Page 67 of The Wife

I had just hung up when my cell phone rang again. The screen read “Colin Home.” I was about to decline the call until I realized how much I wanted to hear his voice.

“Hey.”

“We need to talk—” The voice wasn’t Colin’s. Of course, Jason had gone to his best friend’s apartment.

“I said I needed some time. An hour isn’t time.”

“Angela—”

“Don’t call me. I will call you when I’m ready. If you call me before then, I’ll know you don’t respect what I want.”

I thought about the way Colin looked at me only hours earlier, when I told him as he left that I didn’t want him ever to mention what happened between us unless I brought it up first. It was a look of acceptance. He understood that I knew things about myself that he did not. I had just made a similar request of Jason.

I turned my phone off, then reached over to his nightstand and turned his off for good measure.

42

Corrine pounded on the Powells’ front door again. What kind of people don’t have a bell or a knocker for a house this size? She made herself comfortable on the stoop steps and pulled the rubber band from theNew York Timessitting on the welcome mat. It was nearly three o’clock. Someone would show up eventually.

She had skimmed the front-page headlines when she heard locks tumbling behind her. Rising from the steps, she turned to find Angela Powell in checkered pajama pants and a Stanford sweatshirt.

“Sorry, I assumed you’d be up.”

“Migraine.”

“Oh, the worst. Apple cider vinegar with honey. It does the trick for me. I did try to call first.”

Angela didn’t bother to mask her disinterest. “So when I didn’t answer, you just came over instead of contacting our lawyer?”

“I told you before, Olivia Randall’s not your lawyer. She’s Jason’s.”

“Well, in case you haven’t heard, the criminal case is on pause.”

Angela started to close the door, but Corrine extended her arm. “That’s the litigation, Mrs. Powell. Police can still investigate cases. Especially new cases.”

Angela inched the door open farther, but still didn’t allow Corrine to enter.

“Is your husband home?”

“No. He’s working to keep his clients despite being falsely accused of a heinous crime.”

“And was he working last night?”

“He was here.”

“You were with him?”

“How else would I know unless I was with him?” Angela sounded proud, as if she had outwitted an adversary. “Our friend brought over a huge bag of food for the day. Thanks to you people, we can’t even show our faces around New York City these days.”

“What friend?”

“Colin Harris. He brought takeout from Gotham. Call the restaurant. There was enough for lunch and dinner. What’s this about?”

“Kerry Lynch is missing.”

For the first time since she opened the door, Angela paused, allowing the words to register as she formulated her comeback. “Maybe she realized that she was about to be exposed as a liar framing an innocent man to cover up for a company that does business with warlords.”

“That’s a harsh allegation about a missing woman.”

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