The Perfect Marriage(79)

“You won’t have to do anything,” the cop said to Owen, ignoring his father’s tough-guy line. “A nurse is going to come in and take some blood. Okay?”

His parents had told Owen not to say a word. But it just seemed wrong not to answer him.

“Sure. Whatever.”

The nurse came in. It was just like any of the countless times before when he had given blood through the CVC.

After she left, Velasquez said, “The warrant also permits us to inspect and photograph your hands.”

Without waiting for permission, a man in full hospital garb entered, including a mask. Owen couldn’t tell anything about him other than that he had blue eyes.

“Please hold out both your hands,” he said.

Owen looked to his mother, but she had turned away. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw his father nod.

Owen pulled his right hand from beneath the covers. The photographer took pictures of the now-faint but still visible scratches across Owen’s right knuckles. Yet another wonderful by-product of having leukemia—scars were slow to heal.



Haley still couldn’t wipe from her mind’s eye what she’d witnessed the day James died. She doubted she ever would. Sometimes she wondered why she had even entered James’s office in the first place. She knew James was still there, after all, and that should have dictated that she stay far away. But after watching Reid leave and the skinny, short-haired woman follow him, and then James’s stepson enter right after the woman left, only to flee like a bat out of hell a few minutes later with blood on his hands, she knew something was seriously wrong.

Had she entered the office to help James? Or was it only curiosity? Maybe she wanted to see James suffer. She honestly still did not know.

Whatever her motivation, when she entered, she saw James lying on the floor, facedown, blood pooled around his head. She was surprised by just how dark his blood was. She had always imagined blood to be red, like marinara sauce. Turned out it was more akin to the dark purple of a cabernet.

Instinctively, she checked his pulse—no doubt leaving evidence of her presence on his body—but he was already gone.

She hated to admit this, even to herself, but at that moment, she felt nothing but sorrow. She hadn’t wanted James to die, despite all the times she’d soothed herself with thoughts of his death. What she really wanted was for him to regret leaving her. Now that could never happen.

And then the moment after that realization, her instinct for self-preservation kicked in. She had made herself the prime suspect in James’s murder. From her antics at the party, to when she spotted James with the skinny, short-haired woman, to her persuading Malik to call Jessica, to her fingerprints putting her at the scene of the crime, the police wouldn’t have to look too far for evidence to arrest and even convict her.

She could have told the police what she had seen that day, but she quickly realized that was very weak tea. Which meant that she had to figure out a way to put other suspects into the mix. But who? Pointing the finger at Reid would only cause him to tell the police that she was a scorned ex-lover. The skinny, short-haired woman was hardly a more inviting target, since there might not be any way for the police to prove she even existed.

But the boy, he was an entirely different kettle of fish. Pointing the finger at him was a game changer.

The irony wasn’t lost on Haley that she wasn’t even sure Owen had killed James when she made that very accusation to Jessica at the funeral. For all Haley knew, it could have been Reid or the skinny, short-haired woman. Or both of them in cahoots. Maybe they killed James, and Owen only came upon the body. In that way, he would have been no different from her: someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But Haley knew that Jessica would not stop accusing her unless Haley had something to hold over her as leverage. Threatening that she’d tell the police Owen had entered James’s office, then left covered in blood, was more than enough to do the trick.

It worked like a charm. After confronting Jessica at the funeral, Jessica and Wayne presented a united front to stonewall the cops. Haley hadn’t expected Reid to join the party, but of course he did. That guy didn’t do anything that wasn’t shady, so the last thing he was going to do was cooperate with the police, even about something he hadn’t done.

With everyone else not cooperating, Haley’s own refusal didn’t seem so bad.

From what she’d read, the police made their way to Owen Fiske on their own. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend why that kid had murdered James, but that wasn’t her concern.

This summer would mark two years since James had left her. It was time to put her life back on track and stop blaming a dead man for her troubles. Well past time, in fact.

She needed to get a job and deal with her obsessive tendencies, her probable drinking problem, and definitely her anger issues. She thought she could do that. After all, she didn’t have much choice in the matter.



Reid’s lawyer was urging a plea deal. He thought he could get the feds to agree to less than five years.

“I’m not agreeing to spend even a day in jail,” Reid said.

He’d made bail and was now living at home, albeit under some restrictions. Nevertheless, it was much more pleasant than life in a prison cell.

“They’re not going to end up giving you the key to the city on this one, Reid,” Weitzen said. “Murcer has already flipped, and they have you on tape negotiating the deal. And I don’t have to tell you that without a deal, you’ll be looking at ten years. Maybe more.”