I Don't Forgive You Page 11

  Two Overton T-shirt sightings in two days. My gut tells me it has to mean something.

  Next, I google Heather’s name and Overton, but the only Connecticut connection I can find is that she went to college at Wesleyan. That means nothing. She could have gone to high school anywhere. I can’t even find her maiden name. Stymied, I spend the rest of the day in a blur of editing and paperwork. I do a little research on Realtors in Westport. I have nothing to go on besides Yelp reviews, and I’m not in the mood to trust the internet. I decide I’ll ask Daisy if she can recommend someone. I’m able to wrap up early. I want to be home in time to relax a bit before dinner tonight with Mark’s family.

  As I’m shutting down for the day, Mark texts me, Did you call the lawyer?

  Not yet. I want to talk to Mark face-to-face about my concerns about this guy.

  On my way out, Mike praises the package I put together for Dwayne and Kylie. My probation will be ending soon, and it feels good to be kicking ass at something, especially when so much else in life feels out of my control.

  “Nice lighting. Nice eye in general,” he says as I leave.

  His kind words buoy me as I take the stairs to the ground floor of the building. I need the extra good juju before this dinner. I have plenty of time to get home and take a relaxing shower, maybe even a twenty-minute nap.

  But when I push open the door to the street, my good mood is snuffed out like a candle. Waiting for me in front of their unmarked cruiser are Detectives Lopez and Katz.

  “Afternoon, Ms. Ross,” Detective Lopez says, straightening up. “We’re going to need you to come down to the station with us.”

  18

  The two detectives sit across a table from me in a sterile conference room in a modern building in downtown Bethesda. On the ride through the streets of rush-hour D.C., I stewed in the back of the unmarked police car like a guilty criminal. When I said I could drive my own car, Detective Katz told me it would be so much easier just to take theirs.

  “We know all the back ways,” he said with a wink. They said it was my choice, but it sure didn’t feel that way.

  “How are you doing today, Ms. Ross?” Detective Lopez jiggles the remaining ice in a giant plastic cup that says Dunkin’ Donuts on the side. She places the empty cup next to a yellow legal pad and her cell phone. “Your babysitter can stay longer?”

  I put my phone bag in my bag. “Yes, it’s no problem. Should my lawyer be here?” I hope they can’t tell that I’m bluffing.

  Detective Katz looks surprised and then peeks at his watch. “We had just a few questions, maybe like ten, fifteen minutes. But if you want to call your lawyer, we can wait for them. I’ve got no plans.”

  I look at the clock. Mark’s mom’s dinner is tonight. Maybe I can handle this. After all, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll just tell the truth. “Okay, but I can’t stay too long.”

  “Of course. We understand.” Detective Katz opens up a manila folder and thumbs through the pages. “Here we go. We just want to go over a few of the details of your earlier statement. You said you met Mr. Avery for the first time on Saturday night, at the party at Daisy Gordon’s house. Is that correct?” Katz pushes the paper toward Detective Lopez, who picks it up and scans it.

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  The two exchange a glance. “And you also stated that you had no prior relationship with Mr. Avery,” Detective Lopez says, “via any applications or social media platforms, correct?”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Yes.”

  “Are you on Tinder, Ms. Ross?” she asks, boring into me with dark eyes.

  “No, I am not.” I take a deep breath. “I am aware, however, that there is a fake profile of me on Tinder.”

  Detective Lopez puckers her lips as if she’s just tasted something sour. “And when were you made aware of this fake profile?”

  “This morning, actually. My sister found it.”

  Detective Katz pushes the yellow legal pad toward me. “Can we get your sister’s name and contact info, please?”

  “Have you contacted Tinder?” Lopez asks.

  “Yes, I have.” I finish jotting down Krystle’s info and push the pad back across the table.

  Lopez turns her phone face up and taps at it. Then she pushes it across the table toward me. A quick glance confirms what I suspected. Me in that damn bikini.

  “That’s it,” I say without touching it.

  “Is it your position that you did not write any of the messages coming from this profile?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you aware that whoever made this profile has been in regular contact with Robert Avery over the past five weeks?”

