“If you’re having sex with other women, the marriage can hardly be perfect,” Amy said.
Owen didn’t buy that theory. He loved his wife. He also enjoyed having sex with other women. He knew that he should have been up front about this character flaw—was it a flaw or simply a trait?—when he proposed to Irene or at least mentioned it before they married. But he’d convinced himself that he might be able to make monogamy work. He didn’t say any of this to Amy. As far as Owen was concerned, sharing intimate details about his marriage to another woman was a greater betrayal than adultery.
“I should probably go,” Owen said.
“Don’t go,” Amy said as she kissed his neck and fumbled with his belt.
Owen was too tired to resist.
* * *
—
While Sam was being interrogated at the police station, Luna packed a bag, loaded her car, and drove to Owen’s house. His truck was in the driveway, so she assumed he was home. She rang the doorbell. Waited. Then Maya answered, breathless.
“Luna, what are you doing here?” Maya said.
“What are you doing here?” Luna said.
“Helping clean up.”
“Where’s Owen?”
“Don’t know. He had to be somewhere. Would you like to come in?” Maya asked, still blocking the door.
“No,” Luna said. “I—I have to be somewhere.”
Luna climbed into her car and texted Owen. Five minutes later, when he didn’t respond, she started the engine and drove. Luna could feel the pressure building inside her. The need for an epic cry. She didn’t want to be sitting outside her house when it came. She staved off the tears as she drove the ten miles along Route 9 to the dubiously named Sleep Chalet. Luna asked for a room on the second floor and followed the balcony to room 209. Her key card flashed red three times before the light turned green, the door unlatched, and she entered the dank, dingy room. But once inside, the tears wouldn’t come. There was one tear, maybe. But the thing that needed to escape was taking hold inside her, festering.
Luna was about to text Owen yet again, when a text from an unknown number popped up.
Hi Luna. Griff here. Have you seen Owen?
She promptly texted back.
No. He’s not answering. You?
Luna saw the dots of a looming text. Then the phone rang, startling her. Same number. She’d given him her contact information when he drove her to the station. An unstable heady feeling—a young person’s love or lust—came over Luna. She hadn’t felt that way in years and didn’t realize she could anymore.
She answered the call.
“Have you talked to your husband?” Griff asked.
The question felt loaded. How did he know about Sam and Irene?
“Uh…why?” Luna said.
“As you know, I left Sam—my dog Sam—sorry, that’s obvious. I left him at your house when I drove you to the station, and so your husband came home to a strange dog and then a strange man, since I showed up shortly after that. I didn’t know he was inside, so I used your keys to let myself in. I’m really glad he doesn’t own a gun,” Griff said.
Luna didn’t answer. She was thinking about how epically bad Sam’s afternoon must have been.
“He doesn’t, does he?” Griff said, responding to Luna’s silence.
Griff didn’t like the idea of anyone with a gun, especially Sam.
“No,” Luna answered. “I don’t think so.”
Luna couldn’t say for sure. She was silent again while she tried to wrangle the many threads that occupied her mind.
“Can you tell me what happened now? What was the phone call about?”
Luna couldn’t find a reason not to tell him. And she used to tell Griff things, most things.
“Sam was sleeping with Irene,” Luna said. “That phone I answered—I’d never seen it before. Sam bought it to call her. Just her. The thing is, I never checked his phone. Ever. There was no reason for an extra layer of security.”
“Shit,” Griff said. “Does Owen know?”
“Not yet,” Luna said.
It sounded like the line went dead. Luna wondered if he’d hung up because it felt like a funhouse-mirror version of history repeating itself. Luna, the common denominator, surrounded by murder suspects.
“Are you there?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
Griff didn’t ask what he wanted to ask, but the question hung in the air anyway.
“You want to know if maybe Sam could have killed her,” Luna said. “I don’t think so. He had no motive other than keeping it a secret, and that wouldn’t be much of a motive. Our prenup did not have a morals clause. If he killed her, it would have to be a crime of passion. He’d have to lose control. I can’t conceive of what would precipitate that.”
The logic was sound enough, but until the killer was identified, Griff didn’t like the idea of Luna living under the same roof as the man.
“Either way, you should get out of that house.”
“I did. I’m at the Sleep Chalet on Route 9.”
“Sounds swanky.”
“If the swank were onomatopoeic, then it would be,” Luna said.
“What are you doing for dinner?” Griff said.
It was an impulse invitation. Her silence filled him with dread. Luna was silent because she wasn’t sure what he was asking and she didn’t want to embarrass herself.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” said Luna.
“Why don’t you come over?”
“Not sure I’m up for a drive that long.”
“I’m not in the city, remember? I’m staying in Hyde Park. That’s, what, twenty minutes from you?”
Luna really wanted to accept the invitation, but the day had taken so many strange turns. She didn’t feel steady enough to be alone with Griff. “I think I need a night in.”
“I understand.”
“How long are you staying here?”
“A week, maybe,” Griff said. “I’d like to see you before I leave.”