because your kids are going to find out about that, and when they do, they’ll hate him for treating you like garbage, and they’ll hate you for putting up with it.”
“Who are you to be giving marital advice?” She pointedly stared at my ring-free left hand.
“Well, if you’re going to stand in my way, I have to talk about something. So you’re okay with Cody screwing his way through every girl who’s too drunk or doped up to notice what a sleaze he is?”
Her eyes narrowed, mouth opening, but nothing coming out.
“I bet you are okay with it,” I said. “At least if it means he’s knocking them around instead of you. It’s not like you’d feel threatened by women like Ginny Thompson.”