  A warmth rises in me. I think of what Mark said about coming clean. “No. But I’m not totally surprised. On Saturday night, Rob said something to me about staying off Tinder, and I had no idea what he meant. Now it makes sense.”

  Detective Lopez leans back in her chair. “He told you to stay off Tinder? You didn’t mention that earlier.”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  Lopez bites her lip hard. She doesn’t have to say anything. My credibility has just tanked with her.

  “All righty,” Katz says. “Let’s start at the beginning of the night, the party, and even if it seems completely irrelevant and minor, why don’t you walk us through everything that happened?”

  I tell them everything to the best of my recollection, stating the facts of what happened upstairs in the bathroom as coolly as I can. “And I was very upset, of course, so we left. We went home.”

  “You were upset because your husband saw you leaving the bathroom with Mr. Avery.”

  “No,” I snap. And then add more calmly, “I was upset because of what Rob did. My husband has been wonderful. Very supportive.”

  “Ms. Ross, I’m going to ask you point-blank, one more time, were you having an affair with Robert Avery?”

  I bristle. “I’ve answered that question several times now. The answer is no.” I look at my phone. It’s almost six. I need to get home now if I am going to make it to this birthday dinner on time. There will be no time for a shower, let alone a nap, but I don’t want to stay here any longer. I pull my bag onto my lap, realizing my hands are trembling. “I have to go. I have dinner plans.”

  “We’re not quite done here, Ms. Ross. Let me ask you, do you use zolpidem?”

  The question stuns me. “Do I what?”

  “Zolpidem, brand name Ambien. The sleep aid. Ever used it?”

  I blink. I have used it a few times, in Chicago last year. A doctor prescribed it for me during the stress of readying for our move, but I stopped using it when I realized it made me groggy the next day. But the police couldn’t know this, could they? “No, not really.”

  “Which is it?” Lopez asks. “No, or not really?”

  I’m confused. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Ms. Ross, did you order liquid zolpidem from a Canadian pharmacy and have it delivered to your house on September … hold on.” Detective Lopez holds up a finger as she scans the legal pad in front of her. “September 20?”

  “No. No I didn’t.” The specificity of the question chills me. I didn’t even know liquid Ambien existed. But now it’s obvious—Rob Avery was poisoned with it. Janelle from book club said her friend told her he had been drugged. I stand up, adrenaline rushing through me. “Am I allowed to leave or not?”

  Lopez’s eyes shoot up. “You’re not under arrest, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I nod. I guess that’s what I was asking.

  “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Ross.”

  It’s not until I am outside in the cool evening air, waiting for my Uber to come, that I stop shaking.

  I realize that I made a terrible mistake not calling Artie Zucker.

  * * *

  As soon as I climb out of the Uber, Cole and Mark emerge from our house wearing khakis and pink dress shirts.

  “Mommy!” Cole runs to
me. I bend down and hug him a little harder than usual. “We’re both wearing pink!” he yells in my ear. “Go put on something pink and we can all match.”

  Mark looks confused. “Where’s your car?”

  “At work.” I look from Mark to Cole and back again. “I’ll explain later.”

  I quickly run upstairs and wash my face. I trade in my sweaty clothes for a nice blouse. It’s not as good as a shower. A little lip gloss and a spritz of perfume, and I am presentable. At least from the outside. Inside, I am churning.

  A few minutes later, we are all in Mark’s car heading toward downtown Bethesda. Cole is yammering on about his family tree, and as long as he is not peppering me with questions, I don’t mind the chatter. I use the mental space to digest what the detectives said. Why did they ask about a package of liquid Ambien? That was no fishing expedition; they have some basis for the question. Did someone have Ambien delivered to my house? It’s not out of the question. After all, someone developed an entire fake online relationship with Rob Avery, while pretending to be me. And now he’s dead, poisoned—possibly from an overdose of Ambien.

  Somehow, I’ve landed in the crosshairs of this homicide investigation. It’s all linked, but how?

