Page 18 of The Widow's Husband's Secret Lie
“You mean Willie, your houseman?”
“That’s right.” I’m not surprised that the police have already looked into our houseman, which means they have no doubt discovered his dark past. “We hired Willie as a recommendation from another family, so I didn’t do a background check. I should have. I never would have hired Willie if I’d known… that he had a prison record.”
That’s a lie. When we hired Willie, I told Grant that I had done a background check, and that was the truth. I’d discovered his prison record, and that was the very reason I hired him—so that if there was any suspicion about Grant’s death, it would fall on our ex-con houseman.
“But I never thought he would hurt Grant.” I allow tears to spring to my eyes, laying it on thick. “And besides, despite the terrible thing he did, he put in his time.”
“He did do a terrible thing,” the detective says.
“I’ve never met anyone who had over thirty overdue library books before.” I grab a tissue from the box on the table and dab at my eyes. “I mean, two or three, yes, I can see how that could happen. Over ten would be bad enough. But overthirty?”
“I know.” He sighs. “It’s the sort of thing you only see once in a lifetime as a cop, and you hope to never see it again.”
I sniffle. “How does such a thing happen? I had no idea he was such a… amonster. He’s clearly capable of anything.” Which was exactly why I chose him.
“Yes, I was suspicious too,” Mancini says. “That’s why I checked him out. And it turns out Willie has an airtight alibi for the day your husband was killed.”
My heart does a jumping jack inside my chest. “He… he does?”
He nods. “Yes. He was playing in a Quidditch tournament all day up in Vermont. It was filmed. There’s no way he could have been responsible for Grant’s accident.”
“What?”
“It’s true.”
“Wait. So Quidditch is an actualsport?” I ask incredulously. “And theyfilmit?”
“That’s right, Mrs. Lockwood,” he says solemnly.
“Do they use broomsticks?”
“They do.”
I had no idea about any of this. I thought Willie would take the fall for Grant’s murder, and I would be off the hook. His airtight alibi of competing in a Quidditch match is bad news. But on the plus side, I no longer suffer from any attraction to him.
“Anyway…” Detective Mancini rises to his feet. “I won’t take up any more of your time, then, Mrs. Lockwood. If we have any more information, I will let you know.”
And then, just like that, he’s done questioning me. I was certain this would end with me being led from the house in handcuffs, but he doesn’t even seem all that suspicious. Thank God they never bothered to check the brakes in the car after the accident for some reason.
I follow the detective to the front door. I am almost weak with relief that he doesn’t seem to be suspicious of me and is simply leaving without further discussion. This is finally over, and I’ll never have to worry about it again. He places his hand on the doorknob, and just as he’s about to turn it, he hesitates.
“Just one more question, Mrs. Lockwood,” he says.
“Okay…”
He digs into the pocket of his trench coat and pulls out a Polaroid photo, which he holds out to me. It appears to be a picture of the inside of Grant’s wrecked Mercedes, apparently taken before it was compressed into a cube.
“Tell me.” he says. “What color is this dress?”
My stomach sinks. I stare at the photo, noticing now that there is a torn dress lying across the back seat of the car. “What?” I manage.
Mancini smiles sheepishly. “I found this photo in your husband’s file, taken from the scene of the accident. And me and the guys at the department can’t stop arguing over it. I assume the dress was yours. What color is it? Is it blue and black, or is it gold and white?”
My mouth is too dry to even speak. I part my lips, but no words come out.
“We were just curious,” he says.
“It was…” I lick my lips to moisten them. “White and gold, actually.”
