A bonfire of fear ignites in Paris’s stomach, and it takes every ounce of willpower to not let it show.
“Let’s also not forget the interesting thing she admitted after the officers arrested her,” Kellogg adds.
“You mean the few meaningless words she said after she hit her head?” Elsie scoffed. “That’s not admission, that’s confusion. Let her go home so she can properly mourn her husband.”
“Yeah, about that.” The detective cocks her head, her ponytail swaying behind her. “Are you even sad, Mrs. Peralta? Because you really don’t seem like it.”
Elsie puts a hand on her arm. “Don’t answer—”
“How I grieve is none of your business,” Paris snaps, ignoring her lawyer. “I’m sorry that I don’t fit how a grieving widow is supposed to act a few hours after she’s been accused of murdering her husband. Next time, I’ll read the memo in advance that details the appropriate behaviors and be sure to rehearse first.”
The tiny smile from Kellogg remains, and she taps on her notepad. “Walk me through exactly how you found him.”
Paris repeats the same story she told her lawyer, and finds it’s much easier the second time around.
“Tell me, Mrs. Peralta,” the detective says when Paris finishes. “If your husband took his own life, as you both are so certain he did, why do you think he cut his leg? Why not his wrists? That’s what most people would do.”
“I can answer that,” Elsie says confidently, and Paris turns to her in surprise. “When Jimmy attempted suicide before, he did cut his arm. Obviously he didn’t die. But the scar, which ran halfway down his forearm, forever bothered him.”
“That’s how he got that scar?” Paris says to Elsie. “He told me he fell through a plate-glass window while he was high.”
“He did. But that’s not how he got that scar.”
Paris sits back in her chair. What else doesn’t she know about Jimmy’s past? It seems her husband had just as many secrets as she does.
“To me, it makes sense that he’d choose a spot on his body he could easily hide.” Elsie turns her attention back to Detective Kellogg. “It would have been his way of protecting his future self, in the event that he survived.”
“If I didn’t know otherwise, I might have thought you were his wife, you know him so well,” Kellogg says to Elsie. She turns back to Paris. “Anyway, we have lots of time to put the pieces together. You never know what might turn up in the next day or two.”
Paris’s stomach burns.
“We’re done here,” Elsie says.
“I figured,” the detective says.
Elsie gets up to bang on the door. Detective Kellogg stays seated, continuing to stare at Paris thoughtfully, as if trying to figure her out. Well, Detective Frosted Flakes can try as hard as she wants, but so far, nobody ever has.
“How much longer do I have to stay here?” Paris asks Elsie as they follow an officer back to the holding cell.
“They can hold you for up to seventy-two hours, at which point they have to formally charge you or let you go.”
“Three days?” Paris grips her lawyer’s arm. “Elsie, I can’t stay here that long.”
“It won’t be that long.” Elsie pats her hand. “I’ll be back later. For now, just sit tight. And remember, not a word to anyone. We’ll prove what happened soon enough.”
They reach the cell, and looking through the bars at the dingy walls, Paris feels a sudden stab of claustrophobia. She would give anything to not go back in there, and if she feels that way now, how will she ever survive prison? She can’t bring herself to step inside until the officer places a hand on her back and pushes her in. The door locks.
“Paris,” Elsie says, her voice catching, and Paris turns. “Why didn’t Jimmy tell me he was having a hard time? He always told me everything. How did I not pick up on it? If I’d known, I could have…” She chokes up.
Paris reaches a hand through the bars. “You knew Jimmy better than anyone, and you know how difficult it was for him to admit when he needed help. Zoe was at the house nearly every day, and even she didn’t know. So how could you?”
Elsie nods and gives her hand a brief squeeze before letting go. Paris knows that what she just said made the other woman feel better, and for the most part, it’s true. There’s no way Elsie and Zoe could have known Jimmy was struggling.
Because Paris didn’t know, either.