“But when the police asked Elsie about it—” Paris stops abruptly.
Elsie has entered the kitchen, finished with her work call. In her hand are several return shipping labels that she grabbed from the printer in Jimmy’s office, and she hands them to Zoe.
“When the police asked Elsie what?” she says to Paris. Then she turns to Drew, looking him up and down. “Hi. Elsie Dixon. And who might you be?”
“Drew Malcolm.” He shakes her hand.
“What is it?” Elsie looks around. “What are we talking about?”
“Elsie.” Paris works to control her voice. Internally, she wants to scream. “When was the last time you saw Jimmy?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
If not for Jimmy’s old stereo playing a Fleetwood Mac song, the kitchen would be completely silent. It feels like everyone is holding their breath, and all eyes are on the petite lawyer. Thunder only happens when it’s raining …
“Elsie,” Paris says again. “I need you to answer the question, please. When did you last see Jimmy?”
“You already know when I last saw Jimmy.” Elsie tucks a lock of silver hair behind her ear. “The detective asked me that during your first interview, remember? It was a few days before he died. Tuesday. I came here to the house to pick him up for breakfast.”
“And that’s how your voice got on the tape,” Paris says. “The one Detective Kellogg asked you about. The one of Jimmy practicing.”
“Are you telling me or asking me?” Elsie looks around the kitchen, aware that everyone is staring at her. “Yes, that’s how my voice got on the tape. Now, why don’t you just say what you’re actually trying to say?”
Zoe’s gasp is sharp and loud, and they all turn to her. She finally understands what Paris is getting at, and her eyes widen as she stares at Elsie.
“Oh my God, you lied,” Zoe says, a hand over her mouth. “You fucking lied. That cassette with your voice on it wasn’t from Tuesday morning. It was from the night Jimmy died. I put in a new tape at nine thirty, before I went home. Which means that you were here, at the house, in his bathroom, after I left. Why would you lie about being here that night unless you…”
“Elsie, what did you do?” Paris’s voice is soft. She can hardly believe this is happening. “Did you kill Jimmy? Did you kill Jimmy and set me up?”
Elsie’s face is bright red, and she glares at them both. “You two have some nerve accusing me—”
“Nobody’s accusing you of anything, ma’am,” Drew says. “They’re just catching you in a lie, is all.”
Elsie throws her hands up. “This is ridiculous. You are all out of your goddamned minds. We all know Jimmy killed himself.” She turns to Drew, her voice shaking. “And I don’t know who the hell you are, but you can shut the hell up.”
“Then why lie?” Zoe cries. “It was you who disabled the smart home system and wiped all the data usage reports, wasn’t it? You didn’t want anyone to know you were here. What, did you use Jimmy’s facial recognition to get into his phone after he—” She chokes. She can’t finish the sentence.
“Did you take the straight razor, Elsie?” Paris asks. “The one you killed him with? It was lying on the edge of the sink. Did you switch out the razors to make it look like he used a different one to commit suicide? All those blades are pretty much the same size and shape, and there were three in the drawer the morning I was arrested. There are four there now. Did you take the murder weapon and then put it back at some point over the past few days? You’ve been here more than a few times.”
“You hateful, conniving bitch,” Zoe says, not bothering to wait for Elsie’s answer. “You let Paris get charged with murder.”
Elsie’s face is white. She’s standing against the wall of the kitchen, her shoulders curved inward like a cornered animal, her eyes darting from Paris to Zoe to Drew and then back to Paris. “I don’t have to listen to this. After everything I’ve done for you—”
“I wasn’t supposed to come home that night,” Paris says, taking a step toward her. “You weren’t trying to set me up, because how could you if I wasn’t due home until the next evening? But you were here.”
She takes another step forward. It’s all she can do to not wrap her hands around Elsie’s throat.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” Paris says. “And then you tried to make it look like a suicide. You knew people would believe that because of his history. The fact that I came home early fucked up that plan. It made everyone think I murdered him. And you never said anything, because if anyone was being charged with murder, it was better me than you.”