The Housewife(28)

I twirl an earring, shrug. “The door was open.”

He turns to me. “Really?”

“It was ajar. I went in because I thought you were home. Why?”

He takes a moment, studying my face, then goes back to his satchel. “Please never handle the rifle again without asking me. It’s incredibly dangerous.”

“I understand. I meant well,” I say.

“I know, babe. I know.”

I smooth my skirt. “Anyway, I have the slow cooker on. I should go and check on it. Dinner should be ready in about an hour.”

I go to the kitchen, sit on a stool at the counter, and google Can you shoot yourself with a rifle on my phone. And it’s just as well that I have no emotions to speak of because it’s a pretty sad, sorry world out there. As it turns out, yes, there are all sorts of ways to shoot yourself in the head with a rifle. Using your toe to press the trigger is a popular solution. Happens all the time, apparently.





Later, over dinner, I ask him, keeping my tone light, “Did you and Deborah have a prenup agreement? ”

His left eye twitches. He takes a sip of wine. “Why do you ask?”

I shrug. “I’m just wondering.”

He puts his glass back down. “Why would you wonder about something like that?”

“I was talking to my friend Erin earlier… Remember my new friend Erin? I told you about her? Anyway, she said her fiancé wants her to sign a prenup, and she’s quite upset about it. I told her it’s no big deal, we signed one, and as you remember, I didn’t have any issues with it. Because I love you, and I know you love me, and we’re never getting divorced, so what does it matter? That’s what I told her. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. But it made me curious, did you and Deborah have one?”

He seems momentarily confused by this wall of words, but then he says, “No. We didn’t.”

My jaw drops. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”

“I never even thought about it, if you must know.”

“But you thought about it with me.”

He sighs and takes my hand. “Jodie, honey. Give it a rest.”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Marrying you was my second marriage. Henry—”

“Henry?”

“Henry Barber, my lawyer. You’ve met him.”

“Of course. Sorry. Keep going.”

“Henry thought it would be a good idea.”

I nod slowly, like that makes perfect sense. But inside, I am boiling .

Because I found it: the motive, the smoking gun, the reason he killed my sister.

Dr. Roy Davies wanted to get rid of his wife to be with his mistress, but they didn’t have a prenup.

How much longer, my darling Roy, before we can be together?

I wonder if she was in on it.





18





It’s Friday today, the day of my lunch at Meredith’s. I could say that I woke up with the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning, but obviously, that would be a lie. At Christmas, my mother and father would exchange presents for themselves, usually a trinket, like a plastic key ring from the dollar store for him, and a used kitchen mop from the thrift store for her. My sister might have gotten a sheet of stickers or a plastic hair clip if she was lucky.

I never got anything because as my mother used to say, “You’re too evil, sorry. Not my fault, don’t look at me like that. I’m just telling you what Father Christmas said. No, you can’t have turkey. You can finish the ham sandwich you left half-eaten yesterday. It’s in the trash. If you can’t see it, that’d be because the ants are crawling all over it.”

But it occurred to me yesterday how much I enjoyed meeting up with Erin. I’ve never had a friend before—other than my sister—and I’d always assumed I would never have one, despite Deb’s protestations.

It’s Mom, she would say. Don’t listen to her. She’s just nasty and horrible. There’s nothing wrong with you, Jo. One day, you’ll leave this place, and you’ll have lots of friends, you’ll see.

And look at me now… I want to tell her. I had coffee with a friend yesterday, can you believe it? And today I’m going to lunch with Meredith and Barb and Eileen! Remember Meredith and Barb and Eileen? And soon, once I’ve dealt with Roy, once he is in jail forever, or dead, depending, Meredith and Barb and Eileen and I will go shopping together, and we’ll go for cocktails, and for coffee and cake, and we’ll swap recipes, and we’ll have conversations like, “I was just telling my friend Erin—you must meet Erin, by the way, you’ll love her—about this new patisserie, have you been there? Oh, but you must!”

It’s going to be amazing, Debs. If only you were here to see it.

Also, the timing of this lunch couldn’t be better. I have so many questions to ask them. What do they know about the Laurel-Westlake Institute of Plastic Surgery? Did they know Veronica? They must have, since Roy was seeing her “in the open,” so to speak, after Deb died. Did they ever see them together while he was still married? Do they know she’s a whore? Do they know how I can get in touch with her?

So many questions…