Page 22 of The Perfect Divorce

The door swings open, and Sheriff Hudson and a female deputy walk in. She’s much smaller than him. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, and her mouth forms a hard line like she’s got something to prove. They must have some sort of good cop–bad cop routine going on.

“Thanks for coming in to speak with us, Mr. Miller,” Hudson says, slapping a folder down on the table. “This is my colleague Chief Deputy Olson.” He gestures to the woman wearing the scowl. That’s the one who called me.

“It’s no problem at all, Sheriff Hudson, and it’s nice to meet you, Chief Deputy Olson.” I nod at both of them as they take their seats across from me.

When neither Hudson nor Olson speaks, I add, “And I assume this is about the Kelly Summers case.”

The two of them exchange a look, narrowing their eyes slightly before returning their attention to me. I can tell by their expressions that I’ve already made more than one mistake. I shouldn’t be here... because I know now this isn’t about Kelly Summers.

“No.” Sheriff Hudson furrows his brow. “Why would we call you in for that?”

Shit.

My shirt collar suddenly feels too tight around my neck. A bead of sweat trickles down my back, and I tense, trying to keep from squirming at the sensation.My heart rate hastens. I can feel it in my wrist, beating against this cold metal table. I need to pivot, and I need to do it fast. Readying myself to go into full lawyer mode, I clear my throat and my mind.

“I caught your statement on the news earlier, Sheriff Hudson,” I calmly say. “With the investigation reopened, I assumed I would be reinterviewed, since I had known the victim. I will note, my alibi was verified, and Iwascleared of any involvement in her murder, but I understand you need to get your ducks in a row,as they say, so that’s why I figured I was called in.”

“Nope.” Hudson slightly shakes his head. “Don’t need anything there, but good to know for the future in case wedohave some questions.” He flips open the folder, removing the photo on top and sliding it across the table. “Do you recognize this woman?”

The photograph is of an attractive woman in her midtwenties with long red hair, high cheekbones, and plump lips. She looks familiar, very familiar. But I can’t place her. My brain is finding her in figments and waves, a blur in the background of memories but nothing solid. And nothing solid means...

“Not that I can recall,” I say, pushing the photo toward them.

“You can’t recall?” Chief Deputy Olson asks.

“No, I can’t.”

She raises a brow at my answer like she’s judging me for it. “From what we’ve heard,” Olson says, “you two are friends. One might even say closer than friends. Why don’t you take another look?” She slides the photograph back to me.

I squint, my eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. Then, I drop my gaze, reexamining it, taking in every detail. A smattering of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Her skin bronzed from what I assume is a spray tan. A silver necklace with a letterSpendant that rests against the center of her chest, just below her collarbone. I’ve seen it before. A memory stored somewhere deep inside my brain resurfaces. It’s that necklace... the cold pendant brushing against my cheek. Her long, soft hair cascading all around my face as she rode me fast and hard. I quickly blink it away.

Shit.Another mistake. This is the woman I slept with, and I’ve just told them I don’t recognize her. How do I backtrack? Explain that I was blackout drunk when she and I were... together and that I don’t remember her.Wait.Why are they asking me about her? I try to keep my composure, maintain a neutral expression. But every muscle in my face is twitching. I wonder if they notice it. My eyes swing between them. The female deputy wears a look of disgust like she’s staring at a pile of rotting garbage rather than the prestigious lawyer I am. Something happened to the woman in the photo, and it’s clear they think I had something to do with it.

“So, are you sticking with you don’t recognize this woman?” Hudson lifts his chin. “Or do you have something to tell us?”

It might be time to lawyer up. Even lawyers need lawyers. But I have to know what exactly they’re accusing me of or what they think I’m involved in.

“I recognize her necklace,” I finally land on. It’s the truth. It’s what jogged my memory, and I’m not technically backtracking or changing my story with that answer.

“From where?” Olson asks.

I swallow hard as the memory of that night resurfaces. Her hot, sweaty skin pressed against mine. Her moans and cries as I thrust up into her. The silver pendant swinging above my head, lightly tapping my face. My tongue touching the cold metal as it slipped into my mouth when I was close to coming. I can practically taste its metallic tang right now. I have to disclose the one-night stand I had with this woman because they’re going to find out one way or another. From the sounds of it, they already know and they’re just waiting to see if I’ll tell them the truth.

“I had a one-night stand with this woman a few weeks back. Other than that, I don’t know her. It only happened once, and I was drunk. I barely remember it, and I don’t remember her. But... I do remember that necklace.” My voice is emotionless as though I’m stating a series of facts. I keep direct eye contact with Hudson to convey I’m telling the truth. He’s the one in charge, so he’s the one I need to get through to. The other one already despises me anyway.

Olson leans forward in her chair. “Her name is Stacy Howard,” she says with a hard tone.

I briefly look at her and then to Hudson. There’s no point in responding. It doesn’t matter what her name is. The only thing that matters to me is why I’m here, sitting in this interrogation room.

“When was the last time you had contact with her?” Hudson asks.

“Three weeks ago.”

He cocks his head. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“Interesting,” Olson says. “Because we’ve heard otherwise.” She pulls a piece of paper from the folder and places it in front of me. It’s a screenshot of a text conversation.

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