“Wow.” My faux shock delivered well, but I wasn’t surprised. I had pegged Neena for a cheater from the very beginning. And while Matt played the clueless husband to perfection, no one was that dense. We all had our instincts. He had to have known, at some point in his marriage, that he was playing the fool.
“I have all of the text messages between them,” he confessed. “The detective is giving them to me. And the call logs. In case you want them.”
“That’s nice of you. And of the detective.” I glanced at him. “Is that normal? Sharing all that?”
“I don’t know. They—” He reached into the Chex mix and grabbed a handful, then offered me the bowl. I shook my head. “They are kind of putting this in my hands. They can’t—at least not yet—find proof of a connection between the shooter and Neena, especially since they don’t have any idea who the shooter is.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, they’re putting it in your hands?”
“The next steps. We have a meeting with the district attorney tomorrow to discuss my options.”
“You and Neena?”
“No, me and Detective Cullen.” He glanced at me. “I was wondering if you could come.”
I hesitated. “Would that be appropriate? I’m not sure—”
“It’d be nice to have a friendly face there. Someone I trust. I ...” He paused, as if he were trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through this. Right alongside me. Maybe not last night, but with you going to the hospital for poisoning, I think we’re about even.” He gave me a weak smile, and I returned the gesture.
I wanted to be there when they decided her fate. Desperately. Still, I feigned apprehension. “Honestly, I’m not sure Detective Cullen would even let me—”
“Cat,” he chided, “if there’s anyone in town they’d bend a rule for, it’d be you.”
“Me or William,” I said quietly, my gaze floating around the bar as I killed a dozen seconds of time. “Okay,” I said as reluctantly as I could, “I’ll come.”
CHAPTER 48
NEENA
Ten hours after a police car took me from my own home, I stepped outside the cab and stared at our house. The porch light was on, illuminating the bright-yellow tape that stretched between each column and to stakes in the yard. I stepped forward, my tennis shoes crunching across the gravel as I hefted my purse over my aching shoulder.
It should be a crime to be this exhausted, my emotions and body stretched beyond reasonable limits. Ten hours of waiting, of questions, of explaining my story over and over again. Constant accusations and photos and speculation and lies. Ten hours that had convinced me that someone was behind all this and out to get me. As I trudged up the steps, my purse slipped off one shoulder and knocked against my knee. I managed the final step and staggered to the front door. I tried the handle, which didn’t give. I jabbed at the doorbell and considered finding my keys, buried somewhere in the bottom of my purse.
I peered in the door’s glass cutouts, the interior dark. Matthadto be here. I opened the top of my purse and flinched when the heavy door moved, swinging inward, the porch light spotlighting a thin sliver that revealed my husband.
I flinched at the sight of Matt, his eyes bloodshot, his hair wild. He looked like he hadn’t shaved today, his paunchy cheeks covered in a fine layer of stubble. His T-shirt, a baggy graphic tee that I could have sworn I’d thrown out, boasted the wordsDon’t Be A, followed by a photo of a rooster and a lollipop. I hated that stupid shirt. He’d picked it up at a cheap tourist shop on Duval Street and insisted on wearing it on the cruise ship home, despite my staunch opposition to the garment.
So, this was the path he was taking. A childish T-shirt and making me get a taxi home. I pinned him with a look and went to step inside. He didn’t budge, his body blocking the doorway.
I glared at him. “Are you going tomove?”
“You have ten minutes to get anything you need out of the house.” He spoke slowly, his words slurring. “Any longer and I’ll have that officer escort you out.” He pointed to one of the police cars parked on the edge of our drive, its parking lights dimmed.
I gawked at him. He was the one who had thrown me under the bus, he was the one who had given them the code to the safe, yet he was throwing me out? “Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea what I’vebeenthrough in the last twenty-four hours? I had to take ataxihere. Why aren’t you answering my calls?”
“I loved you.” He wilted a little against the doorframe, but he would forgive me for the affair. He just needed some time. Some soothing. A reminder of how much he loved and needed me.
“Move out of the way.” I pushed forward, using my shoulder to force him back. My purse strap caught on the door handle, and I yanked, almost tripping over Matt in an attempt to get fully inside the door. “What are you—” I shoved off him and made it to my feet. “What’swrongwith you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” He gripped the door with one hand and slung it closed with a ferocity that shook the entire wall. “You hired someoneto kill me.”
“Oh my God.” I threaded my arms across my chest, watching as he thudded past me and into the kitchen. I followed him, pulling on his arm. “Matt. You can’t honestly believe that.”
“I believe it,” he sputtered. “You patheticwhore.”
My mouth gaped, and there was a full moment where I couldn’t even formulate a reaction. Matt didn’t speak toanyonelike that, much less me. I couldn’t think of a time he’d ever said anything remotely rude to me. He knew better. Yet now, after everything I’d been through, had been accused of, he was making it worse. I swallowed. “You never called Mitchell, did you?”
It had been so embarrassing, expecting to see our attorney and then having a public defender walk in. The man had taken ages to appear and hadn’t known anything about me or Matt or our history. Mitchell would have known I was innocent. Mitchell knew me. I could have told Mitchell everything and not sounded like a ... a ...a pathetic whore.