The Housewife(47)

I tell her the details of the case. I read everything I could find online about this, so I know that (a) the security cameras were never triggered, meaning nobody came to or left the house around the time she died; and (b) the estimated time of death was between 1:30 and 2:30 p.m. Roy was consulting with a client at the time. Suicide, case closed.

“There’s a lot, okay?” I say. “A lot I’m going to tell you that will absolutely convince you. But here’s the other thing.” I glance around and lean forward. “Did you know that women never shoot themselves in the face? ”

Erin blinks. “Why not?”

“Beauty. They don’t want their face to look like Mount Etna after the eruption. I heard that on a true-crime podcast. They shoot themselves in the chest because they don’t want to ruin their face.”

She frowns. “Do you listen to a lot of true-crime podcasts?”

“All the time,” I say.

“You don’t think that’s likely to feed an overactive imagination?”

I think about this for a moment. “I don’t have an overactive imagination, or any kind of imagination for that matter. But I believe you should teach yourself about the world. If I told you I was addicted to fairy tales, you probably would think that was cute. But here’s the catch, Erin. Sleeping Beauty did not sleep for a hundred years because had she, she’d be long dead by the time Prince Charming discovered her. And considerably older than him, by the way, so right there, young man falls for much older woman, classic Oedipus complex behavior on Prince Charming’s part, and a necrophiliac to boot.

“The Boston Strangler, however, killed thirteen women. And yet if I choose to learn more about the Boston Strangler and his ilk—who are very real—rather than Sleeping Beauty, you’ll tell me that I have an overactive imagination. I think it’s your logic that’s flawed, Erin. No offense, but I am not the one with the problem here.”

She twirls her spoon in her tea, looking a little sullen, I think. With an intake of breath, she opens her mouth to speak but I have no interest in pursuing the topic, so I speak over her.

“My point is, it’s kind of strange that my sister shot herself in the face, especially considering how beautiful she was. She bucked the trend, you could say. Don’t you think that’s strange? ”

“I have no idea. Maybe.”

“It’s not just me saying so, everyone does. But let’s say for a moment that she did want to look like lava. It’s actually quite hard to do with a rifle. If you have short arms. Like I do. I know this because I tried.”

A beat. “Did she have short arms?”

I shrug. “She was very tall, so probably not. But still, just saying. On the difficulty score, it’s like a nine.”

“Right…” She lowers her voice. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Why would he want to kill her?”

“He was having an affair with this other woman named Veronica. He calls her Vee. And for some reason I cannot begin to understand, he wanted to leave his wife for Vee. She was writing to him, these weird letters about birds shitting on windowsills, whatever. Anyway. The problem was that my husband and his first wife didn’t have a prenup. So, he locked her up, convinced her she was crazy, made her ugly, then hired a hit man and made it look like suicide. Convoluted, certainly, but cheaper than a divorce lawyer. It happens all the time.”

And for some reason, after everything I’ve just said, the only question Erin has for me, is: “They didn’t have a prenup?”

“No.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because he told me.”

“Wow. Do you have a prenup?”

“Yes, we have a prenup. Ten years.”

“Ten years?” she asks, eyes big and round. “So if you split up before the ten years are up—”

“That’s completely irrelevant, Erin. My point is, he was in love with this Veronica woman, he killed his wife, or had her killed, and here we are.”

Erin blinks a few times. Then she says, in a very soft voice, “So why didn’t he marry this Veronica woman after his wife died?”

“Because I came along. I’m an amazing cook. Everyone says so. I make sure to be attractive for my husband, no matter the time of day. I am a fountain of cleaning tips and tricks. Red wine on carpet? White wine vinegar and baking soda. Your dishwasher could do with a little sparkle? Add a few lemon wedges to your wash. Also, I can whip up a four-course luncheon for a party of twelve with no warning in a matter of hours. Oh, and I was pregnant.”

She tilts her head at me, her gaze a little cold, I think. “So where’s the baby?”

I shake my head impatiently. “I wasn’t actually pregnant. I just needed to get inside the house so I bought one of those fake tests, but my point is, he lies, Erin. All the time. Every day. He … What’s wrong?”

“You faked a pregnancy test?” She’s gone pale suddenly. For a second, I think she’s going to cry. “You faked a pregnancy test so that he would marry you?”

I flap a hand. “I just told you. I had to get inside that house. What do you care anyway? My point is, he pretends that he really loved her.”

Again, she twirls her spoon in her tea. “Maybe he did.”

“Please. And what about what I said about shooting herself in the face? A Winchester 70 has a mighty long barrel, Erin. And you have to hold it as well as shoot it. My sister might have been tall, but she was no octopus. ”