“Did you check out the backyard at the Lowell house?” I ask her. “I looked around, and there is definitely a place where you can get in without passing the front of the house.”
“Yes, I was able to confirm that. But it might be a moot point.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, when they were searching your house, they found something.”
What? Enzo was so emphatic that nothing would be found that would incriminate him.
My stomach sinks. “What did they find?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “They are being incredibly difficult about sharing any information at this time, but I was able to ascertain that from one of my contacts. They are doing some tests right now, but my contact said they think it’s a ‘slam dunk.’”
A slam dunk?
Oh my God, what if they found that bloody shirt? Enzo swore it was his own blood, but if they say it’s a slam dunk…
“Does Enzo know this?” I ask.
“Yes, I just got off the phone with him, but I wanted to let you know as well because it didn’t sound like he was going to tell you.” She hesitates. “This is all in confidence, of course. I’m not supposed to know this information at all, and I’m certainlynot supposed to tell either of you. Can I trust you to keep this between us, Millie?”
“You can,” I confirm.
“Benito and I both have our ears to the ground.” Despite the fact that my world is crashing around me, Cecelia doesn’t sound the slightest bit rattled. And her confidence makes me calmer. “If we hear anything at all about an arrest warrant, I’ll call you immediately.”
The idea of my husband being arrested is almost too horrible for words. Suddenly, I’m too choked up to even respond.
“Millie.” Cecelia’s voice is firm. “We are going to figure this out. I promise you that. Do you believe me?”
“But…” I manage. “What if…”
I can’t even complete the sentence. Anyway, I don’t know what I’m going to say next.
What if my husband really was having an affair with Suzette Lowell?
What if Enzo really killed Jonathan Lowell?
What if they lock him up? What the hell am I going to do? What will I tell our children?
“Millie,” Cecelia says in that confident, capable voice of hers. “You need to trust me on this. Because I trust you. I trustEnzo. We will get through this.”
“Okay,” I agree. “I trust you.”
Except how exactly will we get through this? If they found that shirt, covered in Jonathan’s blood, Enzo is in deep trouble. I have to hope that he got rid of that shirt. That he put it somewhere they’ll never find it.
It doesn’t even occur to me that they have found something far worse.
FIFTY-SEVEN
I don’t mention my conversation with Cecelia to Enzo.
The truth is I’m scared to talk to him about it. When he comes to the kitchen to help me set the table, I open my mouth a dozen times, but the words never come out. Something terrible is coming, and it almost feels like talking about it will make it real.
When the kids get home, we act like everything is normal. We act like our home didn’t just get torn apart by police officers looking for evidence of murder. If there’s a chance he’s going to get arrested soon, it’s all the more reason to cling to normal while we still can. Enzo even manages to coax Nico out into the backyard for some baseball—the first time since the Little League incident.
But Enzo spends much longer on the bedtime routine than usual. I was going to let him go first, but when he’s already been in with Ada for half an hour, I decide to go in to say good night to Nico. It’s late enough that he might drift off soon if I don’t go in there.
But when I get into Nico’s bedroom, he doesn’t look like he’s about to drift off anytime soon. He is sitting up in bed, readinga comic book. The enclosure where Little Kiwi used to reside is still by his bed, but of course, now it’s empty.
