Things We Do in the Dark(13)

“Your arraignment is tomorrow at ten,” Elsie says. “That’s when the prosecution has to show the judge they have probable cause to charge you. I’ll give you a heads-up now—you will probably be charged. But so far everything they have is circumstantial, so it doesn’t necessarily mean we’re going to trial. And trust me, with all the publicity, they can’t afford to get it wrong.”

“How bad is it? The publicity?”

“Considering you’re all over the news, I’d say it’s pretty bad. One of the junior associates texted me a picture from Instagram. It’s a side-by-side of you and one of the Kardashians wearing the same furry slippers. You look guilty and rich, and that’s a bad combination.”

“It’s not fur, it’s feathers,” Paris says, pointlessly.

“Eat your sandwich,” Elsie says. “I’ll be back in the morning. Remember, no talking. Especially not to Dumb and Dumber over there. Try to get some rest.”

Paris isn’t hungry, and she can’t imagine how she’ll fall asleep in here. Her cellmates are once again trading stories about their mutual ex-boyfriend, Dexter, who apparently smoked too much weed, cheated on them both, stole one woman’s money, and crashed the other woman’s car. What a prize.

She’d never had to worry about any of those things with Jimmy. He wasn’t a taker; he gave. The day after they agreed to get married, they had a brutally honest conversation about money. Jimmy didn’t want any surprises. He told Paris exactly how much she’d get if their marriage ended.

“Whatever happens, whether it’s death or divorce, you’ll get a million dollars flat,” Jimmy said. “I’m not as rich as people seem to think, and I want you to know what you’re walking into. A lot of my money went to bad investments, a shady manager, up my nose, and in my arms.”

A million sounded like a lot to Paris. It would pay off her condo and her car and provide a nest egg for retirement. She’d still have to work, and that was fine. It just seemed weird to be in a relationship where a prenup was even necessary. Because he’s nosy, Henry had Zillow’d Jimmy’s house as soon as Paris began dating him. The “Zestimate” was around seven million because of the location and the views. She understood why Jimmy would want to protect himself.

“I’ve been burned before,” Jimmy said. “Four wives. Three rehabs. The bankruptcy in the eighties. Shit, we don’t need to rehash, you know all this. Elsie put the prenup together after wife number two. So it’s kind of, you know, boilerplate. But it protected my dumb ass when the last two marriages went south.”

“We don’t have to get married, you know,” Paris said. “I’m fine on my own. I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life.”

“I know you have.” He touched her face. “But I figure I got twenty years left, and if I’m lucky, at least ten of them will be good. I want to spend them with you. What can I say? I like being married.”

She kissed his hand.

Jimmy leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing hers. “But I want you with me, kid. Me. Not the Prince of Poughkeepsie—”

“Never seen it.”

“Or the Vegas guy—”

“Never been.”

“Or the winner of thirteen Emmys, a Golden Globe, an Oscar nom—”

“Awards are overrated.”

He finally laughed. “I get it. You really don’t give a shit. And that’s what I dig about you.”

“Send me the paperwork,” Paris said. “I’m a realist, I know this might not last. But tell me when you want to get married, because I’ll need to find coverage for my classes.”

She signed the prenup, but it didn’t take long before she began to suspect that Jimmy actually had more money than he’d let on. His insistence on her quarter-of-a-million-dollar wedding ring was the first clue. But then as a wedding gift, he paid off the balance of the mortgage on her condo, encouraging her to rent it out and bank the income. And then he bought her a Tesla, a pair of diamond stud earrings, and a Birkin bag. He had money. And after signing with Quan, he had a whole lot more.

She never did ask him about it. Everybody was entitled to their secrets, and if she demanded to know his, he might demand to know hers. She’d lived a couple of different lives before the one she shared with Jimmy. And both those lives had ended with someone murdered.

And now here she is again.

You can run all the way from Toronto, away from the dead bodies and into a whole new life with a whole new name, and it still doesn’t matter. Because while you can reinvent yourself, you can’t outrun yourself. As a woman once reminded her a long time ago, the common denominator in all the terrible things that have happened to you is you.

Everywhere you go, there you are.





CHAPTER SIX


When Paris wakes up the next morning, Statler and Waldorf are gone, and so is her Cuban sandwich.

A new person is huddled in the corner where the Muppets used to be, her small body drowning in an oversize hoodie pulled up and over her forehead. It’s hard to tell if her eyes are open or closed. Either way, she doesn’t acknowledge Paris, and that’s fine, because Paris is in no mood to talk. The problem with falling asleep is that when you wake up, you get a fresh dose of reality.