Want to Know a Secret? (65)

I swallow a glob of pizza. “What?”

“She hacked off all her hair before she killed herself.” He makes a snipping motion with his fingers. “With a knife. It was all over her bathtub. Disturbing stuff.”

“Was there a note?”

Riley shakes his head. “No note. And her family and friends also swore there was no way she would do something like that. But you never know. People do crazy stuff. You know it better than anyone.”

“Yes…” That was, after all, how Riley and I first met. He was assigned as a detective on a murder trial where some guy killed and buried his girlfriend in the backyard. I’m the one who made certain the guy was locked up for life. But we wouldn’t have had a chance of nailing the guy without Riley’s solid detective work.

“So.” He picks up his pizza again. “Why the interest?”

I consider telling a lie, but Riley stuck his neck out for me. The least I can do is be honest. “The wife of the lawyer is my neighbor.”

He laughs. “Figures—that’s the suburbs for you. Anyway, if I were working the case, I’d bet odds the wife killed Courtney Burns. So, you know, be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Except I do.” The smile drops off his face. “You know, if you got a problem, you can still call me.”

“Right.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” My eyes meet his, and somehow the thought pops into my head that Keith and I haven’t had sex in six months. At some point, he stopped asking for it, and I was never one to bring it up. He probably has someone like Courtney on the side, and the crazy part is, I don’t care. “I better go, Riley.”

He doesn’t try to stop me, although part of me wishes he would. I have too much to think about. Maybe I’m not working, but I have a lot going on in my life. And I just found out my neighbor and best friend might be a murderer.





Chapter 40


Now that I have this information, I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.

Maybe April killed Courtney Burns. Maybe her mother was her alibi, and she stuck her in a nursing home when she threatened to go to the police. Maybe all of that is true. But if that’s the case, what can I do about it? It’s not like Janet is in any condition to testify right now.

There’s the added complication that April is my best friend. Do I really want to investigate her? Do I want to risk ruining her life, especially if she might be innocent?

Yes, April has a dark side. But that doesn’t mean she would kill somebody. She is, in many ways, exactly what she seems to be. She’s the sort of person who would bend over backward to help her friends. If somebody is going through a tough time, she is the first one there with a casserole. It’s hard to believe she would kill a woman just because she was sleeping with her husband.

Back when I was a prosecutor, I spent a lot of time investigating cases. I was extremely meticulous. I wanted to make sure nothing could come up in court that would surprise me. I am equally meticulous in planning my children’s extracurricular activities and the PTA events. It isn’t quite the same though.

When April and I were recording her Sweet Secrets episode, there was very little time for me to spend with Janet. I had no chance to get the real story out of her. If I were to go to the nursing home alone, I could spend as much time as I wanted.

So that’s what I do.

A couple of weeks later, I find time to head over to Shady Oaks by myself. I already knew April was recording one of her shows that day, so there’s no chance I might run into her there. If I do, it would be difficult to explain myself.

Fortunately, it’s incredibly easy to gain entrance to the nursing home. I simply inform the woman at the front desk I’m there to see Janet Portland and that I am a “friend” and she waves me in without hesitation. I do have to sign my name in a roster in the front, but I write as illegibly as I possibly can.

When I reach the nursing station of the dementia unit, that nurse from the other day is there. Her ID badge is flipped around, and I’m thankful for my photographic memory. “Peggy,” I say.

She lifts her eyes. She has the sturdy build of a woman who has been lifting heavy patients for many years. It takes her a moment, but then she seems to place me.

“You’re April Masterson’s friend,” she says.

“Right.” I hold out my hand to her. “Julie Bressler.”

Peggy takes my hand. Hers is strong and calloused, but I have quite a strong handshake myself. “What are you doing here? Are you filming another show?”

Her voice is dripping with disdain. Apparently, she isn’t a fan.

“Actually,” I say, “April asked me if I could check in on her mother. She was just worried about her with all the episodes she’s been having lately. And April has been so busy herself.”

I pray Peggy won’t call April to confirm my story. I doubt it though. It seems like Peggy speaks to April as little as humanly possible.

Peggy looks me up and down, her eyes narrowing. After a moment, she nods and gets to her feet.

I follow Peggy down the hallway to Janet’s room. The lights keep flickering as we walk and there’s an awful stench I can’t identify—it’s almost overpowering. I try to imagine what it might be like to live in a place like this. It seems horrible. I would rather be dead.