“Ben told you that?”
“He didn’t have to. It’s obvious. There’s no mention of a robbery in the police statement. Random ‘break in and kill the rich in their mansions’ murders don’t go with the zeitgeist—too Charles Manson. We’re in the era of public executions: Sandy Hook Elementary, the Aurora movie theater. That church in Charleston. It has to be someone they knew and let into the house. They had no idea they just invited their killer in.”
I had an unpleasant thought. I tried to ignore it.
“Nora? Did you hear me? Don’t you think I’m right?”
Was Lizzie trying to imply something here, or was I paranoid again?
“They knew whoever killed them,” she repeated.
I couldn’t contain myself.
“I think you should just say it, Lizzie.”
“Say what?”
“You think I’m the prime suspect.”
“What? No! That’s crazy.”
“Is it so crazy to think anyone who knows my history with Hugh and Helene is going to entertain that idea? And judging by the amount of media here, the entire country could come to the same conclusion by the evening news. I’ll be tried and convicted in the court of public opinion.”
“Well, if I’m going to be completely honest, it did cross my mind . . .”
“I was right,” I said, unable to hide the hurt in my voice. “And that’s why you’re so eager for an interview.”
“No! I didn’t mean that you killed them, only that people might suspect you.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry if you have to deal with that. It’s really unfair.”
I had to find my balance. Lizzie was only trying to help. “Lizzie, I’m not thinking rationally. I’m exhausted. I’m really sorry I misjudged your intentions. Please forgive me.”
“It’s okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “You’re not mad anymore, right?”
“No, I’m not mad.” I heard another call beep. “But I have to get off now.”
“You’re sure a sympathetic interview wouldn’t help?”
“No interviews. Goodbye.” I clicked off and saw that the other caller was “Unknown.” I rejected it.
I sneaked another look outside. The reporters were slouching in their open cars and vans, talking on cell phones and working on MacBooks. A few of them were eating Eden’s powdered jelly donuts and brushing the white sugar dust off their black outfits. They were in no rush to go anywhere. I wanted to scream.
Instead I sat down on the edge of the bed and thought it over. Lizzie’s proposal actually had some merit. It might be smart to engage with the press, but in a manner I could control. Not an interview—a statement. A compassionate one. If anyone tried to paint me as Hugh’s murderous ex, I could draw a different picture. It might just be enough to get rid of these reporters, and also help clear any cloud of suspicion hanging over me. Despite Gubbins’s warning, I decided to face the press.
My jeans lay in a clump at the foot of the bed. I pulled them on, slipped into my UGGs and returned to the living room. Remembering how washed-out I’d appeared in the bathroom mirror, I fished a makeup pouch out of my shoulder bag and hurriedly dabbed cover-up on the scratch. Then I ran “Cherry Lush” red lipstick over my cracked lips and rubbed some on my cheeks so I wouldn’t look like death. Hair fluffed. Trench coat on. I was ready. I can do this, I thought.
“There she is!”
They scrambled like roaches as soon as I opened the door. Within seconds, they’d regrouped at the bottom of the driveway with their gear. A barrage of cameras whirred and clicked. There were frantic shouts.
“Ms. Glasser! Over here!”
“What’s your reaction to the murders of your ex and his wife?”
“Why did the police bring you in to the Massamat precinct?”
At the last question, I shuffled back a step, startled. Someone leaked my visit to the station. Damn. That would only foster more suspicion. Fuck. The recording light on one of the video cameras flashed red. Think. Get it together fast. I concentrated on making my expression unreadable and my posture perfect and then strode slowly, purposefully ahead, heart pounding. Aiming my gaze at the camera lens, I felt like Norma Desmond going for her close-up. I stopped and took a breath.
“I want to express how shocked and saddened I am. The Walkers’ murders are devastating. My heart goes out to Hugh’s family. And his wife’s family. It’s especially tragic for their little girl. I can’t imagine who would want to do such a monstrous thing. The police were hoping that I might have some additional information that would help them solve the case. They’re leaving no stone unturned and doing everything in their power to find the killer as quickly as possible. And I’m praying they will.”
Boilerplate, but appropriate. And actually sincere.
The reporters instantly began shouting more questions, ratcheting up my heart rate again. I had tunnel vision—all I could see was my front door. Shaking my head, I tried to smile and politely refuse them as I determinedly walked toward it and escaped back inside. I stole another look through the curtains. The reporters remained at the foot of the driveway, most of them talking on their phones. But one black-clad cameraman was still aiming at the front of the Coop. I jerked my head away from the window. In a few minutes, I checked again, even more discreetly. Everyone was packing gear and dispersing except him.
I tried to ignore the fact that he was out there and went to my desk to check e-mail and Facebook. There were condolences from old friends, but still no Ben. My phone buzzed with more unknown callers. Likely tabloid reporters who’d found my cell number through illegal methods. They left voice mails. I didn’t listen to any of them. Staccato phrases popped in and out of my mind: “The killer was someone they knew and let in.” “Did you have a reaction to them moving here?” Yes, Lizzie was right. The suspicions were unfair. And awful. And scary as hell.
I called Grace to see how Otis was feeling and give her an update. She didn’t answer. I sneaked a look out the window again. The lone cameraman waited.
The apparatus on his shoulder seemed more and more like a gun.
Chapter Ten
I must’ve dozed off. The sleep had helped. I woke just past noon with a clearer head, feeling stronger and resolving not to be a prisoner in my own house any longer. Let the paparazzo have his shot. We both needed to get on with our lives. I counted to three, strode to the front door, took a deep breath and opened it. But the only things in the driveway were my Toyota and the trash can. The cameraman had left.