The Housewife(75)

I bring it back to exactly where I want it and before Roy has a chance to swing it away again, I pull the trigger.

Roy stands there, in shock. I let go of the rifle so he’s holding it now. He drops it to the floor.

Marie, meanwhile, has no face.

There’s a low, guttural sound coming from Roy as he stumbles back, pulling at clumps of hair.

In one quick swoop, I pick up the plate and shove the sandwich in the trash. Then I take off my rubber gloves and throw them in the sink.

Roy starts screaming. “What did you do?”

I run to the front door and out to the street.

“Help! Somebody help me!”





47





A female officer enters the interview room with a large paper bag. “We have a change of clothes for you, Mrs. Davies.”

“You can go and get changed,” Detective Bates says. “And our apologies for having kept you so long in…”

I look down at my shirt. “No problem. I understand.”

The female officer takes me to the ladies’ room. I get changed, wash my face, and as I brush my hair, I wonder what Roy is telling the other officers in his own nondescript interview room. The truth, no doubt: that he found me wearing rubber gloves in front of a tied-up Marie. And it’s funny, but until Roy walked into the house, I hadn’t given any thought to what was going to happen to me. I only wanted revenge on both of them. I hoped that Veronica’s death would serve me well in Roy’s case. Because he may not have killed Deborah, but he was still an asshole. He still tortured her .

I return fifteen minutes later in a T-shirt and tracksuit pants.

Detective Marcos is back when I walk in. In front of my seat is a Styrofoam cup of water. He points at it. “From the cooler,” he says.

“Thank you.” I take a sip. Detective Bates says something about resuming the interview, the time, and then Detective Marcos opens a file, which I assume contains my criminal history. It’s surprisingly thin and I don’t know whether to be relieved or offended.

“You were telling us about your relationship to the first Mrs. Davies,” he says.

“She was my sister.”

Detective Marcos turns a page in the file. “And you told us about your conviction for manslaughter while driving after returning from a party in Wellton to your hometown of Yuma.”

I raise my finger. “I didn’t do it. I mean, I wasn’t the one driving.”

“It says here…”

“I know what it says. But it wasn’t me. Not that it’s relevant, but I want that on the record.”

“Okay. Duly noted. Thank you for sharing that information with us.”

“You would have found out soon enough.”

“Indeed.” Detective Bates rests his elbows on the desk. “When did you start to suspect that Roy Davies killed your sister?”

I tell them the whole story.





That’s right. That’s my story. Roy Davies killed my sister. Why? Because he may as well have. Because he has to pay for locking her up just because he was worried she was unfaithful. Terrible things were happening to her. She was scared, and he did nothing, except accuse her of being a whore.

Roy Davies will not walk away from that unscathed.

I tell them the truth, more or less, from the phone conversations I had with Deb when I was still in jail, to the point when I got out and decided to find out for myself.

“And then not long after, your parents died,” Detective Bates says.

“That’s right.”

“How did they die?” Marcos asks.

I know he already knows. “House fire,” I say. “It was a terrible tragedy. Those old gas furnaces, they should get rid of them. They’re a time bomb.”





48





“So how did you get to be married to Dr. Davies?”

I scratch the bit of Scotch tape stuck to the table. “Everybody thinks I married Roy for his money. I didn’t set out to marry him. I never believed he’d go for someone like me. I wanted to get close to him. I wanted to get into that house. I was going to prove that he killed my sister, if it was the last thing I did.”

I tell them about getting a job at the gala, how Roy asked me out, and that I faked a pregnancy. Neither of them react to that.

“But as it happens, I’m an excellent housewife. Everyone says so. It’s a gift. Also, I love cleaning. I would have cleaned that house from top to bottom with a cotton swab anyway, but I was on a mission. I have searched that house from top to bottom and back again. I have gone through every nook and cranny, every drawer, every cupboard, and every shelf looking for the life insurance policy and the contract with the hit man. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I didn’t find a contract with a hit man, but I found his appointment book.” I lean forward. “And that’s when I knew he killed her.”

“How?”

“Because on his digital calendar, he had an appointment with a Ms. Greenwood. That’s his alibi. But in his real appointment book, the hard copy one, he had nothing. A big blank. Right when Deb was shot.” I sit back. “You know Ms. Greenwood was his lover, right?”

They look taken aback, then they flick through the files, probably looking up who interviewed Ms. Greenwood—Roy’s alibi—without realizing they were lovers.