Page 59 of I'm Not Done with You Yet

“Yeah?” she says, and it comes out like a challenge, like,Yeah? You think so, do you? Well, you have another think coming.“What time’s your flight?”

Ted comes up to the door, standing just behind me. “Hi, I’m Ted. Jane’s husband.”

“Detective Howe.” They shake hands.

“Is everything okay here?” Ted says, and I feel the old irritation starting to scrape at my nerves. He’s doing that thing again, inserting himself where he’s not needed, playing at being The Man of the Household. I remind myself that he’s probably doing this to reassure me, to remind me that he’s on my side. But I bristle anyway, because I’m used to not having anyone on my side.

I expect Detective Howe to say yes, of course everything’s okay, but instead, she says, “We have a few follow-up questions for you, Jane. Can you come back with us to the station? It would be really helpful if you did. It would only take an hour.”

“But we’re flying out—” Ted says.

“I can spare an hour to answer some questions,” I say. I don’t know what made me say that, except that I feel an urgent, overwhelming need to show that I’m trustworthy, that I’m here to help. Good old Plain Jane, always here to help! I desperately need to prove that I’m innocent, and to do that I must surely agree with anything and everything they ask of me.

“Great.”

“Just let me grab my stuff first.”

“Of course.”

I go back into the room and shove random things into my purse, half in a daze. I keep having that out-of-body sensation like I’m floating above myself and wondering,How would an innocent person behave? What would an innocent person bring to the police station for an interview?Which is strange, because I am an innocent person, so I shouldn’t need to think about this. I’m vaguely aware of Ted fussing around me, asking things like, “Are you sure this is a good idea? Should I call a lawyer?”

“Only guilty people need lawyers,” I bite out.

Ted stops short. “That’s not—I don’t think that’s true. I—”

“I’ll be fine.” Maybe the last two days have been a dream after all. It’s surprisingly easy to slip back into the old ways, wearing my resentment at him like an old sweater, wrapping it tight around me. I don’t give him a second glance before walking out the door. I can feel the hurt radiating from him in thick, slow waves, and it’s a relief when the door finally clicks shut, cutting me off from Ted’s gaze. I let out my breath.

“Thanks for agreeing to come with us,” Detective Howe says.

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything. Never mind my stomach, everything inside me is knotted up, even my muscles. It’s almost next to impossible for me to keep walking. I’mactually relieved when we get out of the hotel and her car’s right outside, a gray, nondescript sedan. I’d been half expecting a black-and-white police car with flashing lights, Howe placing her hand on my head as she “helped” me into the car. But nothing like that happens. I get in normally, like I’m sliding into an Uber.

The station, at least, is reminiscent of TV police stations, all gray walls and stark fluorescent lights and a dozen cops going about their day, filing paperwork, talking to one another. A couple of them are walking some guy in handcuffs in, and the sight puts me on edge. Howe waves and greets other officers and leads me into a room marked as “Interview Room 4.”

“Can I get you a drink? Coffee, tea? Coke?”

I shake my head. I just want to get this over with. “I’m fine.”

“Great. Have a seat and let me just...” She takes out her phone and then pauses. “It’s okay if I record this, yeah?”

That catches me off guard. The way she asked that, so casually, like it’s something she’s just remembered at the last minute. “Yeah.” It’s not like I could say no.

She unlocks her phone and calls up the voice recording app. Presses the big red button. “Okay, great. I’m Detective Tricia Howe, speaking with Jane Morgan. Can you confirm that’s your name?”

I nod, and she says, “Can you please give me verbal confirmation that your name is Jane Morgan?”

“Oh, yes. It’s Jane Morgan.” My stomach lurches unpleasantly. This feels way too official for what I was prepared for.

She gives me an encouraging smile. “So first of all, thank you for coming to the station with me, Jane.”

I press my lips together, wondering what to say to that. It’s not like she’s asked me a question.

“I’d like to go over a few more details about what happened at Montauk.”

I nod. “Sure.”

“So you said that Thalia Ashcroft invited you to this retreat?”

“Yes.”

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