Page 10 of Skeletons in the Closet

Faye sniffled again on the recording, and I recalled her toying with the used tissue, wringing it in her hands, chin quivering, cheeks damp with tears. “They wanted to talk to Noah. He stepped out on the porch and spoke with them for about ten minutes, then they left. When I asked what they wanted, he said it was nothing. We got in a major fight because the police don’t show up at your house for no good reason. I’m not an idiot. It didn’t matter. Noah stormed off and locked himself in the bathroom. I told you my husband wasn’t a shouter. Well, that changed too. He shouted about everything now. His anger was out of control.”

A long pause ensued. On the recording, my mumbled voice could be heard coaxing Faye to go on.

Tallus huffed a laugh and motioned to the machine. “It’s good to know I’m not the only one you can’t talk to. PS, does this woman ever get to the point?”

I didn’t have time to respond—not that I knew how—when Faye continued. “Then, two weeks after the police made their random house call, Noah was dead. I came home from work oneafternoon and found him on the couch, swimming in a pool of vomit, liquor bottles surrounding him, and an empty orange pill bottle I’d never seen before—no label—on the ground. He was cold and dead. I’d never seen a dead body before. It gave me shivers. I called the ambulance because I didn’t know what to do.”

Shuffling—me—and coughing—Faye—came through the speaker. “The police deemed it suicide. The autopsy confirmed it was the hydrocodone mixed with alcohol that killed him. Had he vomited more, he might have saved himself. I guess that happens sometimes with people who take pills to kill themselves. Didn’t save my husband, though.” A long pause again. “Mr. Krause, I want to know why.”

Tallus leaned over the desk and hit the Stop button again before massaging his temple. “Please tell me she isn’t seriously asking you to figure outwhyher husband killed himself? That’s ridiculous.”

“Listen.” I moved to hit Play, but Tallus grabbed my wrist.

His warm fingers and the contact were unexpected.

I froze, fighting the urge to yank free.

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I… Just listen.”

Tallus didn’t exactly roll his eyes, but it was close. He let go of my arm and gestured for me to go ahead and let the recorder play. I mashed the button with relief.

Faye spoke. “I know, I know. You’re thinking, Faye Willard is an idiot.”

Tallus dramatically nodded along. “Yes, Faye, I am,” he said under his breath.

My cheek twitched at the sarcasm.

Tallus caught the almost smile, grinned, winked, and pointed at my face. “Careful, Guns. I saw that.”

I looked away.

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Krause. Once Noah’s funeral was taken care of and life settled, I was antsy. Work gave me extra time off, but I didn’t know what to do with myself. So, to keep my mind off the fact that my husband took his own life out of the blue, I cleaned like a mad woman. I’m not the tidiest person. Noah would always get on me about how slobbish I was. Like he had ever washed a dish in his life. But I didn’t know what to do with myself. That’s when I found stuff.”

Tallus’s impatient knee jiggling stilled, and his brows rose. A spark of interest shimmered in his hazel eyes. Now we were getting to the good stuff.

We shared a glance before Faye continued.

“Under Noah’s side of the mattress, I found a pearl-handled .22 caliber revolver. Loaded. In the desk drawer in his office, I found a 9mm pistol. A Glock something or other. I can’t remember the proper name. I looked it up because I don’t speak guns. Noah didn’t either, so you can understand my shock. It too was loaded. In the glove box of his car, I found another gun. Also loaded. Mr. Krause, my husband hated guns. They freaked him out. It was one of those things we’d talked about in the past. So when I found three hidden in my house, you can understand my confusion. I went through the filing cabinet in his office. Noah was meticulously organized, unlike me. I was frantic, but finding permits for all the weapons didn’t take long. They were datedafterthat fucking woman—pardon my French—first came to my house.”

Faye stabbed a finger on the desk, and the sound was amplified in the recording. Atap, tap, tap. “This is not a coincidence, Mr. Krause. I don’t know what transpired between that woman andmyhusband, but I have a bad feeling she wasa… a… I don’t know. Mistress? Is that the correct word? I’d much rather call her a fucking whore, but I’m trying to be polite. I think he was cheating or had cheated. I think she threatened to expose him. Or maybe her husband found out. I know she scared him. Whatever the ordeal was with the police, I think it was part of it too. Call it a hunch. Maybe she got a restraining order. I don’t know. When Noah died, I inquired about that police visit, but no one knew anything. I’m telling you, Mr. Krause, Noah wasn’t unstable until she came along. He was never suicidal. Now he’s dead, and I want to know what happened.”

I hit Stop. The rest wasn’t important. Tallus was right. Faye was long-winded, and she’d gone on for another forty minutes before I’d managed to shut her up and ship her out the door.

I unlocked my iPad and found the Notes app. “Olivia Lansky.”

“The mysterious woman?” Tallus unfolded his legs and drew the chair closer to the desk, peering at the tablet when I set it down.

“Yes.” I turned the device so he could see the screen.

“Olivia Lansky,” he read. “Thirty-three years old. Lives on Botfield Avenue. Married Paul Lansky in twenty seventeen. Two kids under five. Julia and Germany. Who the hell names their kid Germany?” It must have been rhetorical since Tallus didn’t wait for a response. “CEO for Challuah Designs Inc. What is that?”

“Fashion company.”

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