  They say you can’t prove a negative—I know I never ordered any Ambien, but I don’t know how to prove it.

  “And I need photos, Daddy,” Cole says. “Of Aunt Caitlin, Grandma, and Grandpa.”

  “Tell you what, if you and Mom pick out some photos and send the files to CVS, I’ll grab them on the way home from work.”

  “You won’t forget? Because you guys forget things. Mommy forgot Blue Day.”

  “I got this one, buddy,” Mark says. “I promise.”

  Convinced, anxiety assuaged, Cole leans back and sings along to the radio.

  I stare out the window, trying to piece together what I know so far. Someone who was at the pool on Memorial Day made that account. But they also knew me back at Overton, or at least knew about the whole Sexy Lexi thing.

  And that shirt? I still don’t have any answers for how that shirt arrived in my house. My stomach churns as I think of all the people who have keys to our house—Heather next door and Leah across the street both have spare sets, as I do of theirs. Daisy could have a key; we didn’t change the locks after we moved in. Susan, the babysitter, has a key.

  “What did you end up getting my mom?” Mark pulls the car into a spot near the restaurant.

  “Umm, a scented candle and some hand lotion?” Thank god Whole Foods sells overpriced knickknacks, and I was able to find a gift for Joan at the same time I grabbed lunch.

  “Great, thanks for doing that, Allie.” He gives my arm a squeeze and I smile in return.

  “Can I put in the quarters?” Cole leans forward and holds out his hand. I watch them as they stand on the sidewalk and feed the meter, a father and son so perfect that they could be in a bank commercial. This is all I have ever wanted. Love, stability, a happy home.

  But I have this horrible sense that a force has been unleashed that will destroy it all. Mark raps on the window and motions for me to join him. I grab the gift bag for Joan and take the kind of deep, cleansing breath my yoga instructor is always encouraging the class to take.

  When we are almost to the door of the restaurant, I pull Mark back.

  “We need to talk. The police questioned me today.”

  His eyes widen. “Did you call that Zucker guy, like I told you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Allie. I thought we agreed.”

  I bite my lip, tears welling in my eyes. “They think I killed Rob Avery.”

  “That’s insane,” Mark whispers and pulls me close. I lean my head against his chest and listen to the soothing thump-thump of his heart. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. Look, let’s call him now.”

  “Go in,” I say. “I’ll call him, and meet you inside.

  “You sure? Maybe I should stay?”

  From the corner of my eye, I can see Cole trying to climb into one of the jumbo planters overflowing with autumn flowers right outside the restaurant.

  “No. Take Cole in. I can make the call.” He starts to turn, and I grab his sleeve. “And Mark? Please don’t say anything to anyone. Especially not Caitlin, okay?”

  “Of course not.”

  Through the glass window, I watch Mark and Cole disappear into the back of the restaurant. I walk around the corner to where it is more private and dial. No one answers at the law firm.

  “My name is Allie Ross,” I say after the beep. “And I’d like to meet with Mr. Zucker. I’m involved in a murder investigation.” The words sound surreal coming from my mouth. I swallow hard and then add, “I think I’m a suspect.”

  19

  The table erupts in laughter, and I look up to see my brother-in-law, Charles, staring at me.

  “Little spacey tonight, Allie?”

  “Just tired is all.” I take a deep gulp of red wine, not my usual choice, but Mark’s dad practically insisted.

  “Have the steak frites. You look like you could use a little red meat.”

  A darker undercurrent lurks beneath the glib charm of Caitlin’s husband. His meanness pops to the surface like a throbbing forehead vein when he drinks. Once, at a Thanksgiving dinner a few years ago, I caught him eviscerating Caitlin in the kitchen because she had forgotten to turn the second oven on and there would be no rolls. She was crying as he berated her. When I rushed in, they both plastered smiles on their faces, making me feel like I was the crazy one.

  At the end of the table, Joan clears her throat. “Allie, darling, I was just telling Mark that St. Edmund’s has a wonderful new children’s director. Auditions for the Christmas pageant are this week.”

