Air hummed through the vent in the conference room ceiling as I turned to Oliver for permission to answer Carla’s question. He met my eyes with a cautious nod.
“I assumed Laycee and Kyle were on a date at Dodger Stadium,” I said. “Telling Forrest I saw her at the game would invite questions I didn’t want to answer. Frankly, I didn’t want to put myself in the middle of the Huber’s marriage problems.”
Carla let out a dramatic sigh. “Smart move. Mr. Stanger, however, claims they attended an ATTAGIRL network business function together at the stadium. And then Laycee ended up spending the night with your ex-husband. Boy, she really got around, didn’t she?” Carla flashed me an exaggerated, let’s-get-down-and-talk-trash-about-that-floozy look.
No kidding. If Oliver hadn’t warned me against attacking Laycee’s character, I might have thrown up my hands in hearty agreement. Alerted by Carla’s theatrical segue from inquisitive pro to my new bestest friend, I turned to Oliver again. He stared at his hands, laced in front of him on the table. No permission. No comment.
“Are you right-or left-handed?” Carla said.
“I’m right-handed,” I said. Oliver cleared his throat.
Her brow furrowed. “Let’s go over your movements from the time you left the stadium Tuesday night until your conversation with Mr. Huber the following morning.”
“You already took a statement from Liz. Is this necessary?” Oliver said.
“Dr. Cooper’s statement only covered Wednesday morning until she met her plumber at her home. I want an extended account of her hours before and after,” Carla said.
Oliver gave me a nod, holding my eyes long enough to convey Go ahead with discretion. I pondered a moment and then launched into details about Tuesday night, editing out the romp with Nick in my backyard, and then continuing through Wednesday morning. I ended with my breakfast at Aroma and Forrest’s call.
Carla scribbled notes on her pad then turned over the plastic envelope and slid it across the table at me. “Do you recognize this?”
The clear envelope encased a framed copy of Jarret’s and my wedding picture with the glass shattered into a web of cracks.
Once again, I glanced at Oliver. On his nod, I answered, “It’s my wedding picture.”
“And?”
Checking with Oliver was monotonous, but we got a rhythm going. If he looked at me I would answer; if he didn’t look, I didn’t talk. This time he looked.
“The glass on the frame is broken. What else do you want me to say? I haven’t looked at my wedding pictures for a long time. It was another life, Carla.”
“Smashed. You can see the glass on the frame had been smashed.” Carla frowned. “I mean, if I walked in my ex’s bedroom and saw the woman who ended my marriage sprawled naked on his bed with my wedding photo there on the nightstand next to her? Who wouldn’t be furious enough, in the heat of the moment, to destroy the woman and the photo?” She squinted at me. “It’s almost like they had sex right in front of you—for spite. Laycee stole your husband, ruined your marriage, and then came back for more. Is that why you killed her?”
Heat flushed through my body. I inhaled, exhaled slowly, then with all the dignity I could gather said, “I didn’t kill Laycee.”
“Move on, Detective,” Oliver said.
Carla stood the frame in the center of the table. “This was beneath the bed where the victim was found. How did it get there?”
Oliver touched my hand, stopping me from answering, then said to Carla, “You wouldn’t be showing us this if her fingerprints were on the glass or the frame. How would Liz know who moved it? She already stated she didn’t go into the bedroom that morning.”
“I’d like Liz to answer anyway,” Carla said calmly.
“She already addressed your question,” Oliver said. “Move on.”
The ensuing series of questions and answers bounced like a three-way Ping-Pong game. Carla asked me, I looked at Oliver, and he either nodded permission or answered for me.
“When was the last time you were in Jarret’s bedroom?” Carla said.
“I honestly don’t remember,” I said. “Years ago.”
“Why did your marriage end?”
“Their divorce decree stated the reason,” Oliver said. “Irreconcilable differences.”
Bravo to Ollie for doing his homework.
“Did your differences involve your husband’s infidelity?” she said.
“Don’t answer, Liz.” Oliver leaned across the table. “I have some questions for you, Detective. Do you have evidence that places my client in the bedroom with the victim? Fingerprints? Hair samples? No? Do you have any questions for Liz about your other suspects?”
Carla set her elbow on the table, watching him with her chin resting on her palm.
Oliver pushed his chair back. “Then I think we’re done for today. I’m hungry. If I don’t eat, my blood sugar will drop and I’ll get cranky. We’re free to leave, right?”
“Yes,” Carla said in a clipped tone.