Page 58 of Such a Good Wife

“Yes.” I smile, playing into his assumption.

“Did you discuss a book this time?”

“Does a story in People magazine about whether or not Kate Middleton got a new nose count as a book?” I say, and Collin laughs. He sits next to me while he unbuttons his shirt and pushes each shoe off with the other heel. He kisses my check.

“You can just use them for research for your novel. Call it Suburban Wildlife.”

“I like it,” I say, and he picks up his shoes and goes into the en suite bathroom to shower. I go in behind him to brush my teeth. In the mirror, I can see his reflection inside the glass panels of the shower. The steam obstructs my view a little, but I feel a heat rising inside me, watching the soapy water slide down his skin and drop into foamy peaks on the shower floor.

Part of my sudden longing for him is remorse, but much of it is the same attraction and feeling of safety and desire we’ve always felt with one another. I undress and slide into the shower behind him, caressing my hands around his slippery chest. He’s surprised, but leans into me as I touch him. He turns and kisses me, passionately. It almost feels like new love, and I realize that I’ve been neglecting him. He seems almost grateful for my initiating.

When we finish, I lay awake thinking about how I will create a fake Facebook account to friend Valerie, so I can see who she really is and how present Luke is in her documented online history. She has two thousand plus friends, and now that I know we have a mutual friend in common, she probably wouldn’t think twice about accepting a request from me as long as I take on a male persona. I can piece one together from stock photos and take my chances.

I try hard to sleep, but I toss and turn. I wonder what it might mean that Joe and Valerie know one another. How? It seems a little too convenient that her alibi involves an event where Joe is also present. She thought she’d get money if Luke died. She didn’t know until he was already dead that he’d changed his will and made sure she didn’t. She must be pretty proud of herself for this photo, proving she wasn’t there. I could just about guarantee that the same photo is displayed, boastfully, on her page, just to make sure it’s loud and clear.

My first thought when I found out that they knew one another was that she’d offered to give him a cut of whatever she got if he helped her get rid of Luke. There’s no question that she would have needed someone on the inside to help—someone with the connections she’d need to cover something up. And it’s also clear that he has no problem abusing his badge to do whatever serves him in the moment. He gets away with it.

But I guess none of that can be true because they’re both in the photo on that night. The problem is, I don’t trust a coincidence this big.

***

24

ON MONDAY MORNING, with everyone away at work and school, I decide to run some errands downtown. Ralph tries to jump into the backseat when I open the car to put my bag down, so I grab his leash, deciding a walk will be good for me. After I finish the mundane task of dropping off dry cleaning and stopping at the post office, I take Ralph around the town center streets. He stops every few feet to sniff something unseen yet fascinating to him. I let him pull me along in fits and starts, not paying much attention.

We pass the little library, rows of small businesses that used to be houses now converted into Knotty Knitters sewing shop and Ye Olde Creamery ice cream parlor, and then a place I used to park to go and see Luke. I dismiss a stitch of guilt trying to rise up and keep walking.

We come up to the quaint police headquarters, which are housed in a small brick building, with eighteenth-century Spanish architecture and wrought iron balconies on the second floor. I always thought it was too pretty to be a police station. Ralph stops right in front to pee on a bed of pale pink snapdragons, and I gaze toward the parking lot on the side of the station. Luke’s truck is parked there. An electric surge of hot panic runs through me. Valerie is there. Why? Why would she tell them what she has on me if she knows she can still get money out of me? All the intangible scraps of thoughts that haunted my dreams as I fell into a hard, fitful sleep last night are coming back to me.

I don’t care if Joe Brooks is posed in a very public photo the night of the murder. Just because it was posted at 9:23 doesn’t mean it was taken then. I have no way to know when it was taken. Luke lives minutes from that downtown venue where the event is always held. Either of them could have left the party for a while and slipped back in. There would be way too many people for someone to really leave unnoticed. Especially—my knuckles go white as I think of it—especially if they were there together. They might be one another’s alibi. There would be nobody else, like a date or someone, to miss them if they left for a while.

She had everything to gain, and she’d need help. He has all the connections and clout to never be suspected, and he could protect her. If this overwhelming hunch is right, Joe isn’t just casually questioning me. He could be planning to pin this on me. I need to get them before they get me.

I imagine him meeting her at that putrid motel later that night, after I gave her the money, and they probably splurged my Birkin bag spoils on expensive booze and had lewd sex, celebrating what they’d gotten away with—and what they are about to get away with. I can’t let that happen.

I hadn’t thought of the library before. Probably because coming up with sneaky, devious plots to cover up the lies I’ve told has not come second nature to me until now. I hook Ralph’s leash to a sprinkler spout in a shady spot on the ground and run into the library. The computers are open to the public, so it’s better to do this here than use my own IP address.

It’s only $19.99 to buy a background check on someone, but when I pull up Valerie’s file, there isn’t much to see. It mostly just gives criminal background information. It’s not that I expected prior arrests for money laundering or fraud, but that would have been nice to see, of course—to have some leverage, something to keep in my back pocket. The only record she has is traffic related—a few petty moving violations, and one DWI. I click on it. It shows that she was arrested on that offense locally. It was only about six months ago. I wonder if Joe happened to be the arresting officer, if that’s how she came to know him. I can’t find that information out. I see her address is in New Orleans. I write it down with a tiny golf pencil sitting on the computer table and shove it in my coat pocket.

Then I open Facebook and create an account. I call myself Dylan Bisset for no real reason other than we used to have a guinea pig named Dylan and so it was the first thing to come to mind. I type a fake email address and it won’t let me continue until I confirm via email. Shit. Now I have to bring up Gmail and create a new account there first. Dylan_Bisset1978_ gets green-lighted after I try a few variations. I go back to Facebook, type in the new email, go back to the email, accept “terms and conditions” and confirm, and I’m in.

I can’t steal the photo of someone I actually know because it might be linked back, so I just type hot guys into Google Images, and thousands of options materialize. I cut and paste the photo of a guy who looks around my age, not too model-esque, but not a photo that will scream sleazebag either. I don’t know how to populate a history of posts to show that it’s not a fake account. All I can do is make an initial post:

Well, I said I’d never do it, but my friends finally got me to sign up for this. Prove me wrong, Facebook, Dylan says. A good reason for being a newbie.

I’m pleased with myself for making it sound like a legitimate first post. Then I shamelessly friend request as many people as I can before I have to go. It’s amazing how “people you may know” suggestions are abundant, even for a totally made-up person. Before I log off, seven people have accepted my request. Bingo. I add Valerie Ellison, and hope for the best, but I’ll need to come back to see if she’s accepted. I can’t do this from my own devices.

Outside, Ralph leaps to his feet and runs in circles as I approach him. I scratch his ears and walk him back to the car. Luke’s truck is gone. Yesterday, my first thought would be that she’s back from New Orleans because they wanted to question her further. Now I think she’s here for very different reasons.

***

25

“GILLIAN AND ROBERT ARE FIGHTING,” I say to Collin over dinner that night. I need a reason to get out of the house and investigate, and so I tell a half-truth because they were fighting. I don’t really know why I grasp for this when I am about to deceive him. Again. He stabs at a steaming baked potato with his fork.

“Aren’t they always fighting?” he asks, resuming the conversation.

“Who’s fighting?” Ben asks, wide-eyed. He mostly completely ignores adult conversation and stays lost in his art and coloring books, but he often surprises us and has been paying attention to a conversation we weren’t careful enough to have had out of earshot.

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