Page 41 of Little Last Words

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the wall like he was recalling a memory. “You have any idea what it’s like for the person you love to up and leave you in the middle of the night, take your child, and not bother telling you where they’re going?”

“I don’t.”

“Worst feeling in the world.”

“Why do you think she left?” I asked.

“Been asking myself the same question. All I can come up with is that she didn’t want to argue anymore.”

“What did you argue about?”

“When I think about it now, it all seems so stupid. I’d come home from work after a ten-hour day, and the dishes wouldn’t be loaded into the dishwasher. The house wouldn’t be clean, the bed wouldn’t be made. I don’t need things to be perfect, but I don’t like a mess either.”

A mess.

His description of Penelope’s cleaning habits, or lack thereof, didn’t match the interior of the house she’d lived in when she died. It was immaculate. Not a single item was out of place.

“I feel like you’re describing someone else,” I said. “I’ve been inside the house she was living in before she died. It was pristine.”

He grunted a laugh. “Oh, no. I’m describing her all right. The house being clean had nothing to do with Penelope. I’d be willing to bet her mother hired a housekeeper. Can’t have her princess dirtying her nails when she could be spending the day getting pampered at the spa like every other rich, self-entitled woman.”

The more I learned about him, the more I realized how much he abhorred the upper class. Was it because he hadn’t come from money as she had?

Or was it something else?

“What makes you think Angelica hired a housekeeper?” I asked.

“Because she sent one over to our place after we got married. I wouldn’t have it. There’s nothing wrong with rolling up your sleeves and picking up after yourself. Penelope had two jobs—raising our daughter and tidying up. She had plenty of time on her hands, so I don’t get why keeping the house clean seemed so hard.”

“When you voiced your concerns, what did Penelope say?” I asked.

“She got angry.”

“And then?”

“I got angrier.”

“I can’t imagine your relationship ended because of an unkempt house. There must be more to it.”

“Yeah, well …” He wiped his brow. “I don’t want to talk about all that other stuff.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t. Okay?”

“You need to talk about it so I have the full picture.”

He crossed one leg over the other. “I think … I mean, Iknowwhy she left. She was talking to someone else.”

“Who?”

“An old boyfriend from Cambria.”

“You have a name?”

“Sure do. Zachary Sandler.”

“How do you know she was talking to him?” I asked.

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