Three weeks later
Melissa carefully washed and rinsed their lunch dishes, scoured the grill pan, and gave the kitchen floor a quick sweep. She had always been naturally and effortlessly tidy, finding comfort in the rituals of neatness. She cleaned up immediately after meals, unloaded the dishwasher every morning, and returned anything she used back to its designated spot. Katie had teased her relentlessly when she learned that Melissa emptied her medicine cabinet twice a month to wipe down the shelves for dust.
An amused chuckle pulled her out of her trancelike state.
The chuckle came from Grant “Mac” Macintosh. He was on the other side of her kitchen island, at the dining room table, his headset already on. Mac, in addition to being her friend and former coworker, was now her most frequent guest cohost on The Justice Club, the true crime podcast Melissa had launched six months earlier. Each episode of The Justice Club featured a criminal investigation where arguably justice had been denied.
“As much as I’m oddly mesmerized by watching you clean, are we about ready?” Mac asked. “I’m on the clock today.”
“I’m so sorry, but looking at all that mess was going to destroy my concentration.”
“I have to say, I can’t remember a time I came here to find dirty dishes on your countertops.”
“Turns out that keeping an apartment spotless is a little tougher with a three-year-old Tasmanian devil around.”
“Speaking of which, where is that precious little peanut?”
“Charlie’s in meetings with a new client, so his sister picked up Riley to spend the day with her in Brooklyn.”
“Nice to have an auntie nearby who’s also willing to babysit,” he said.
Melissa suppressed the involuntary eye roll that had nearly revealed itself. In addition to boycotting their wedding ceremony, Rachel was continuing her refusal to visit her niece in Melissa’s presence. She had even declined the invitation to the small party they had over the weekend for Riley’s third birthday, insisting on seeing her separately the next day. She pushed off the thought and pulled on her headset, settling in beside Mac at the table. “So… are we ready to do some justice for Evan?”
The Evan in question was Evan Moore, a boy who had vanished from the suburbs of Seattle nearly eight years earlier when he was six years old. Evan’s father remained convinced to this day that the boy’s stepmother, Judith, murdered him and hid the body somewhere it might never be found because she felt trapped raising another woman’s child after a prolonged custody battle was decided in the father’s favor. Evan’s disappearance would be the basis for the next four episodes of The Justice Club. She and Mac had decided to pre-record them all at once, giving her time over the next few weeks to pull together the research for her next case.
Four hours later, Melissa gave a nod to Mac and flashed five fingers as a sign that they could begin to wrap up the final episode.
“Okay, Melissa. I know this is probably a lost cause, but just tell me: Do you think Judith Moore is guilty or not?”
“You’re asking the wrong question, Mac. Everyone is innocent until they receive due process in a court of law and either plead guilty or are found to be guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. As a criminal defense lawyer, you of all people should know that.”
“But I’m also fun!” Mac replied. “Do you see any courtroom around here? Is there a judge hiding under this table? I swear sometimes I don’t even understand how you have a hit pod.”
“Because I’m smart enough to invite mesmerizing friends like you on the air.”
Melissa had always been obsessed with true crime stories, especially unsolved mysteries. She knew she had a good eye for a gripping story, and trying cases in court had turned her into a natural storyteller. When Melissa first left the prosecutor’s office, she started her own practice, marketing herself as a “justice lawyer,” specializing in private lawsuits on behalf of victims of abuse, crimes, and other injustices. Though she handled some criminal defense cases, she only accepted defendants whom she believed were either wrongly accused or otherwise treated unfairly. Then, two years ago, she won a wrongful conviction case for Jennifer Duncan, a battered woman who had killed her husband in self-defense. She had been convicted of murder at her trial, but Melissa had convinced a court to vacate it. The exoneration was as high profile as the original murder trial had been—she was a former model, and her husband was a wealthy and well-known real estate developer. But in an added twist, Melissa herself had worked as part of the prosecution team during the original trial and used what she knew about the case to reverse Jennifer’s conviction.
She suddenly found herself on the cable news circuit, which led to a two-page feature in New York magazine, which led to an appearance for her and Jennifer on The View. Melissa wasn’t surprised that producers and publishers were interested in hearing more from Jennifer, but ten minutes after their joint television appearance aired, an agent named Annabel Marino had called Melissa to ask how she planned to use her newfound “platform.” Melissa’s plan, she had explained, was to go right back to her law office and keep doing the work.
Annabel warned that a moment like Melissa’s came only once in a lifetime—or never at all. She could leverage the case into a movie deal, a series of mystery novels based on herself, or maybe even a gig as the next cohost of a program like The View. The promises all sounded like hot air, but Annabel eventually convinced Melissa that she could have more impact as a public policy advocate than as yet another trial lawyer—and if a little bit of celebrity would help the cause, Melissa was willing to go along for the ride. Now, two years later, she was a bestselling author, sought-after speaker on the lecture circuit, and star of her own podcast. Despite the toxic way her relationship with Jennifer Duncan had ended, she owed her current career to Jennifer’s case.
