SOMETIMES, YOU GET EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANT
In a darkened apartment, barren of anything but an old, dusty couch, a cobweb across a cracked window, and a state-of-the-art laptop computer, a phone rang.
When answered, a voice said, “It’s done. She’s been arrested.”
“Has she been charged?”
“I don’t know. But she’s been in there for five hours now. They caught her red-handed trying to toss the murder weapon. She doesn’t have a chance in hell of getting out of this. She’s not that good a liar. And they know exactly who she is. I left nothing to the imagination.”
“Good. Make sure she’s charged, then come home.” A pause. “I miss you.”
“I know you do. I’ll see you soon enough.”
“Have you enjoyed yourself?”
A throaty, satisfied laugh. “You have no idea.”
EVERYONE
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”
—Ernest Hemingway
LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE
Hey. It’s me. Miss me? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Have you figured it out yet?
They’re lying.
But I know the real truth.
Which means you’re going to have to listen to me.
Ha ha. Joke’s on you.
You realize they get paid to lie, don’t you? It’s what they do for a living, so of course they lie to each other, and of course they’ve lied to you. I mean, come on, they can’t even agree on where they met, or how the evening went down. It was Chicago, if you’re wondering. Not London or New York. They were at a conference in Chicago, and the only thing they both agree on is they got bone drunk and screwed all night. Have they told you about their significant others at the time? The ones they dumped? No?
Well, let me tell you. When Sutton and Ethan met? Sutton was practically engaged to a man named Tobias Winters. Good guy, Toby. A little older than her, gray hair, gray goatee, plenty of cash to keep her feet warm by the fire. Madly in love with her, too. He’d do anything she asked.
And Ethan was living with a woman. Nel, her name was Nel. She used to do his hair. She was a doormat, absolutely worshipped the ground he walked on. Now, I understand his scenario a bit more than Sutton’s. I mean, who wants to be with someone like that? It has to be boring—vanilla pudding, vanilla ice cream, vanilla milk shake—all day, every day. You can’t really blame him for looking for something more, he’s a man, and Sutton is a temptress witch, and it’s easy to understand how she could pull him away from his life, his work, his world, without a second thought to the people she’d hurt if she did. She’s a home wrecker. Always has been. This isn’t the first family she’s broken up.
Ethan didn’t stand a chance against Sutton, and neither did that vanilla milk shake of a woman he was with. When Sutton burst onto the scene, Ethan forgot all about poor old Nel. Dumped her on the side of the road, put her clothes on the street at the end of the driveway. She came home, three days after his trip to Chicago, and found everything she owned on the street and the locks changed.
Come to think of it, Nel could have done it. Or Toby. He is perfectly capable of murder. I hear the breakup there didn’t go as smoothly. Toby threatened to kill Sutton. They shouted and screamed late into the night. The police were called. There will be records on file should you care to check.
Until now, have you even stopped for a single moment to consider the people they hurt? Thought about the betrayal and pain they’d felt? Who’s to say Nel and Toby didn’t meet for a drink one night and concoct a plan to take Ethan and Sutton down?
Would you blame him? Would you blame her?
I wouldn’t.
I understand the desire to see them both rotting in the ground perfectly.
Now, I have to get ready for my date. I bought new lingerie for the occasion. Red. I do like red.
I miss good old Ethan. He was fun.
And he’s going to enjoy tonight, whether he wants to or not.
I am going to enjoy it even more. Because everything I have worked for is happening.
Stupid Sutton. She has no idea what I’m capable of.
And neither does he.
AIN’T NO REST FOR THE WICKED
Franklin, Tennessee
Ethan’s patience was running out. Not only had he sat in this infernal cell all night, counting the bloody tiles (four thousand four hundred and seven tiles on the floor and wall; he managed to count them twice), the towheaded cop had rushed in, asked him strange questions, and rushed away before explaining what the bloody hell she was talking about. And he’d been left alone again.
Graham was clearly mad. Sutton didn’t own a wig. Did she?
Did he know his wife at all anymore?
Oh, what did it matter? She was dead. He was in jail. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard pallet. In jail, about to be arraigned, paraded in front of the courts and television cameras.
Bill would be thrilled. There would be a massive bump in backlist sales. Offers would come from every house to write the true story of his marriage’s demise. He could hear the rejoinders now: Why did you do it, Mr. Montclair? Why did you kill your wife?
Would they let him do pressers from the penitentiary?
He’d been on this thought train for about an hour when the door opened and Joel Robinson walked through, eyes shining in excitement.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“I only want to hear that you can get me out of here, right now.”
“Actually, I think I can.”
Ethan stood up. “What’s happened?”
“You might want to sit back down.”
“Joel. Please.”
“They aren’t 100 percent sure the body they recovered is Sutton.”
Ethan sat, hard. “What? How? Her rings...”
“That blonde cop, Graham? She’s saved your ass. She’s insisting you’re innocent and the body isn’t Sutton’s. Apparently, there was an inconsistency at autopsy. We’re still waiting on dental and DNA, dental will be in anytime, but she’s already pushing for you to be released.”
“God bless her. Now, tell me everything.”
Robinson adjusted his pants. “You sure? If it turns out she’s wrong...”
Ethan only paused for a moment. “I’m sure.”
“Okay. I have two shots they let me take from the crime scene photos. The body was burned, right?”
He grimaced. “So I heard.”
“They have Sutton’s wedding set, recovered from the victim’s left hand. Here’s a picture. These are her rings, yes?”
He turned his phone to face Ethan. It was a close-up shot. All he could see was the shine of platinum and diamond against a sort of ashy black background. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, those are her rings, without a doubt. The wedding band was new when we married, we picked it out at Tiffany, but the stone is my grandmother’s. I’ve been seeing it all my life.”
“All right. Here’s the other.”