Selena and Kira gasped, putting their hands to their mouths almost in unison.
“So what does this mean?” Kira asked, rubbing her eyes with confusion as she tried to register it. I looked at her coffee cup on the floor beside her: 3x. Three extra shots of espresso. Sleep really had been bleak for her, apparently. “Couldn’t that be a good sign? Like maybe she threw the rings in the water and peaced? I mean, not that that’s good, per se, but better than . . .”
“The rings were covered in her blood,” Vanessa added flatly. “Sorry. Should have said that first.”
“But we knew there was blood from the stains,” Selena said. “This isn’t necessarily bad news. Or at least, not worse than what we already knew.” She was trying to rationalize, but the fear and concern in her eyes betrayed her words.
“I mean, it’s better than finding a body, but it’s very concerning, to say the least,” Vanessa said. “And if someone killed her, they may not have wanted to keep or sell her rings for fear of being caught, so . . .” She trailed off, not needing to finish her thought.
I cleared my throat awkwardly. “I saw Connor last night, actually, and he mentioned it.”
Kira whirled on me. “What do you mean, you saw Connor last night?” She finger quoted my words with so much force that Caleb became unlatched. Selena was looking at me agape, too.
“Tim and I were having dinner at the Milling Room, for our anniversary, and Connor was there, at the bar. He was kind of drunk, actually. He told us about the rings.”
“Why didn’t you tell us right away?” Vanessa asked.
I was surprised by the vehemence of their reaction. “I knew we’d be seeing each other today, and I felt weird sending it over text.”
“So he’s just like, what—out at bars, telling everyone all about his dead wife?” Kira said indignantly and still a bit too sharply.
We all winced. Vanessa, with infinite grace, said gently, “She might not be dead.”
“Who confirmed that it was her rings?” Selena said. “Was it only her blood on them, or anyone else’s? Were the stones still in the rings, or was it just the settings?” She’d assumed her lawyer role, asking logistical questions, trying to get more information to have a complete picture of the situation.
Vanessa took a breath. “Louise ID’d the rings. They are hers.”
Another collective silence. We were all thinking the same thing: it felt intentional, meaningful, personal, that her rings had been removed and left there. It would have made it seem like a suicide, except that the blood dripping down Eighty-Eighth Street didn’t. And it just begged more questions, like where were the rest of her belongings? Clothing, a wallet?
I broke the silence, finally. “Again, why did they clear Connor so quickly? I know he didn’t do it himself, but he could have easily hired someone, right? I have to say: I don’t like him.”
Selena nodded fervently but then shrugged. “There would have been paper trails—you know, a large bank withdrawal, emails—some kind of red flag. It’s not the kind of thing that’s easy to get away with. So I guess they don’t have any of that. I’m sure they looked. They’re probably still looking. This newest evidence will make them look harder.”
I was intrigued by what Selena said, but I knew that part of my desperation for Connor to be guilty stemmed from the fact that I still hadn’t resolved my terrifying suspicion of myself: what our plans that were never plans meant, why my unspeakable Google Doc had been written, my forgotten walk, the cuts on my hand, which had now mostly healed. If Connor was guilty, it meant I definitely wasn’t and that any clues implying otherwise were irrelevant, coincidental.
“Jenn, to your point, Connor may be an asshole,” Selena continued, “but if the police are sure he didn’t kill her, that’s that. A lot of guys are jerks—it doesn’t mean he murdered his wife. Vanessa, how’s her mom doing?” She’d changed the subject quickly. Too quickly; I hadn’t been ready to move on from discussing Connor.
“As well as can be, I guess,” Vanessa said. “I was kind of surprised that she thought to keep me in the loop. I guess Isabel didn’t have that many other friends, at least locally—we’re kind of it, is what her mom made it seem.” This surprised me. Isabel had lived in the city for a while, I’d thought. I had assumed we were fringe friends, not primary. It also made me question Selena’s stance on the whole situation; if we were her only friends, we needed to be more involved, not less. Isabel needed us right now, and instead, we were bailing on her, just complacently waiting for her to reappear dead or alive, instead of actively searching, asking questions.