I hesitate only a second before I answer, “Evie Porter.” I’ve now officially lied to the police.
“Is Evie your full name or is it short for something else?”
“Evelyn.”
“Okay, Miss Porter, how did you know Mr. Bernard and Miss Marino?”
Ryan disengages himself from Mrs. Bernard, promising her he will return shortly, then comes to stand next to me. His right arm slips around my waist and I’m not sure if he’s trying to show a united front or if he needs any comfort I can give him.
“Hi, I’m Ryan Sumner. James was an old friend of mine. Evie and I had him and Lucca over for dinner last night.”
Deputy Bullock scribbles away and doesn’t look up when he asks the next question. “Was Miss Marino drinking last night?”
Ryan looks at me before answering, the pause causing the deputy’s pen to stop and his eyes to move from the notepad to us.
“She had one glass of wine when they first arrived around six and then one more glass with dinner. James had a considerable amount more to drink, which is why she was driving,” I answer.
Deputy Bullock waits a beat then goes back to his notes. “Would you say she seemed in control of her faculties when she left your home?”
“Yes,” Ryan answers.
“Is it possible she had more to drink than you witnessed? Maybe she snuck another glass or two that you weren’t aware of?”
“I guess it’s possible but I think that’s unlikely. She was around us the entire evening except for when she went to the bathroom.”
Drunk driving is the most obvious reason for an accident like this. The question of her alcohol consumption will eventually be answered when the autopsy comes back, but I know she couldn’t have had more than two glasses.
“Did Mr. Bernard put up a fight about not being able to drive home?” he asks.
Mrs. Bernard clutches her chest at his question. Ryan, realizing how upset she is, motions for us to move into the hallway.
“No. Not at all. He willingly and gladly got into the passenger seat,” Ryan finally says when we’ve cleared the room.
The deputy nods. He’s writing more than what we’re saying, but the way the pad is angled I can’t see his notes.
“How were things between Mr. Bernard and Miss Marino last night? Any arguing? Fighting?”
“No, not at all,” I answer.
“Anything happen that could have caused Miss Marino to be distracted? Upset?” The officer looks at Ryan, shrugging as he adds, “Any talk of old girlfriends? I know how reminiscing with old friends can be. Did she have to sit and listen to Mr. Bernard’s glory days and maybe didn’t like what she was hearing?”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that,” Ryan says, his words tinged with anger. “Neither of us would have wanted Lucca or Evie to be uncomfortable.”
The officer holds a hand up. “Okay, I get it, but I have to ask. Just trying to figure out what was going on inside of her head while she was behind the wheel last night.”
I know what was going through her head. I not only outed her, I all but threatened that Mr. Smith would turn on her as quickly as he turned on me. And Ryan had just told James he was done with him after he asked Ryan for money. Neither of them was in a good place.
“What time did they leave your home?” he asks.
“A little before eleven,” I say.
We answer every question, laying out the evening, starting with the dinner invitation made yesterday morning in Home Depot all the way through our day, until we saw their taillights disappear down our quiet street. Deputy Bullock only looks up when Ryan stumbles over an answer, but mostly his haziness on the details comes from the fact that he matched James drink for drink, and I’m sure the evening is a bit blurry for him.
“When was the last time you’d been in contact with Mr. Bernard before he came back to town?”
Ryan stares off into the distance, seemingly lost in thought. He finally answers. “Maybe a year ago. He needed money. I sent it to him.” He keeps his answer to the bare minimum, and he doesn’t mention James’s most recent request for financial help.
The deputy looks at me. “And when was the last time you’ve interacted with Mr. Bernard before his return home?”
I shake my head. “I just met him for the first time a week ago.”
Ryan adds before I can stop him, “Evie moved here from Brookwood, Alabama, a few months ago. She didn’t know James.”
Oh fuck. I watch as he scribbles down that last helpful tidbit from Ryan, hoping the background put in place for Evelyn Porter holds up.