Page 20 of Remember Me

“Good for you. There’s nothing like getting your woman knocked up.”

I’m put off by his words but choose to say nothing.

“Was Skye a good mother?”

“Yes, but she spent too much time working. She didn’t even take a maternity leave.”

“Oh, by the way, my wife was a big fan of her news segments. Sorry about your loss.”

“Thanks,” I say humbly, noticing the simple gold band on his ring finger that resembles mine. A pang of envy shoots through me. Lucky bastard has a wife.

“Did it bother you that she was making a mid-six-figure income while you were a struggling artist?”

As the detective’s eyes again dart to a painting, I ponder his question. Yeah, sure it bothered me. Not because I was jealous, but because it made me feel inadequate at times. I didn’t like her being the principal breadwinner all these years, springing for allthe luxuries we had in our life, but it never seemed to bother her. Holding back my thoughts, I simply answer no.

His eyes stayed fixed on the painting. One of the few figurative ones.

“Say, is that a portrait of your wife?”

“Yeah.” My wedding present to her. It pains me to look at it. I’ve considered taking it down.

“I don’t know much about art, but you seem rather talented to me.” He turns to his partner. “What d’ya think, Mancuso?”

His partner shrugs. He chews his gum as Billings continues.

“Are you aware your wife had a five million dollar life insurance policy?”

I flinch, unable to contain my surprise or the shock in my voice. “No. She never mentioned that to me.”

The grating detective stuffs his face with more of the cake, then gulps it down. “You know a lot of people would kill to get their hands on a boatload of money like that.”

His words rattle me. Rage rises in my chest. “What are you saying?”

“We have reason to believe your wife was murdered.”

At his unexpected words, my heart drops to my stomach. My mouth goes dry as I process them. It takes me several moments to have the wherewithal to respond. Just one word pours out.

“What?!” My mouth stays open, my jaw hangs low.

“Several witnesses saw your wife speeding down Mulholland, being chased by an SUV. A couple of teenagers, who were hanging out on one of the outlooks, thought they heard gunshots.”

I’m stunned into silence as he continues, his partner quietly taking notes.

“In our investigation, we found some bullet shells along Mulholland.”

“Jesus,” I mutter.

“You know, with that hefty life insurance policy—”

With anger in my voice, loud enough to wake Maddie, I cut him off. “You think I killed my wife?”It’s always the husband.

“Where were you that night?”

“I was here. Watching the baby.”

“Do you have anyone who can back that up?”

“Yeah, my wife. But that’s not going to help, is it?”

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