She closes her eyes and takes a long breath. “Surely you’ve figured that out.”
“Uhh, no.”
Her voice drops to an angry whisper. “What’s the one thing in life I need? Custody of my son. That’s the only way I can be with you and live with myself.”
“You think representing Max will—”
“Yes.”
This is wishful thinking. “Jet, I don’t care what Max has promised you, he won’t live up to it. Not once you get him off.”
“He will. I’ve made sure of it.”
I’m sure she’s bound him to some kind of agreement, but I still see a problem. “Does he realize that rules might prevent you from defending him at trial?”
“Not yet. And by the time he finds out, it won’t matter. He’s providing me a sworn affidavit saying that I deserve to be Kevin’s sole custodial parent. He’ll describe Paul’s years-long depression, his alcoholism, even his suicide attempts.”
“Suicide attempts?”
She nods. “There are still a few things I haven’t told you.”
“Apparently so.”
“Max will not only assert my fitness as a mother, but also his opinion that I’m an ideal role model for Kevin. We agreed on all these points before I handled the arraignment this morning.”
Her controlled delivery leaves me speechless. I’ve always known that Jet had a calculating side, but her use of Sally’s murder—and Max’s likely guilt—as leverage to gain favorable divorce terms takes my breath away.
“I told you last night that I’m desperate,” she goes on. “If defending Max for a couple of weeks gets Kevin and me clear of my marriage, it’ll be the noblest work I’ve ever done. Hell, I’d defend him at trial to get that result. I can’t help Sally now.”
I reflect on this for a bit. “What did Arthur Pine think of you standing up for Max?”
“Arthur was surprised. When I got to the jail this morning, he was sitting outside looking very unhappy. I think the Poker Club sent him over.”
This is worth thinking about in detail, but not now.
“Are you and I okay?” Jet asks. “Because I really don’t want to discuss this anymore. It’s going to be bad enough having to defend Max without you questioning my morality every step of the way.”
“Did Max kill Sally?”
Jet takes no time with the question. “He insists he didn’t. I honestly don’t know. I’m not even sure I want to know.”
“From what I’ve heard, it’s hard to imagine that anyone else did it.”
“What did you hear? That there were only two people in the room?”
“As far as the police could tell.”
She gives me a forced smile that tells me she may be in possession of private information. “What I’m about to tell you goes in the vault,” she says. “This is you and me, like we’re in bed.”
“All right.”
“Max says Sally did it.”
Once more, the world stops dead in space. This claim seems absurd on its face. “He says Sally killed herself? Shot herself through the heart? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Jet nods. “While she was sitting on top of him.”
“Like having sex?”
“No. He was asleep, and she climbed on top of him to shoot herself.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
Jet shrugs. “Nevertheless, she had a good motive.”
“Being married to Max? She’s had that motive for forty-six years.”
“You saw the argument they had at the Aurora last night.”
“Half the town saw it. So?”
“Several years ago, Max had an affair with one of Sally’s best friends. Probably her best friend. Sally only just found out about it. Day before yesterday. She was distraught. That must have been what she wanted to talk to me about yesterday.”
Though this comes out of left field, it seems plausible. “Who was the friend?”
Jet touches her forefinger to her lower lip. “I’d prefer to keep that to myself for now.”
Her stopping short of full disclosure shocks me, but I try not to show it. “Okay. So that’s your pitch? Finding out Max screwed some friend of hers years ago was enough to make a seventy-year-old woman shoot herself?”
“Sally was sixty-six.”
“Oh, that makes all the difference.”
“Marshall—”
“Seriously, Jet. Max was a serial philanderer. Everybody knows that, and no one better than Sally.”
Jet runs her fingers back through her dark hair. “Sometimes one straw breaks the martyr’s back. Sally was drunk last night. Really drunk. That’s unusual for her. She may have been taking pills as well. Max was drunk, too. He claims Sally had threatened to kill herself several times over the past thirty-six hours, including on the way home from the party last night.”
“Suicide by gun is unusual among women.”
“I know, but it happens. And the numbers have been rising.”
“Among wealthy sixty-six-year-old white women?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
I’m trying to fit what Jet’s telling me into my larger picture of the Matheson family, but I can’t do it. “Yesterday you were worried that Sally might have found out about you and me.”
“I don’t think that’s it anymore. It certainly doesn’t matter now. We’ll never know.”
“Of course it matters. If Sally found out about us, that means someone else knows about us and told her. Plus, if she knew, she might have mentioned it to somebody else. Max, or even Paul.”
“Sally wouldn’t do that.”
“No? I don’t think she would shoot herself, either. Not over some affair. I’ve known Sally since I was three years old, and I’m sure of that. And what about Paul’s sudden suspicions about you? Man, this stinks. It stinks all over.”
Jet picks up her purse and stands. “Let’s not have this conversation here.”
I want to keep her here with me, but my mind is spinning. “I figured Max would claim there was a home invasion or something. Meth heads or crazy black kids. The whole town’s going to go nuts over this, Jet. One of the richest guys in the county, and his wife shoots herself while sitting on top of him in bed? This is a TV movie, at the least.”
“I know. But I don’t have a choice. This is the price I pay for custody of Kevin.”
“Oh, Jet. You can’t trust Max.”
“I don’t. But for once, I have him by the short hairs. And I’m going to pull hard.”
“I still think he killed her.”
She blows out a rush of air and takes two steps toward the door. “He may well have. But Sally’s gone, and Max’s punishment isn’t my primary concern. Being Max is sufficient punishment, in my view—second only to living with him.”
Jet’s barely holding herself together. I can’t imagine the stress she must be under. “What kind of shape is Paul in?”
She reaches for the knob, then hesitates. “He’s close to losing it. I don’t think he understood how dependent he was on his mother. Sally loved him. Max . . . he doesn’t know what love is.”
“No. That’s the awful truth.”
“Kevin’s not doing well, either. Sally doted on that boy. She was so protective of him.”
“I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this. I know that’s inadequate, but . . .” I get up and walk around my desk, but Jet motions for me to keep my distance.
“This is all going to get worse before it gets better.” Her hand is on the knob now. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again. Maybe not for days. After the funeral, probably. I’ll need to stay close to Kevin.”
“And Paul,” I say automatically.
A strange deadness comes into her eyes. “I’m not exaggerating about his mental state. We have to put a wall between us for the time being.”
“What if I have to get hold of you? A real emergency?”
“I’ll keep my burner on silent and try to check it every two or three hours.”
“Once an hour would be better. There’s no telling how things could break during all this.”
“I’ll try.” She stands poised at the door, her resolve finally crumbling. “Are we really okay?”
“Always.”
Her eyes close for a moment. Then she blows me a silent farewell kiss and walks out into the newsroom.
Chapter 23