The Last Invitation (45)
Oh, damn. Not even a little. Fellow mothers could be brutal even without that fodder. She hated to think what they’d do with that bit of juicy gossip.
But she didn’t have any choice here. Kennedy came first. “No, but I’ll survive.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jessa
Jessa sat on the middle of the couch in Faith’s living room and waited for something to happen. Something big. She had no idea what or how, but Retta had left her with the impression the downward spiral her life had taken was about to change.
That was three days ago. Seventy-two hours of nothing.
The ethics complaint against her had been filed. Darren and his attorney requested her formal removal from the case. The only message from Covington came yesterday and related to the firm’s cell phone. She needed to return it within two days. Tim . . . well, she didn’t really care about Tim. The second he dumped her, all those big feelings she had for him shifted from sadness to seething anger in record time.
Jessa took another sip of wine. At this rate, she’d demolish the bottle before lunch.
Her office cell buzzed. She thought about throwing it through the window but guessed Faith would not appreciate the replacement cost on top of having a nonpaying unwanted roommate.
The cell buzzed a second time.
“What?” she screamed into the empty condo.
When she looked at the screen, she regretted she hadn’t started drinking even earlier. Covington reminding her about office property. Come in tomorrow at ten. Now he didn’t just want the phone back, he wanted it in the morning.
Fine. Whatever.
She may have dozed off or gone into some sort of my life is a tragic mess trance. She’d put the wine down without spilling, which was a triumph, but now . . . knocking. The thudding banged around inside her head. It took her a full minute to realize it came from the outside hallway.
She scrambled off the couch and got to the door, sliding across the last two steps in her thick cotton socks. She looked through the peephole and . . . Hell no. She was not in the mood for Detective Melissa Schone now—or ever, really.
“Ms. Hall?”
Jessa jumped away from the door at the sound of the detective’s voice. Every time the woman showed up, she dragged a rattling train of bad luck behind her.
Thump. Thump.
She wasn’t going away. Jessa was not that lucky.
Jessa opened the door. “What?”
The detective almost smiled but seemed to catch the amusement in time and bury it. “May I come in?”
“It’s not my house.”
The detective sighed. “I have news.”
She didn’t say warrant or arrest, so this was going better than Jessa feared. She stepped back and gestured for the other woman to come inside.
“What are you going to accuse me of today?” Jessa heard the snideness of her voice and didn’t care. Hiding the pettiness flowing through her would take too much energy, so she didn’t try.
The detective’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve been drinking?”
“Is that illegal now?”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“It’s been a shitty week.” Jessa resumed her seat on the couch and picked up the glass to let the detective know her judgment wasn’t welcome.
“Ellie Bartholomew recanted this morning.”
Jessa sat up straighter. She didn’t want to mess this up or confuse the point. “Recanted again . . . or are you—”
“She admitted Darren threatened her. He told her that he would kill her and their son if she didn’t implicate you and lie about you convincing her to run away. She really was on her way to visit her father when Darren caused the car accident.”
Jessa tried to name the reason for the churning inside her. It felt a lot like excitement, maybe mixed with a bit of gotcha. “You mean I was right. I told you the allegations were bullshit.”
“Darren Bartholomew put significant pressure on his wife, but if you wish to file charges against her, then I can—”
“Oh, please. Stop.” Jessa refused to play the bad-guy role in this scenario. “I’m not angry at Ellie Bartholomew. I’m pissed at you. You believed Darren’s crap even though you knew better.”
“Are you gloating?”
Jessa didn’t need a minute to think about it. “Actually, yes.”
The detective leaned against the back of the chair across from Jessa. “I’m sure you understand that it takes time to investigate allegations.”
“Not the ones against me, apparently. You ran with those. Right to the press, I assume?”
“I didn’t arrest you.”
“My name is all over the news. I’ve been sidelined at work.” But now Covington’s call made sense. The jackass. She could hardly wait to hear the verbal gymnastics he’d use to cover his butt and blame everyone else. “Darren turned my life upside down and you assisted him.”
“He’s in jail.”
“What?” The wineglass tipped but Jessa righted it before spilling red wine all over the beige couch.
“When he blocked his wife’s car in the driveaway, he violated the protective order she obtained when they first separated. Then, when he hit her car, he invited other charges—assault, attempted kidnapping.”