Kathryn stormed off, and I followed her into the women’s bathroom. She locked herself inside one of the stalls and demanded I leave the bathroom. I didn’t.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“How could you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You women are all the same. Liars, the lot of you. Always saying one thing and doing another.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Please let me explain,” I said.
“Go away. I want to be alone.”
I ducked my head down to make sure no one else was in one of the other stalls and said, “When I called myself Bunny just now, I wasn’t trying to flirt with your husband. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into the death of Rebecca Barlow. Before she died, she was in a relationship with a man she called Bunny. I wanted to see how your husband would react when I said the name.”
I stepped back, leaned against the wall, and waited. It took a few minutes, and then the stall door creaked open. Kathryn walked out, her face smudged with mascara. She went to the sink, wet a paper towel, applied a few drops of soap, and attempted to fix the damage.
“Need any help?” I asked.
“What I need is for you to explain yourself further. Why question my husband about the Barlow woman? What does he have to do with her?”
“I think he may have been dating her before she died. Rebecca Barlow is the woman who—”
“Yes, yes. I know who she is and how she died. Everyone does.”
“I don’t believe she committed suicide, and I find it hard to believe it was an accident.”
Kathryn tossed the paper towel into the trash and faced me. “You think she was murdered, do you?”
“It’s possible. I came here tonight to talk to your husband about it.”
“You won’t get anything out of him. He’s a wiz when it comes to dodging situations of this nature.”
“It’s worth a try.”
She crossed her arms. “You have a lot of nerve telling me. I could go let him in on your little plan right now.”
“You could, but I get the feeling you won’t.”
“In my opinion, Marshall’s no killer. But what do I know? He’s kept more secrets from me than a teenage girl’s diary. He thinks he’s so sneaky. He has no idea how many things I know. If I wanted to, I could take him down right this minute.”
Why didn’t she, then?
Maybe part of her still loved him. Or maybe she knew bringing shame on him would also bring shame to herself, even if she wasn’t involved in any of his wrongdoing.
“Do you know if Marshall dated Rebecca?” I asked.
There was a long pause before she answered. “Yes, I believe he did. I once saw them kiss and then get into his car together.”
“How long ago?”
“Six months, maybe more.”
“Any idea how long they dated?”
Kathryn cocked her head to one side and grinned. “I’m not sure about the exact timeline of his various flings. Why don’t we ask him?”