she was not the sort of woman who’d ever had a best friend. Certainly not the kind of best friend who rubbed her pricked finger against yours to become your blood sister. I actually could relate. I had never been that sort of a woman before, either.
“Would you say that Howard and Katherine Grant had a happy marriage?” Demer asked.
I hesitated. The truthful answer would be no, they certainly did not. But I also didn’t see any benefit in telling the police that.
“I don’t think anyone on the outside ever truly knows what goes on inside a marriage,” I said carefully.
Demer smiled patiently. “No, probably not. I’m just asking for any impressions you might have formed from being around them.”
“That’s just it. Whenever I saw the two of them together, well, I was there, wasn’t I? Most married people behave differently when there are other people around. I know my husband and I do.”
It was a nonanswer, but if it frustrated Demer, he hid it well. Oliver, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to slap me.
“Fair enough,” Demer said. “Did Katherine ever complain about her husband?”
“Kat,” I corrected him.
“Excuse me?”
“She goes by Kat, not Katherine.”
“Okay. Kat, then. So, did she?”
“Complain about her husband?” I repeated. He nodded. “Sure, from time to time. I hate to break it to you, Detective, but most women complain about their husbands to their friends.”
The wonderful thing about this statement was that it had the benefit of being the absolute truth.
“Let’s get back to Howard Grant,” Demer said.
My patience was starting to fray. “I’ve already told you, I wasn’t close with Howard. I was friends with Kat. I suggest you talk to her if you want to know about her husband.”
“Oh, we’ve already talked to Katherine Grant,” Oliver inserted.
Something about this bald statement caused a flicker of concern at the edges of my consciousness. I wasn’t sure what exactly about it bothered me. Of course, it only made sense that they would interview Kat as part of their investigation, even if she was out of the country at the time of Howard’s death. But then, suddenly, I realized what the problem was. Kat hadn’t told me the police had been to see her. And we told each other everything, or almost everything. I knew when her insomnia was acting up, and when the dry cleaner ruined her favorite dress, and usually what she’d had for dinner the night before. So why didn’t she call to tell me the police had questioned her about her husband’s death?
“When did you speak with Kat?” I asked.
Demer shot Oliver a glance. She shrugged but didn’t say anything more. I suddenly had the distinct feeling that there was something more going on here. That the police had not asked me to come in simply to give them background information.
“What is this all about, anyway? Why are you asking me about Kat and Howard’s marriage?” I pressed.
“Like I said, we’re looking for background,” Demer said. “We’re just trying to make sure we’ve covered everything.”
“And they brought you all the way down here from Tallahassee to do that?” I asked.
Demer looked at me steadily but didn’t answer my question. It was clear there was something going on, some reason they had for questioning me, and I didn’t know what that was.
“Why don’t you tell us about when you first met Howard Grant?” Demer suggested.
“I’m not sure if I remember,” I said, thinking back. “It would have been three years ago.”
“Try,” the detective said. “Take your time.”
Three Years Earlier
“What are you doing in here?” Todd asked.
I started violently but managed not to scream. I was sitting in our home office, working on the computer with my back to the door that led off the front hallway. Our garage was on the opposite side of our one-story house, so I hadn’t heard Todd come home. I had always hated being startled. Horror movies, haunted houses, practical jokes—these were not among my favorite things. I also didn’t like the idea of someone entering my house without my being aware of it, even if that someone was my husband.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I said, willing my heart rate to return to normal.
“Sorry,” Todd said mildly. He dropped a kiss on the top of my head, and I could smell the scent of sweat still clinging to his body.
“How was your match?” I asked.
“First, ask me this... Who is the king of tennis?”
“Who is the king of tennis?”
“Me! I am the king of tennis. I just pulled out the win in a third set tiebreaker.” Todd raised two triumphant fists over his head. “I ended the match with an ace. It was so sweet. Maybe the best match of my life.”
“Good job,” I dutifully supplied.
“Good job? Is that all you can say?”
“What else do you need from me?” I asked. “Congratulations on your win? Yay you?”
“A little enthusiasm would be nice. That’s the first time I’ve ever beaten Joe Hammond. He’s owned me until now.”
Todd was a tennis fanatic and competed weekly in a local league. It was basically a bunch of middle-aged men playing at night after work, but they took it so seriously that you might have thought they were training for Wimbledon. Still, I was glad Todd had an outlet. When work started to overwhelm him and he wasn’t able to play, my husband became tense and moody. Far better he took his stress out on a little yellow ball. However, there were some downsides to his hobby.
“Speaking of tennis,” I said, “I was going over the bills, and I wanted to ask you about something. Did you really spend $224 at an online tennis store? I was hoping that was a mistake on the bill.”
I could see from my husband’s sheepish expression that it was not. My spirits plummeted.
“I know, I know,” he said, holding his hands up. “It was an impulse purchase.”
“What was?”
“A new racquet. But it’s the racquet Federer plays with. I was just going to try it out—they let you take it out on a test run and then return it if you don’t like it—but I couldn’t not keep it. It’s the best racquet I’ve ever played with. It’s the racquet that helped me finally beat Joe Hammond! Anyway, it was on sale.”
Tension
