She felt like his denial was the first major inconsistency in his statements, and had made a note of it for the record. She hadn’t wanted to run the risk of screwing things up with him, not while he was still being so forthcoming, so she’d pressed on in the interview. She hoped that was the right thing to do.
Holly almost felt like Sutton Montclair was speaking to her. Directing her. Giving her clue after clue, a trail of bread crumbs to follow. It seemed like she’d given each of her friends a bit of the story. She had her husband set up to take the fall.
Was this on purpose? Or was there something else going on?
Holly’s baser instincts wanted to grill Ethan Montclair for hours, but that wasn’t the way things worked. She needed him to cooperate for as long as he would.
No, getting combative wasn’t the right approach. She would finish her interviews, then maybe she’d go talk to him again, see what she could shake loose.
*
Ellen Jones’s home on the outskirts of downtown was as frank and straightforward as she was. A ranch with classic lines bordering on severe, the interior was fully updated, gray with white molding, populated by modern furniture and appliances that looked brand-new. The entire living room wall was built-in bookshelves, the books within shelved alphabetically, broken into fiction and nonfiction. No-nonsense, this librarian. Holly thought she might like Ellen if they’d met under different circumstances.
Jones sat primly, her legs crossed at the ankles, but there was fire in her eyes and her voice as Holly questioned her. She laid out what she knew, and let Ellen run with it. The librarian was clear, and she was emphatic.
“No, no, no. Sutton wasn’t strong and self-reliant, but she wasn’t a pushover, either. She was just a normal woman, an artist—a good one, too—who was put in two untenable situations in a row. I have a tendency toward believing she’s simply decided to take a break, and will come back in a few days. I can’t wrap my mind around Ethan actually hurting her. I’ve never known him to be abusive, or mean. He loves her, and she loves him. They’re competitive with each other, without admitting it, absolutely. But they’re partners in this marriage. Losing the baby brought them closer, even if they have been having issues. After her showdown with the reviewer, he stood by her.”
“Is it possible she instigated the situation with the reviewer? Mrs. Woodson indicated it might have been a setup, a ploy to get out of a contract that went awry.”
Ellen looked amused for a moment. “Knowing Sutton? She’s a firecracker, Officer. She didn’t like taking no for an answer, and her agent and publisher were pushing her hard to write a book she absolutely loathed.”
“So she blew up her career instead of writing the book?”
“No, she wouldn’t do that. Sutton wasn’t an idiot. No one wants the kind of publicity she got. No one deserves it, either. I believe her when she says her accounts were hacked. She made one comment on the whole thing. The rest took on a life of its own.”
“And the book she was writing? How does that work?”
“Normally she wrote her own books, but this was a one-time thing, a contract-for-hire job, finishing the final book in a popular series by an author who passed away. They paid her a wad of money to do it, too. When she started it was all fine, but before it was published, the estate dictated some changes to the story that she didn’t agree with. She’s a professional, though, and made the adjustments they wanted. She knew it was all part of the game.”
“What was the book about?”
“The official title was The Bedouin’s Dream Bride. She called it Sharif and His Naughty Nightstick. Cracked me up when she talked about it. It was terrible material, a worse story, and yes, she was appalled that she was forced to write it, but she was a professional, and she was absolutely fulfilling the contract when things blew up. The comment kerfuffle tore her apart, and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t even her own story. Now, her most recent, it’s a Victorian high-fantasy novel, with a Jack the Ripper–style murderer, and it is fantastic. Impeccably researched, vicious, scary, romantic. It’s such a shame the contract was canceled, but I bet down the road she’ll publish it herself, or someone will get excited by this situation and want it.”
“But the book she was attacked about—”
“Someone took exception to the work-for-hire book—someone always does take exception—and Sutton rightly defended herself. It spun out of control, but that wasn’t her fault.”
“Sutton made one comment, then ducked back into her hole, and said nothing more about it?”
“Yes. Absolutely. The second she saw where things were headed, she disengaged. Everything that happened after was on the reviewer and that jerk blogger.”
“I have to show you something, Mrs. Jones.” Holly grabbed her cell and opened the video.
“This is Sutton Montclair, in a stalking incident at the reviewer’s house.”
Ellen watched the video impassively. When it was over, she shook her head. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s not Sutton.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll grant you, the hair and clothes look right, but whoever that is, it’s not Sutton. A—Sutton’s no dummy. She’d never stalk a reviewer. B—Sutton is much taller than this person. Thinner, too.”
“The plates on the car match a rental car reservation from south Nashville in Sutton’s name.”
Ellen didn’t blink. “Then someone’s playing a very cruel joke on you, Officer. Because trust me, that is not Sutton Montclair.”
I HEAR YOU’RE MISSING A WIFE
At 6:00 p.m. Ethan’s mobile rang, jarring him from his writing trance. He glanced at the caller ID, and his stomach flipped. Bloody hell. Colin Wilde, the so-called reporter who’d driven Sutton quite literally mad after Dashiell’s death. How the hell had he gotten Ethan’s new number? They’d changed everything, for Sutton’s protection as well as to shake that stupid reviewer who made their lives such hell. Idiotic Sutton, letting her emotions get the better of her. It had landed her in the loony bin, and she’d never really forgiven him. She had no idea the trouble and cash it had cost him to get her an involuntary commitment instead of going to jail.
Ethan hadn’t given Officer Graham the whole story. She didn’t need to know every detail, especially when none of it would help bring Sutton back.
When Dashiell died, Wilde had pursued Sutton relentlessly, wanting to do stories, wanting to interview them, sending emails, leaving messages on their voice mail, asking if they planned to have a replacement child. The asshole had used that term exactly, replacement child.
When they hadn’t responded, Wilde had finally disappeared. But then the online campaign against Sutton began, and Wilde resurfaced, doggedly calling nightly until Sutton finally cracked.