Mac tried one more time to get Melissa to share her own theory of the case.
“Why don’t I end on a personal note?” she replied. “Some listeners may not know this, but I recently became a stepmother myself, and I’m so in love with this little toddler that I could tell you the plot of every single episode of Peppa Pig. I can see why Judith’s behavior after Evan went missing was a red flag. She couldn’t even remember what her stepson was wearing when she supposedly dropped him off for school, or what his school science project was, even though it was due that day. I can tell you every last detail about my stepdaughter. And if something ever happened to her, God forbid, I wouldn’t be able to think straight. I certainly wouldn’t go to the gym and post workout selfies.”
“Aha,” Mac gloated, “you do think she did it.”
“Presumption of innocence, my friend.”
“Well, I’m not her lawyer, and we’re not in a courtroom,” Mac said. “In my humble opinion, Judith Moore did it.”
They exchanged a glance that confirmed they were done. “And that, dear listeners, is another episode of The Justice Club.” She hit the Stop button on the recorder and pulled off her headphones.
“You’re such a pro,” she said. “All the online reviews say you’re the best cohost.”
“That’s because I’m the one writing them,” he joked. “My way of auditioning for a permanent gig.”
“Now that would be the dream. It doesn’t even feel like work when we do this together. Just two friends talking about juicy cases.” She could tell from his arched brow that he was surprised by her response. “Wait. Weren’t you kidding about the permanent gig?”
“I mean… I guess I was. But I would absolutely do it.”
“Do you have enough time?” Melissa had largely wound down her legal practice, but Mac was in hot demand as a criminal defense lawyer.
Mac mulled the question over for a few seconds. “I could do it as long as I wasn’t in the middle of a long trial. But we could always pre-record a couple of episodes to roll out in a pinch. And you could still bring in other cohosts whenever you wanted.”
Melissa was thrilled at the thought of being coworkers with Mac again. She noticed a new text message on her phone. It was from Katie. I’m in your lobby. You done recording? Didn’t want your doorman to interrupt by calling.
She typed a reply and hit Send. Perfect timing. We just finished. Come on up.
“Katie’s coming up for a drink. She wants to hear all about the honeymoon.”
Another arched brow from Mac.
“Stop it,” she said. “Not like that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You want to stick around? The Three Musketeers, back together again.”
“And in much nicer digs than the DA’s office.”
“Better beverages, too,” she said, sliding a bottle of Billecart-Salmon champagne from the wine refrigerator beneath the kitchen island and displaying it for his approval.
“Ooh la la. I’d love to, but I’m on the clock. I’m meeting my sister—” He glanced at his watch. “Oops, in three minutes.”
As she walked Mac out, she heard the ding of an arriving elevator down the hall. Katie stepped out. She and Mac greeted each other with a quick hug before Mac explained why he had to run. Once Melissa and Katie were alone, Katie asked if Mac was still dating “what’s her name.”
“Sarah. And yes.”
Katie shook her head in disappointment. Katie’s last serious relationship had ended nearly six years earlier when she was still working at the district attorney’s office. She liked to joke that she could also be a bestselling author if she wrote about her nightmarish online dating experiences: “Talk about a horror story.”
Spotting the champagne waiting on the counter, Katie said, “Wow. What are we celebrating? I know you’re living your best life right now, but if it gets any better, I might officially be jealous.”
“Nothing specific,” Melissa said. She knew her friend was only joking. Despite the different paths they had taken since their early days in the DA’s office, Katie always seemed to celebrate each of Melissa’s successes as if it belonged to her as well. “We haven’t seen each other for a while, and I know this is your favorite.” She tipped the bottle over two flutes, which they clinked before getting settled on the living room sofa. “So… you will never guess who called me yesterday.”
Katie’s eyes flashed with the thrill of juicy incoming gossip. “Um… Brad Pitt saying he wants to be my new boyfriend?”
“Cute, but no. Patrick.”
Katie’s jaw dropped with exaggerated surprise. “As in Patrick Higgins, your Patrick?”
“Formerly mine.” Melissa hadn’t realized she had never changed his nickname in her phone—Future Husband—until the words popped up on her screen when he called. After he suddenly broke off their engagement, there had been no messy on-and-off phase, not even a single follow-up conversation—until yesterday.
“So what happened?”
“I was so stunned, I decided not to pick up.”
“Okay, so why did he call?”
“I have no idea. He didn’t leave a message.”
“Oh my God, why didn’t you pick up? Now you’ll never know.”
“It was probably just a butt-dial,” Melissa said, even as she imagined Patrick holding his phone, waiting to see if she would answer.
