Lies She Told(63)

“Did David have access to your gun?”

“He has access to everything. We’ve been together twelve years. He knows all my combinations. He has my e-mail password.”

Trevor raises his eyebrows as though I’ve just confessed to posting my social security number on an unsecured web page.

“If I didn’t tell him them, I’d probably forget.”

Trevor nods, shaking the instant camera film in his brain. I don’t like the picture he’s forming. I want him thinking that David is innocent—as he very well might be.

I set my nearly full coffee on the table. Hot liquid splashes over the side and onto the back of my hand. Instinctively, I jam the scalded skin in my mouth. Trevor watches, eyes crinkling with concern as though the accident is evidence of a fragile emotional state.

I drop my hand on the table. “David had no reason to want to hurt Nick. He was his best friend and law partner.” My voice is a pleading whine. I am imploring Trevor to agree with my argument and help convince me of it. “With him gone, David is drowning under the weight of all the work. He’s afraid the firm could go under.”

A splotch spreads between my thumb and pinky. It throbs with my heartbeat. Ice would be great. I wonder how much a place like this charges for it. I shake my hand, trying to cool it in the air conditioning while I attempt a casual tone. “The cops hassling us makes no sense. I talked to a sergeant from that writers’ academy I went to last year, and he thinks a woman spurned by Nick might have killed him. Apparently, Nick was gay. Can you believe it?”

Trevor reaches across the table and lifts my injured hand. He stares at the red spot, his thumb resting on my knuckles. Though he’s probably evaluating the severity of my burn, the gesture feels intimate. Longing empties out my insides. I miss affection. Since Nick’s disappearance, David has been so prickly. Since before Nick’s disappearance, if I’m honest with myself.

“I need to tell you something.” Trevor keeps his head down as he looks up at me. The result is a sad puppy stare that makes me nervous. “I probably should have said something before.”

My breathing quickens. Trevor has never before “needed” to tell me something. Snapshots of our friendship scroll through my mind. Has it meant more than that to Trevor? To me?

“Remember the launch party for Accused Woman? The one at the Thrill and Chills Book Store a few months ago?”

This is not what I thought he was going to say. I flash back to an image of me in a plastic chair with an unnecessarily tall stack of books on the table, trying to put on a brave face for the disappointingly small crowd. I nod my answer. The more time I spend with Trevor, the more I communicate like him.

“David and Nick showed up right as you were doing the reading.”

Again, I nod for him to continue. I don’t remember this. Though I do recall David saying he had to work late and barely showing. He’d been a few months into the teen suicide case.

“On my way over to the bookstore, I saw them walking down the street.”

My neck tenses. I feel the familiar twisting in my temples. “Yes?”

“I’m pretty sure . . . I think . . .” He looks at me, a defense attorney about to tell a wrongfully convicted client that her appeal has been rejected. “I saw them kissing.”

A bomb goes off between my ears. An immense pressure fills my head, like my brain is being squeezed in a vice. It’s followed by a high-pitched ring, as though I’ve developed sudden tinnitus. Trevor is still talking, but I only know because his mouth is moving. I read his full lips.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” I know what he’s said, but can think of no other response.

“I’m sorry.” His voice returns full blast, as though he’d turned the volume dial to the max, unaware that the sound had been on mute. I fight the desire to put my hands over my ears. “I should have told you sooner. Sometimes people have arrangements, and I didn’t want to embarrass you in case you had an agreement.” He clears his throat. “But if you only just found out about Nick . . .”

“David’s not gay.” My voice is too loud. The lights in the coffee shop are blinding. Where’s the exit?

“Well, I suppose it’s a sliding-scale kind of a thing for some people.”

“You must be mistaken.” I realize that Trevor is still holding my hand. I yank it to my chest. “Maybe they were talking close.”

“Liza, I’m pretty certain of what I saw.”

“No.” I stand. “We’re trying for a baby.”

Trevor rises. “I know. That’s why I thought you should be aware of it. If Nick was planning to reveal their relationship and ruin your marriage, maybe David did something to keep him quiet?”

My breaths have become short and raspy. I could be sick, right here on the shiny, stained cement floor of this chichi coffee shop. The bitter smell wafting from my cup is suddenly retch-inducing. I have to go. Now. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Liza. I’m worried for—”

“You’ve read too many suspense novels, Trev,” I say while backing up to the exit. “David’s my husband. He’s not gay. And he’s not a killer.”





Chapter 15

I do not expect to see Jake in the living room. Yet when I walk through our apartment door, there he is, sitting on the couch with his head bowed against his folded hands. Is he saying a prayer for Colleen? Pleading for himself? Asking God to spare me from discovering his actions?