“When was the last time she was up?”

He frowned. “What does that have to do with… wait a minute, can I see your badge again?”

Muse took it out. This time he studied it. “You’re county?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I call your office and verify that this is legitimate?”

“Suit yourself.” Muse reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “Here.”

He read it out loud. “Loren Muse, Chief Investigator.”

“Yep.”

“Chief,” he repeated. “What are you, a personal friend of the Lewistons?”

Again Muse wondered if this was a clever act or if Guy Novak was for real.

“Tell me when you last saw your ex-wife.”

He rubbed his chin. “I thought you said this was about the Lewistons.”

“Please just answer my question. When was the last time you saw your ex-wife?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“Why was she here?”

“She came up to visit Yasmin.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Not really. She picked up Yasmin. She promised that she’d have her back by a certain time. Marianne usually keeps to that. She doesn’t like to spend a lot of time with her daughter.”

“Have you spoken to her since?”

“No.”

“Uh-huh. Do you know where she usually stayed when she visited?”

“At the Travelodge near the mall.”

“Are you aware she’s been staying there for the past four nights?” He looked surprised. “She said she was heading to Los Angeles.”

“When did she tell you that?”

“I got an e-mail from her, uh, I don’t know. Yesterday I think.”

“May I see it?”

“The e-mail? I deleted it.”

“Do you know if your ex-wife had a boyfriend?”

Something approaching a sneer crossed his face. “I’m sure she had several but I wouldn’t know about it.”

“Any men in this area?”

“There were men in every area.”

"Any names?”

Guy Novak shook his head. “I wouldn’t know or care.”

“Why so bitter, Mr. Novak?”

“I don’t know if ‘bitter’ is the right word anymore.” He took off his glasses, frowned at some speck of dirt, tried to clean them with his shirt. “I loved Marianne, but she really didn’t earn it. If you’re being kind, you would call her self-destructive. This town bored her. I bored her. Life bored her. She was a serial cheater. She abandoned her own daughter and then became nothing but a source of disappointment. Two years ago Marianne promised Yasmin she’d take her to Disney World. She called me the day before the trip and canceled. No reason.”

“Do you pay alimony or child support?”

“Neither. I have sole custody.”

“Does your ex-wife still have friends in the area?”

“I wouldn’t really know, but I doubt it.”

“How about Reba Cordova?”

Guy Novak thought about that. “They were good friends when Marianne lived here. Very close. I never knew why. The two women couldn’t be more different. But yeah, I mean, if Marianne still kept in touch with anyone in the area, it would probably be Reba.”

“When was the last time you saw Reba Cordova?”

He looked up and to his right. “It’s been a while. I don’t know, maybe a back-to-school night or something.”

If he knew that his ex had been murdered, Muse thought, he was a pretty cool customer.

“Reba Cordova is missing.”

Guy Novak opened his mouth, closed it. “And you think Marianne has something to do with it?”

“Do you?”

“She’s self-destructive. But the key word is ‘self.’ I don’t think she’d hurt anyone else, except maybe her own family.”

“Mr. Novak, I would very much like to talk to your daughter.”

“Why?”

“Because we think that your ex-wife was murdered.”

She said it just like that and waited for the reaction. It was slow in coming. It was as if the words were floating toward him one at a time, and it was taking him a long time to hear and process them. For a few seconds he did nothing. He just stood and stared. Then he made a face like maybe he’d heard wrong.

“I don’t… you thinkshe’s been murdered?”

Muse looked back and nodded. Clarence started toward the door. “We found a body in an alley dressed like a prostitute. Neil Cordova believes that it’s your ex-wife, Marianne Gillespie. What we need you to do, Mr. Novak, is to accompany my colleague Investigator Morrow to the medical examiner’s office so that you can see the body for yourself. Do you understand?”

His tone was numb. “Marianne is dead?”

“We believe so, yes, but that’s why we need your help. Investigator Morrow will take you to the body and ask you a few questions. Your friend Beth can stay with the children. I will be here too. I want to ask your daughter about her mother, if that’s okay?”

“Fine,” he said. And that took a lot of the pressure off him. If he had started hemming and hawing, well, the ex-husband is always a good candidate. Not that she was totally sure that he wasn’t involved. She could have run into another great actor in the league of De Niro or Cordova. But again she doubted it. Either way, Clarence would question him.

Clarence said, “Mr. Novak, you ready?”

“I need to tell my daughter.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” Muse said.

“Excuse me?”

“Like I said, we don’t know for sure. I will ask her questions, but I won’t tell her. I will leave that to you, if it is necessary at all.”

Guy Novak nodded through his daze. “Okay.”

Clarence took his arm and said in the gentlest voice, “Let’s go, Mr. Novak. This way.”

Muse did not bother watching Clarence escort him down the path. She entered and headed into the kitchen. The two little girls sat wide-eyed, pretending to eat popcorn.

One of them asked, “Who are you?”

Muse managed a tight smile. “My name is Loren Muse. I work for the county.”

“Where’s my father?”

“Are you Yasmin?”

“Yes.”

“Your dad is helping one of my officers. He’ll be back. But right now I need to ask you a few questions, okay?”

31

BETSY Hill sat on the floor of her son’s room. She had Spencer’s old cell phone in her hand. The battery was long dead. She just held it and stared at it and wasn’t sure what to do.

The day after her son was found dead, she had found Ron starting to pack away this room-the same way he had packed away Spencer’s kitchen chair. Betsy stopped him in no uncertain terms. There was bend, and there was break; even Ron could see the difference.

For days after the suicide, she would lie on this floor in a fetal position and sob. Her stomach hurt so much. She just wanted to die, that’s all, just let the agony conquer and devour her. But it didn’t. She put her hands on his bed, smoothing the sheets. She stuck her face in his pillow, but the scent was gone.

How could it have happened?

She thought about her conversation with Tia Baye, what it meant, what it ultimately could mean. Nothing really. In the end Spencer was dead. Ron was right on that count. Knowing the truth wouldn’t change that or even help her heal. Knowing the truth wouldn’t give her that damn word “closure,” because, in truth, she didn’t want it. What kind of mother-a mother who had already failed her child in so much-would want to move on, to stop hurting, to be given some kind of pass?

“Hey.”

She looked up. Ron stood in the doorway. He tried to smile at her. She slipped the phone into her back pocket.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Ron?”

He waited.

“I need to find out what really happened that night.”

Ron said, “I know you do.”

“It won’t bring him back,” she said. “I know that. It won’t even make us feel better. But I think we need to do it anyway.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

Ron nodded. He stepped into the room and started to bend toward her. For a moment she thought that he was going to wrap his arms around her, and her body stiffened at the thought. He stopped when he saw it, blinked, stood upright again.