Things We Do in the Dark(105)

“Well, in fairness, she did.”

“Maybe,” Zoe says. “But the problem with going that far back with someone is that they have a hard time letting go of the old versions of you. Jimmy worked really hard to evolve. But whenever Elsie was here, all they did was talk about the old days. I always thought their friendship kept him stuck in the past.”

Paris nods, thinking of Drew upstairs. “Do you think it’s possible for old friendships to evolve but stay close, even if both people have changed?”

Zoe’s eyes flicker to the ceiling, as if she has some sense of what Paris might be getting at. “I don’t know. But I do think good friendships are worth fighting for.”

The doorbell rings again. It’s starting to feel like old times. There was always a lot of activity around the house when Jimmy was alive, people coming and going. Even when he was retired, his presence created a certain kind of energy.

“I’ll get it,” Zoe says. “Remember, Elsie is here to help, not make all the decisions. You get to decide whether we celebrate Jimmy big, or small.”

“What do you think he would have wanted?”

“Jimmy always seemed happiest when he had all his friends around.” Zoe’s smile is gentle. “But he’s not here. His celebration of life is about him, but it’s for us. You should do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

The last thing Paris wants is to mingle in a house full of people she barely knows, many of whom she won’t know at all, but Zoe is right that it would have made her husband happy. When she and Jimmy got married, Paris stepped into Jimmy’s world. Soon enough, she’ll step back out, and back into the quiet life. After all the things Jimmy has done for her, she can do this for him.

The doorbell rings again, followed by an impatient knock.

“All right, you better let Elsie in,” Paris says. “Drew needs to borrow a disposable razor, and they’re in Jimmy’s room. I haven’t been back in there since…”

“It’s okay to go in. His room is pristine, like nothing ever happened. I checked myself after the cleaning crew left.” Zoe touches Paris’s arm again. “I promise it will be fine.”

“I can see why he loved you,” Paris says with a soft smile. “You really are a gem.”

“I could say the same about you.”

It’s not exactly a fresh start, but it’s safe to say they’ve turned a page.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


Paris takes a deep breath and opens Jimmy’s door. Before she can chicken out, she crosses the bedroom quickly, heading straight for his private bathroom. The scent of bleach hits her, not strong, but not faint. As Zoe promised, everything looks as it should. The white tile is white, the bathtub is shining, the glass is wiped clear.

She opens the first vanity drawer and pokes around, looking for the disposable razors she bought her husband months earlier. Oh, the drama over shaving. As she searches through the random dental floss picks, combs, hair pomades, colognes, and the electric shaver he always forgot to charge, their last argument comes back to her. They’d ended it on a compromise.

“Just give me the damn razor,” Paris had snapped. “If you’re going to insist on a straight shave, then at least let me do it for you.”

The suggestion worked. Jimmy had finally calmed down.

“This is the beginning of the end, kid,” he’d said with a dramatic sigh. He was sitting on the edge of the tub, facing the tile with his head tilted back, his face and throat slathered in shaving cream. Paris stood behind him and worked slowly, being sure to keep the exact right amount of pressure on his skin. It was her first time shaving anyone, with a straight razor or any other device. “Today, I can’t shave. A couple of years from now, I probably won’t be able to take a piss. My balls are already creeping down to my knees. I’m on the downward slide to dead.”

“Don’t you dare make me laugh, or I might accidentally cut you,” Paris told him. She leaned over to give his forehead a kiss. “You’re lucky I love you, you stubborn, cranky old man.”

She pulls open the second drawer now and sees his small collection of straight razors. Four of them, all folded to protect the blades, lined up neatly on a soft microfiber cloth. It reminds her that the police still have the one that Jimmy used on himself, and she wonders if they’ll ever return it. Jimmy owned five razors, each one with its own little backstory.

Would it be weird to have Jimmy’s straight razor collection framed? He’d cherished these razors. He was so old school in the things he loved.

“If you don’t follow the trends, you can never go out of style,” he used to quip.

A thought niggles at Paris then, and she stops. Something’s not right. When the crime scene forensic team was here, they’d photographed the bathroom extensively, including the contents of the drawers. Sonny had insisted she look at all the pictures so she’d understand the full extent of the evidence the prosecution had against her. Unless she’s misremembering, didn’t the crime scene photos show one straight razor, presumed to be the murder weapon, lying on the bathroom floor by the tub, and only three razors in the drawer?

If so, that would mean that on the day she was arrested, one razor from Jimmy’s collection was missing. And now it was … back?