The Last Invitation (10)
During the divorce, Liam had pushed Baines to agree to a reasonable amount of alimony and child support even though Baines thought she deserved neither. Liam was a good man, but she wasn’t his financial responsibility. She didn’t want to depend on anyone for money, even him.
“Now and then during the divorce I thought about strangling him. While we were in mediation. In the courthouse, in front of everyone. While he was driving. At his stupid desk . . .” His library and all that blood. The vision kept looping through her head, haunting her. She tried to push the hollow pain out and concentrate on Liam’s concerned face. “I’m guessing most people trapped in a contested divorce have stray homicidal thoughts, or at least some pretty unhealthy ones, but they don’t act on them.”
“You forget that I’ve been divorced twice.”
Two lovely, smart, amazing women. Gabby liked both and thought in each case Liam had finally found “the one” before the end came. She had enough trouble figuring out her love life without taking on his. “And you’re friends with your exes, which is weird. It also says something about the type of man you are. Very different from your brother.”
Liam shook his head. “He changed from the guy you married, but the point is you should let this go. If I thought there was any chance someone had done something to Baines, I’d be on the detective’s doorstep, questioning her until she gave in and investigated or arrested me.”
“How can you be so sure?” She had to admit Liam had seen Baines every day. She no longer had, but suicide still didn’t feel right.
“There’s no evidence of murder. Anywhere. And he was under a lot of pressure. Self-imposed but still.” A pained expression flashed across Liam’s face. “He hadn’t been great since the separation. I’m not blaming, just stating a fact.”
She teared up and fought to clear her throat. “I get it. Go on.”
“But the last few weeks something changed. He was out of it. Acting odd. Not talking. I didn’t tell you because he’s not your responsibility, but now I wonder if he was trying to hide the depression from me. If I missed the clues.”
Liam already shouldered so much. She didn’t want him to carry this burden, too. “You are not to blame, Liam. If Baines did this . . . then he did it, not you.”
“He would have seen it as weakness, and we both know he hated to show weakness.” Liam sighed. “Just please, for your sake, let this go.”
She doubted that would be possible.
Chapter Eleven
Jessa
Jessa wanted to be anywhere else. Literally, anywhere. She’d dug the black dress out of the back of her closet. Not the cute little-black-dress one. The serious one. The kind that Covington, her boss and work date to this business-related event, would find appropriate. The same one she wore to the other funerals she’d attended for clients and colleagues.
Four funerals in ten months. She hadn’t been to four funerals in her entire life up until then.
The reality of those numbers left her feeling claustrophobic and aching to claw her way out of the room. For someone who made her living talking, convincing, finding the right argument, she had no idea what to say to the grieving people she barely knew or to the one person she did.
She’d walked into the service with Covington. Sat there listening to the eulogy and heartfelt speech from the deceased’s brother. As he spoke, Jessa fixated on the women in the first pew. Mother and daughter. Mirror images with wavy brown hair and big blue eyes. Attractive in a way that drew attention, though they’d be the type to pretend not to notice. As if their looks didn’t open doors, even though they clearly did.
Jessa could hear the low thrum of painful cries coming from the teenager as tears rolled down her cheeks. Jessa had always been so detached from the idea of a mom. She knew the indifference was nothing more than a protective mechanism subconsciously built up over years to make her loss bearable. Never knowing her mom, and her dad rarely dating anyone seriously, left Jessa both confused by the mother-child connection and deeply envious of it.
Her maternal grandparents waged a relentless campaign for custody. Her father spent hours talking about how terrible they were. Both sides weaponized her until the fight morphed into habit and focused on “winning” her time, not her genuine affection.
Her dad did his best. She didn’t know if that was true. Concerned friends and a series of judges told her often enough that she’d internalized the phrase. He worked hard at his manufacturing job until his choices about spending money on household expenses over insulin caught up with him. He died while she was in college. She grieved for a few weeks then never again.
Jessa didn’t realize the funeral service had ended until people started standing up and filing out of the room. She wanted to race down the aisle and sit in the car, but Covington didn’t move. He stood at the end of the pew, nodding to people he knew as they passed. The sudden choking sensation made her want to shove him out of the way and get to fresh air, but that wasn’t an option.
Gabby Fielding watched them as she walked out of the church with her brother-in-law on one side and her daughter on the other. Jessa could feel the weight of her hatred. Gabby aimed all that loathing at them as she walked away. She’d clearly marked them as the enemy, and the loss of life didn’t change that.