Eight Perfect Murders(62)

Tess was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I guess if you were going to get someone to commit a murder for you, the best person would be your spouse.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Would you do that for Brian?”

“I suppose it would depend on who he wanted me to murder. But I’d think about it. It’s just the kind of wife I am. People think that Brian broke up with Mary and married me because I was younger, but that wasn’t it at all. Even though we spend a lot of time apart, Brian and I, we’re very close, you know. Closer than he ever was with anyone. We’re loyal. I’d do anything for him, and he’d do anything for me.”

She leaned in toward me as she was talking, and I could smell the coffee on her breath, mixed with the wine.

“Speaking of Brian . . .” I said, and she leaned back, cocked her head to listen.

“He’s fine, I think,” she said. “He’s probably just giving you and me some time alone together.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we should check on him?” I was suddenly nervous. Maybe it was all the alcohol, but I felt like I was in a stage play, and that the evening had been planned in such a way as to culminate with me alone with Tess over coffee.

She touched my knee with her fingers, then stood. “You’re right. I’ll go get him and tell him it’s time to go to bed. But you should stay, Mal. I mean it. The night is young. Let’s move over there and have another drink.” She tilted her head to indicate two small couches facing each other by a tall bookcase, forming a cozy nook between the dining room and the open kitchen.

“Okay,” I said, and she got up and walked out of the room. I sat for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. There was music playing, from the kitchen, Ella Fitzgerald singing “Moonlight in Vermont.” I sniffed at my undrunk coffee, then took another small sip. Then I picked up Tess’s coffee and tried that. Like mine, she’d only put cream in it, no sugar, but it tasted noticeably different. I went back and forth between the two, wondering if I was going insane. If she’d wanted to poison me she could have put something in my wine, or even in the food. Still, maybe she’d wanted to wait until the end of the meal. I stood up, walking past the couches, and into the kitchen. I could now hear Tess’s voice, speaking to Brian down the hall, but couldn’t make out the words. The kitchen was immaculate. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, just something that would further prove what I was already suspecting. That I’d been brought here for a reason.

I went and looked at the deep, stainless steel sink. It was empty. In the dish rack were a few pots and pans, and I could hear the steady thrum of a dishwasher, although I couldn’t see where one was. Beside the coffeepot, its red light on, was a cutting board, and on top of the cutting board was a cylindrical piece of wood, very heavy. I picked it up and it felt like a weapon in my hand. It was probably a rolling pin, although different from any rolling pin I’d ever seen.

“What’cha looking for, Mal?”

Tess stood at the entrance to the kitchen. “Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just admiring your kitchen. How’s Brian?”

“Asleep in the downstairs guest room. Or, as I like to call it, Brian’s bedroom. He’s in there more nights than he’s upstairs.”

I put the rolling pin down on the cutting board. “I’m going to get going,” I said.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m a little drunk, myself, I think, and I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I’m just going to head home.”

“I understand,” Tess said. “I don’t like it, but I understand. Let me get your coat.”

I stood in the foyer and waited for what seemed like a long time, then Tess brought me my winter coat, tucked under an arm. She came up close to me, and said, “What if I told you you weren’t allowed to leave.” Her voice was different. Flatter, quieter.

I grabbed my coat with my left hand and shoved out with my right, hoping to put her off balance long enough for me to get out the door. She stumbled backward, then fell, landing in a sitting position on the hardwood floor. “Oww, what the fuck, Mal?” she said.

“Stay right there.” I shook the coat, now in my possession, wondering if she’d hidden a weapon in it. The rolling pin, maybe.

Tess rolled a little onto her side in order to get her legs under her. “What is up with you?” she said.

Doubt flooded me, but I said, “I know what you did to Nick Pruitt,” just hoping that saying a name out loud would help confirm it.

She looked up at me, her hair now hanging on either side of her face, and said, “I have no idea who you’re talking about. Who’s Nick Pruitt?”

“You killed him two nights ago. You saw his book in my store, and you realized that I was investigating him because of his relationship with Norman Chaney. So you got to him first. You got him to drink with you, Dimple Pinch whiskey. Maybe you goaded him into drinking too much.”

Tess was staring at me, her eyes confused, and her mouth in a half smile, as though at any moment I was going to reveal the punch line to a joke. “Don’t you want me to know about it, to know about you? Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Tess now looked concerned. She said, “Mal, I’m going to get up. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is this something between you and Brian? Is this a joke?”