“Technically, nothing belongs to you,” Loren said. “Your name wasn’t on anything, so Jacky was able to do whatever the hell he wanted. And he did. Without ever letting you know.”
He was right, she realized. Jacky had always taken care of everything, all the finances, all the paperwork, and she’d never been involved. Not once. She’d never known how much money they had, how things were going, but it had always been easy to believe that everything was fine, because it always seemed to be, and she’d never questioned anything as long as her credit cards still worked and her checks still cleared without issues. He’d bought the house without her, as a surprise, and he’d always gone to the car dealership alone. The only paper she’d ever signed with Jacky was her marriage license, and that’s all he’d needed to bring her up in the world, then tear her down so low.
“But the diners—” she started, but then paused. She hadn’t set foot in any of them since Jacky’s arrest, had never even called to check on them. There’d been so many other things to deal with, and Jacky had assured her that he had the managers running things, that she didn’t have a single thing to worry about. I’ll be out of here before you know it, he’d told her during one of their visits at the county jail. You don’t have to lift one finger. Don’t worry. “Are they gone too?”
“Yes,” said the young cop, shooting her a pitying look. She could’ve killed him for it.
“Who bought the house? And the diners?” she asked. “I’ll buy them all back. They’re mine.”
She regretted saying the words as soon as they left her mouth, because she thought—no, she knew, she couldn’t afford to be na?ve, not anymore—she had nothing left. If Jacky had sold the house and the restaurants, all behind her back, of course he would’ve cleaned out their bank accounts too. If she was lucky he might’ve left her enough to live on for a while, but who was she kidding? Jacky was the one in prison, but she might as well have been too, and she’d built it herself, slid every brick into place with her own two hands. A prison built out of complete and utter stupidity.
Sucker, that’s what her father would’ve called her. He would’ve smacked his lips together pleasurably when he said it. A goddamn sucker.
“The diners sold to new owners, and the house was bought by some foundation here in town. They work to improve the quality of life in Denver, and the plan is to destroy the house,” the young cop said. He seemed embarrassed. “Have it leveled completely. I’ve heard talks about a playground being built there. Maybe a community garden.”
“Why would they do that?” she cried.
“Because their check cleared, and they can,” Loren said. “And because people need to forget what happened there.”
“Forget what?” she said. She’d been scrubbing at her mouth with a tissue, meaning to wipe away the lipstick she’d forgotten to apply, and her lower lip had cracked open and begun to bleed.
“They need to forget your husband’s a fucking psychopath.”
“Jacky never hurt anyone in his life.”
“Is that what you think?” Detective Loren said. She glanced at the young cop, wishing that he would speak more, he was so much nicer, but he was standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, watching his partner. “Do you know what your sweet, harmless hubby told us a few weeks ago?”
“No.”
“One of the girls he killed—Beth Howard, I think. Is that right, Paulie?”
The young one shrugged.
“Anyway, this girl, she’s walking home with a bag of groceries. And your husband, kind man that he is, offers her a ride. And she takes it. Maybe it was hot outside and she had a long way to go, or he propositioned her, or she was just a lazy idiot. But we’ll never know.”
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” Gloria said, pulling her purse closer to her body, taking some comfort in its weight.
“So Jacky brings Beth Howard home, where he does what he does. I won’t go into detail—I’m sure you’ve seen the news. You know what he was doing.”
“I didn’t know.” She stopped, cleared her throat. Something is stuck there, hot and heavy, but she’d rather choke to death before asking these men for a drink. “I didn’t know anything.”
“Paulie, you mind getting Mrs. Seever something to wet her whistle?”
The young one ducked out, came right back with a can of Coke. Gloria took it, cupped her hands around the aluminum, but didn’t drink. The can was warm.
“Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Ms. Howard’s dead, and I’m pretty sure everyone agrees that your husband had something to do with it.” She hadn’t thought it possible, but Detective Loren grinned, his lips stretching so far it looked like the top half of his head was ready to topple right off. “Ms. Howard was a kindergarten teacher, by the way. When she went missing, every kid in her class wrote us a letter, because they loved her so much. It was real touching, wasn’t it, Paulie?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” she said stiffly.
“Wait, I have a point. So after Jacky was done with Ms. Howard, do you know what he did?”