  “That seems a little early.” The waitress places a basket of bread in the middle of the table, and I lunge for it. I haven’t eaten in hours, and I need something to absorb the alcohol.

  “It’s never too early to start getting ready for Christmas,” Joan says. She’s the type who enrobes every piece of shrubbery on her property in tasteful white fairy lights the day after Thanksgiving. “I think Cole would make a wonderful Joseph. What do you think, Cole?” Joan nudges him, and he looks up from the iPad in his grip. “Do you want to be in the pageant?”

  “Yeah, I want to be in the pageant.” Cole cranes his neck down the table toward me. “Can I, Mommy?”

  “Maybe.” I glance to Mark for help. He usually intervenes when church comes up. He’s studying a spot on his butter knife. Next to him, Caitlin trades her clean knife for his. She’d do anything for her brother. She started a whisper campaign in high school to undermine the boy who ran against Mark for class president, basically outing him as gay. At the time, the early nineties, that was enough to hand the election to Mark. Retelling that story is one of the few times I’ve seen Mark express disapproval of his sister.

  “Of course, you can be in the pageant, sweetie,” Joan says to Cole.

  “I believe all it takes is one parent to be a member of the church for a child to be in the pageant,” my father-in-law, Bob, says, chiming in for the first time.

  “That’s easy.” Caitlin touches Mark’s arm. “Mark can join.”

  “Right, but we’re not sure we want to make that commitment, are we, Mark?” I ask. I shoot shut-this-down glares at Mark from across the table, but he remains oblivious. When Cole was born, the full-court press began to bring Cole up in the church. I relented and allowed him to be baptized, with Caitlin and Charles as godparents, thinking that would satisfy everyone, at least for a few years.

  “I don’t know.” Mark pops a little bread in his mouth. “It’s not the worst idea in the world.”

  “And then you’ll already belong somewhere when you finally have a second,” Joan says and then winks at me. “You don’t want to wait too long between kids.”

  I turn away from Joan, my face hot with anger. My chest constricts as if someone has squeezed me hard. It’s none of their damn busines
s whether we have another child. I glance at Cole, but he is totally absorbed in his video game, thank god.

  “Remember when Mark was Joseph, and he broke character to shush the baby Jesus to stop crying?” Caitlin asks.

  “Oh, Mark was Joseph three years in a row—remember that, honey?” Joan lets out a warm laugh. “Church adds such a wonderful dimension to a child’s life. And if you don’t introduce Cole when he’s young, he’ll always feel cut off.”

  “I never went to church,” I say. “And I turned out fine.”

  “Did you?” Caitlin says under her breath and then winks. “Kidding!”

  I gasp. Did anyone else hear her? But no, they’re on to discussing the Nationals now, and whether Max Scherzer is the best pitcher in the league.

  A waiter places our food in front of us. I poke at the grilled salmon on my plate, my appetite gone, stewing over a clever retort I could have delivered to Caitlin.

  “—so many selfish mothers out there.” I look up to see Caitlin holding court. In the past few years, she has gone from being a general divorce attorney to one who specializes in men’s rights. She’s developed a niche helping men avoid alimony and get custody of children. The glee with which Caitlin seems to enjoy separating families makes my stomach churn. It’s as though the disappointment in not being able to have her own kids has been weaponized.

  “This latest one’s going to be a slam dunk.” She sticks a forkful of pink steak in her mouth. “We’re going for full custody.”

  “Isn’t that rare?” Joan asks. She asks the same questions every time Caitlin talks about her work. Besides the one year she worked as a Saks counter girl after college, Joan has never held a job. She dedicated her entire life to being Mark and Caitlin’s mother and Bob’s wife, and she cannot imagine a world in which women are not the primary caretakers. “To grant full custody to the father?”

  “Not at all,” Caitlin sniffs. “It’s not the seventies anymore, Mother. And I’ve got the trifecta on his wife.”

  “The trifecta?” Bob asks.

  Caitlin ticks off her fingers as she speaks. “One, reckless infidelity. You know, not just one boyfriend but quite a number of them.”