Dead to Her(80)

Marcie however, didn’t have one, and she wasn’t refusing to cooperate. She was a good, law-abiding Southern wife doing her best to smooth out this terrible mistake. Oh, please God, don’t let them find the yearbook.

“On the night of the seventh of July, at William Radford’s party, your husband and Mr. Radford had an argument in his office in the house. What do you know about that?”

“Nothing really. And argument is a strong word. William and Jason were close friends. They didn’t ever argue.”

“But it was a strong disagreement then.”

“As I said, I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I felt unwell and went home early.”

“Yes, Elizabeth Glapion told my colleague that she drove you home. But she said she’d found you outside the office and you both heard raised voices. She said that you were nervous about interrupting.”

So they’d been to Elizabeth before they’d come here, maybe before they’d gone to the firm, getting their ducks in a row. “I was, yes, but then I never like to interrupt Jason when he’s talking to anyone about work. It’s not my business.”

“But there were raised voices?”

“A little, yes.” She was picking her way through a minefield. She kept her hands down, resting on her knees, so Anderson couldn’t see the sheen of sweat on her palms. “I think it was something to do with the system crash at the office. That was all I heard.”

“So it was nothing to do with the audit that was planned? Your husband wasn’t worried about that?”

“No. Why would he be? Jason was keen for the buyout to go ahead.” Her heart raced. Jason had said the police would have to dig to find a trail. She had a feeling this woman intended to.

“Are you aware of any financial problems your husband might have?”

“We don’t have any as far as I know.”

Anderson looked around the large room. “This is a beautiful house.”

“Thank you.”

“You only just moved here?”

“That’s right.”

“Expensive though. And a big step up from your last home?”

“To be fair, that wasn’t exactly small either.” Marcie smiled, but not too confidently.

“It must be hard to keep up when you’re close friends with someone like William Radford. A big house. Exclusive country club fees. Designer furniture.” She paused. “A failed business. It must all add up.”

“Do you mean my boutique?” Marcie’s back stiffened. “That risk had been factored in before we started.” Her face flushed again, her tell of anger. She hoped the detective misread it as embarrassment.

“So you never argued over money?”

“No,” she answered, ignoring the memories of the fights in this very room over her expensive choices. “Never.”

“I guess it was difficult for Jason though. An older man with a much younger, beautiful wife to impress.”

Marcie laughed. “I was a waitress when we met. He didn’t have to do much to impress me. He fell in love with me, that was enough.”

Anderson nodded, as if satisfied, before becoming thoughtful. She wasn’t fooling Marcie, pretending that her questions were coming to her on the spot. This was a planned attack. Anderson was nobody’s fool.

“When did your husband get home after the party?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t wake me.” She didn’t say that he’d slept in a guest bedroom. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice that the sheets were used.

“Jason bought and refilled the coolant in Keisha Radford’s Corvette, is that correct? You saw him?”

Marcie’s eyes widened. “Well, yes, but . . .”

“And the coolant cap was loose, he said, and that had caused the leak? Is it possible, do you think, that someone could have loosened that cap on purpose? To make sure Mrs. Radford was seen learning about such a toxic substance and that it would be found in her house after the attack on her husband?”

“I don’t know what you’re . . . I don’t understand . . .” Marcie’s face was no longer flushing. It was burning.

“The grass you smoked with Keisha Radford that she’d found in Eleanor Radford’s drawer—”

“I already spoke about this with the officer who talked to me after William was found. I don’t make a habit of it and—”

“I can totally understand how you and Mrs. Radford ended up getting high.” Anderson smiled again, all faux friendship and sisterly confidence. “Two young women together. A new friendship. That’s not what I was going to ask you about. No.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her spread knees, a masculine pose designed to intimidate. “What I wondered was if your husband knew about the other drugs Keisha found in that drawer. The morphine, needles, and syringes. Did he know about those?”

“No,” she answered, her mouth drying even as she answered truthfully. “No, he didn’t.” She let her hands clasp together, tight and afraid. She didn’t have to fake that. “Look, this is all some kind of mistake. Jason and William are best friends. Jason would never hurt William. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t—” She was cut off as Anderson’s cell rang and the detective was on her feet, her back to Marcie. What now?