The instant she was past the threshold the dog’s obedience reached its limit, and it sprang in her direction with a delighted whimpering. Its paws caught her in the midsection, only to be immediately yanked back by Hadley’s hand on its collar.
“Damn it, dog,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Emma said quickly, flinching at the rough way he handled the dog. When he released it, this time it wriggled forward without jumping up, and she extended a hand to be bathed.
“He’s my wife’s,” he said defensively. “She doesn’t train him.”
“I don’t mind,” Emma said. She’d always wanted a dog. Dogs didn’t give a shit about your past, they just wanted your love. Nathan was allergic.
With the dog trotting happily at her heels, she followed Hadley deeper into the house.
The house had hardly changed at all since she’d last been in here. They’d had dinner with the Hadleys at least once a month. Marilyn would cook, which she’d hated, and they would pretend it was delicious. The girls would sit in silence as the adults talked, and then at the end of dinner, Hadley and their father would go out to the back porch to drink and talk while the girls did the dishes and the “ladies” slid poisoned barbs under each other’s skin while smiling over their glasses of chardonnay. A choreographed dance that rarely changed.
“Is Marilyn home?” Emma asked. Everything in the house was white. White kitchen, white dining table, white couch in the living room in front of a white marble fireplace. There was a mug of coffee out on the kitchen counter and a stack of dishes next to the sink, which she couldn’t imagine Marilyn tolerating.
“Marilyn moved to Portland eight years ago,” Hadley said. “Married some accountant.” He said this like she’d married a cannibal.
“Sorry,” Emma said, without particular inflection.
“Alison,” he said. She blinked a moment before realizing it must be his new wife’s name. He nodded toward the mantel, where a series of artfully arranged photographs showed Hadley with a blond woman who had to be at least fifteen years his junior. They were outnumbered by pictures of the dog.
“I’d ask you if you want coffee, but somehow I doubt this is going to be that kind of visit,” Hadley said.
She grunted in agreement. He jerked a hand toward the kitchen table, and she took a seat. The dog immediately settled at her feet with a contented sigh. Hadley leaned up against the kitchen counter nearby, forcing her to crane her neck up at him. The heat of the imminent confrontation flickered and faded in her chest, leaving her feeling tentative, vulnerable. He crossed his arms and looked down at her with a frown.
“Emma Palmer,” he said, like her name was a revelation. “You’ve been through the ringer, haven’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His face remained calm. “I mean you’ve had a hell of a life. Losing your parents and your husband so violently,” he said. “I’m saying you’ve been through a lot, and I’m sorry for your losses.”
“You think I killed my parents,” Emma pointed out.
He made a noise like he disagreed. “I think you lied about where you were, and there’s good evidence that your boyfriend—your friend, sorry—was in that house,” Hadley said. “I know you thought it was me causing all your problems, but I wasn’t in charge then, and I’m not now.”
“You made it very clear you thought I did it,” Emma said.
“Sure. I did. I’m not completely convinced I was wrong. But Ellis was the one running the show. He was the one fixed on you. He played things nicer than me, that’s all.”
“Nathan called you,” she said. That was why she was here. Nothing else.
“Did he.” He looked at her steadily.
“He talked to someone right before he died. I called the number. You answered. It was you,” she said, but the corner of his mouth curled and her certainty wavered.
“That was you, then,” he said. “Do me a favor, Emma. Google that number.”
Emma hesitated. Then, reluctantly, she pulled out her phone and did as she asked. The first result was a directory for the Arden Hills Police Department. Chief Craig Ellis.
“I answer the chief’s phone when he’s out. All of us do, from time to time,” Hadley said, and Emma remembered now the card Ellis had handed to Nathan, that night with the fire. “Yes, your husband called the station the night he died, a fact that Detective Mehta is perfectly aware of, for the record.”