I decide to send the kids off to school the next morning, just to maintain some semblance of normalcy. I walk them to the bus stop, and I’m not surprised to see Janice there with Spencer on his usual leash.
Janice sniffs. “I’m surprised to seeyouhere.”
“I live right over there,” I point out. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
Janice doesn’t find me even the tiniest bit amusing. “I mean, after the terrible thing your husband did. Aren’t you ashamed to show your face?”
I can’t believe she said that right in front of my children. I have been taking a lot of her crap since I moved here, just to keepthe peace, but I am done with that. After all, I’m fairly sure that no matter what, we’re not going to be living here much longer.
“My husband didn’t do anything, Janice,” I say. “You got it all wrong.”
She snorts. “I don’t think so. A man who looks like that is always going to be trouble.”
She thinks my husband is a murderer because he’s too handsome? “Enzo is a good man,” I say firmly. “And I don’t need some busybody neighbor to tell me otherwise. So why don’t you mind your own damn business from now on, Janice?”
Janice’s mouth falls open, like she’s not quite used to being spoken to that way. I look over at the kids, and for the first time since their father was arrested, I detect the tiniest hint of smiles on their faces.
Once my kids are safely on the bus, I return to my house. I reach the front lawn just as that familiar black Dodge Charger pulls up to the curb. The driver-side window rolls down, and Detective Benito Ramirez sticks his head out.
“Millie,” he says. “Get in the car.”
I trust Ramirez more than I trust any other cop in the world, but I am still not excited to get in a cop car without any explanation. “I have to get to Enzo’s bail hearing in less than two hours.”
“We need to talk,” he says in a grave voice.
“What about?”
“Millie, will you get in the car? Pretty please? Come on. You want to get back in time for the bail hearing, right?”
Oh, what the hell.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
“You know about Ada, I assume,” I say to Ramirez as we sit together in the front seats of his Dodge.
“I do,” he says. “Cecelia told me everything.”
“She killed Jonathan Lowell,” I say, even though part of me still can’t believe it. How could my little girl have slit a man’s throat?
“Sounds like that pervert deserved it.”
“Still.”
He shrugs. “Like mother, like daughter.”
I flinch. Ada does not know anything about my history. Maybe she would feel better if I told her…
No, I can’t tell her. I don’t want her to lose respect for me.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask.
Ramirez levels his gaze at me. His eyes are just as dark and serious as my husband’s can be. “It’s about Suzette Lowell. There’s something I need to tell you about her, and you can’t tell another soul.”
“Okay…”
“I mean it, Millie. I’ll lose my job.”
Now my interest is piqued. “I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.”