“So, are you going to call him back?”
“And say what? You called me but didn’t leave a message? And by the way, I’m married now?” She held up her ringed left hand for emphasis. “Calling an ex-fiancé is just asking for trouble.”
Melissa had never been so happy. She had no room in her life for the man who broke her heart so badly she thought she’d never be willing to share it again.
They were on their second glass of bubbles when she finally finished showing Katie all of the photographs from the honeymoon—two weeks in Italy, zigzagging from Milan to Genoa to Florence to Rome. “You should have posted those to your Instagram account,” Katie said. “My travel pictures always boost engagement.”
She shook her head. “It’s too personal.” Melissa was still getting used to the jargon of social media, which she saw as a necessary evil of her unexpected career path. “That time together was just for us. I didn’t think it was possible, but I fell more in love with him every day. Obviously I love Riley, but Charlie and I have never been alone that long, just the two of us.”
Katie grimaced slightly, and Melissa wondered if her schmaltzy comments were insensitive given Katie’s own situation. Katie didn’t linger on the moment, however. “Speaking of social media,” she said, “any more posts from your stalker?”
“More of the same.” The user who identified as TruthTeller seemed to have nothing but time to chime in—often repeatedly—on every post Melissa created. “It stings, but Annabel insists it’s actually good for my profile. The more they attack me, the more my supporters engage.”
“Well, Annabel’s your agent, and I’m your best friend. That person’s posts are deranged, Melissa—clearly obsessed with you.” This morning’s comments had been especially pointed. In response to a post teasing her upcoming podcast episodes, TruthTeller replied: The Evan Moore case is perfect for you. Spoiler alert: The stepmother’s evil. An hour later: I still can’t believe you tricked some poor sucker into marrying you, but I feel worse for his daughter. If she’s lucky, you’ll have the decency to dump her on the nannies. Forty minutes later: Maybe when he finds out what I know about you, he’ll dump you. “And what is it with all these vague references to having some kind of deep, dark secret that’s going to bring you down?”
Not for the first time, Melissa’s thoughts went from the TruthTeller account to Jennifer Duncan. When Jennifer’s conviction was first set aside, it seemed only natural that the two women would remain connected. They had formed a bond during the wrongful conviction proceedings, and they both believed that sharing Jennifer’s story with the public could help other survivors.
But then Jennifer also wanted Melissa’s help in probate court, where her husband’s estate was still pending. Under the law, Jennifer’s criminal conviction prevented her from inheriting what she otherwise would have received under their will—which was the entire estate. Once her conviction was set aside, Jennifer claimed she was entitled to inherit everything after all. According to her, Doug’s now-adult children were practically strangers—the products of a brief and early marriage before he stopped drinking, went to business school, and started the real estate business that would make him a millionaire many times over. Melissa tried to explain that she wasn’t an estate lawyer and wanted to focus her attention on criminal justice and not a probate battle with Doug’s children, but Jennifer lashed out at her in a fierce rage.
But the TruthTeller could be anyone, so Melissa had never shared her lingering suspicions. “Who knows what they’re talking about. To be honest, it was actually the comment about the nannies that stung the worst.”
Melissa and her brother had rarely been left even with a babysitter, but Charlie was currently ramping up his business after scaling back when Linda died, and he was insistent that Melissa continue to aggressively pursue her own career. The plan was to hire a nanny at least part-time once Riley adjusted to the changes they had already imposed upon her young world.
Katie waved away the concern. “That poor little girl already lost a parent. The more people she has in her life to love her, the better. Sometimes you have to find your own family.”
Melissa gave Katie’s hand a quick squeeze. She could always count on her to understand. “Speaking of family, Mike’s coming back up for the big move.” Melissa’s mother had accepted an offer on the house. “Instead of just hiring a mover, we are going to sort through everything together. That way, we can all keep some memories from the old house, and Mom can store anything that won’t fit in the new place. Oh, and get this: Mike and I are renting a U-Haul and taking a road trip together. This is his off-season, so he had time to come up again.”
“And whose brilliant idea was that?”
“Mom’s, if I had to guess. I think since Dad passed away, she really wants the two of us to be closer.”
Katie stroked her chin as if deep in thought. “Well, maybe if he dated your best friend, that would help.”
“Don’t even joke,” Melissa scolded.
“You sure you don’t need an assistant for the move? He looked pretty good in that suit at your wedding.”
“That would be like my sister dating my brother or something. You really need to stop.”
“Fine, I was only kidding anyway. Mostly. You sure you don’t need a buffer? I know it drives you crazy the way he’s always trying to talk about… well, you know.”
Melissa shrugged. “No, I need to do this on my own. It’s important to Mom, and it’s what Dad would want, too.”
Melissa had no idea that three weeks later, she would desperately regret not taking Katie up on her offer to make the trip with them.