“So what are your future plans, Jenn?”
The apartment door opened with a fob-wave rather than a key.
“Oh,” Jenn said, sounding somewhat crestfallen. “I thought that was why you wanted to see me. I was in the legal profession before Love Is a Battlefield.”
“In what capacity?”
“A paralegal, but I’d been accepted to law school.”
“Impressive.”
Jenn’s smile was both cute and endearingly shy. “Thank you.”
“Do you plan to matriculate now that the show is over?”
“Actually, I was thinking of trying to be a television analyst who specialized in the law.”
“Ah,” Hester said. “I would love to discuss that with you at another time, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Jenn gestured for them to sit on an off-white couch. Mirrors and generic artwork hung on the walls. There were no photographs, nothing personal, the whole thing looking more like a tasteful, if not warm, chain hotel than a true home. Hester wondered whether this was a model unit.
“I’m here about Peter Bennett,” Hester said.
Jenn blinked in surprise. “Peter?”
“Yes. I’m trying to locate him.”
It took her a second or two to absorb that. “May I ask why?”
Hester debated how to play this. “It’s for a client.”
“One of your clients is looking for Peter?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s a legal matter?”
“I can’t really say more,” Hester said. “As a trained legal professional, I’m sure you understand.”
“I do, yes.” Jenn still looked stunned. “I haven’t heard from Peter in months.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I don’t know where he is, Ms. Crimstein. I’m sorry.”
“Call me Hester,” she said, throwing up her most disarming smile. “You two were married.”
Her voice was soft. “Yes.”
“For real? Not just, like, a TV marriage?”
“Yes. Legally and in every way.”
“Okay, and then, of course, we all know what happened on that Reality Ralph podcast. Was that what ended it with you guys?”
“This is all…” Jenn’s eyes stayed on the blond hardwood floor. “I feel a little blindsided here.”
“Why? You said you don’t know where Peter is—”
“I don’t.”
“—but I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about his fate, right?”
Jenn said nothing. Hester pushed through it.
“I’m talking about the ones where Peter was so distraught from the onslaught of hate that he killed himself.”
Jenn’s eyes closed.
“You’ve heard those rumors?”
Her voice grew even softer. “Of course.”
“Do you think they’re true?”
“That Peter killed himself?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
“You were married. You knew him well.”
“No, Ms. Crimstein, I thought I knew him well.” There was steel in Jenn’s voice now. She raised her gaze. “It made me realize something.”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe I never knew Peter,” Jenn said. “Maybe we never know anyone.”
Hester decided not to react to this dramatic albeit understandable declaration. “So I listened to the podcast, the one where your sister outed your husband.”
“Ms. Crimstein?”
“Hester.”
“Hester, I think I’ve said enough.”
“But you haven’t said anything yet. Were you angry with her?”
“Her?”
“With your sister. Were you angry with her?”
“What? No, why would I be angry with her? She was a victim too.”
“How’s that?”
“Peter may have roofied her.”
“May have? Yeah, but even before that, your sister—what’s her name again? I keep forgetting.”
“Marnie.”
“Thank you. Marnie. So here is what I find odd, Jenn, and maybe, as two legal minds, we can help each other out. Marnie said that your husband sent her nude pics before this may-have-been-roofied incident. Why didn’t she say something to you right away?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is to me,” Hester said. “Enlighten me.”
“Marnie was a victim. You’re victim shaming.”