Sunday, August 19, 2018, 3 p.m.

D

ave refused to go to the reception, didn’t trust himself around Paul. Nora almost went home with him, but Patty wouldn’t hear of it.

“Come on, Nora. Barbara would want you to be there.”

Dave was still blinking too fast, and the small muscles around his eyes were taut. Would he be all right by himself?

“Go ahead.” He squeezed her hand. “Patty’s right. You should be there.”

“Are you sure?” she began, but Dave was already headed to the car.

At the house, Paul welcomed each guest at the door. Nora moved with the line of people waiting to shake his hand, offer condolences. She stood behind Patty and Ronny, hoping to slide in with them and avoid contact with the bereaved husband. But Paul stopped her.

“Thank you for being here, Nora.” He took both her hands.

His grasping fingers and the scent of his distinct cologne awoke memories. Reflexively, Nora recoiled.

But Paul took hold of her and drew her close, whispering, “Honestly, it means a lot to me that you’re here. You’re the only one who understands.”

“I came here to honor Barbara.” Nora leaned away from him.

“Of course. We all loved her. I, more than anyone. If only I’d known…”

“Save it.” She locked eyes with him. “I know the truth, Paul.”

She pulled away before he could reply, and Paul was embraced by the next person in line.

Barbara’s house was filled with boisterous drinkers in black and silent servers in black and white. Important people mingled. Nora wandered away from her friends, weaving past clusters of strangers, wondering what Barbara would think of this extravagant event, the opulent floral arrangements, the abundant gourmet food. There were bar stations in the living room, family room, and rear patio. Waiters darted through the crowd, offering stuffed mushrooms with crab, peanut chicken satay, and mini egg rolls. Platters graced every linen-swathed table with antipastos: olives of all varieties, cheeses, sliced sausages, and grapes. In the dining room were honeyed ham, poached salmon, bread baskets, vegetable medleys, potatoes au gratin, Caesar and green salads, berries, pecan squares, brownies, and carrot cakes. It seemed more like a wedding feast than a funeral.

Nora stopped to grab a martini. The olives were stuffed with bleu cheese. What did this excess have to do with Barbara? With death? She moved through the family room onto the deck and looked out on the layered garden, the pool two tiers below. A red cardinal flew back and forth over the water, repeating his trip as if looking for something. Maybe his mate. Maybe she’d left him. Did birds leave their mates? Nora had heard that ducks mated for life. Or was it geese? Maybe cardinals were different, fickle, always cheating and leaving the nest. Maybe he was looking for his mate so he could kill her for cheating. There have to be
repercussions.

She should have gone home with Dave. What was he doing, home by himself? Drinking? Blaming himself?

All around her, people bent their heads together, talking into each other’s ears with urgency. Discussing what? Plans for the campaign? For business? Certainly nothing concerning Barbara. From the deck, Nora saw Alex and Patty chatting and munching, clearly impressed by Paul’s spread—his circus. She swallowed the rest of her martini and chewed an olive. Looked back at the pool and pictured Barbara sunning on a lounge chair, her long legs shimmering. Decided it was time to go home.

“Come with me,” Paul appeared from behind and took her elbow.

Nora didn’t budge.

“It’s okay.” He grinned and his teeth gleamed, unnaturally white. “I promise I’ll behave.” He touched the bandage on his forehead. “I learned my lesson.”

His eyes were steady, confident, as if what he’d done to her was nothing of significance. He didn’t bother to feign grief. “Please.” His smile was crooked, almost boyish, self-conscious. “I want to talk to you. Just a few words.”

Nora looked around, saw Patty and Ronny in the family room, the scattered catering staff, the sea of important people. Paul would be insane to assault her again with so many others around. And, come to think of it, given the opportunity, she could say a few words to him too. Words like, “abuser” and “murderer.”

“I don’t think so.” She darted away from him, zigzagging through clusters of twos and threes, hoping to lose him among the crowd, finally slipping into a powder room to disappear. But when she swung the door shut, Paul caught it with his shoe. He shoved his way in, closed and locked the door, leaned against it. Swirled a scotch and sighed as if he were tired. Or losing patience.

“I’ll scream.” Nora reached for the doorknob.

Paul blocked it. “Please don’t. All I want is to talk.”

Nora stepped as far away from him as she could, her backside against the sink, her hands latched onto its porcelain rim. Her eyes moved side to side, taking in the mirrors, the small antique vanity, the birds and branches on the wallpaper.

“When you came in you said you know the truth. What did you mean by that?”

Really? This was why he’d followed her into the bathroom?

“Nothing,” she fudged. “Just, you know, about Dave and Barbara. About the affair.”

Paul’s lips formed a slithery grin. “Nora, please. Lying isn’t your forte.”

Nora moved sideways, bumped the toilet. Oh God. How had she let him isolate her? There was only one way out, and he was blocking it.

“I meant that I know the truth. There was no affair.”

He watched her, unmoved.

“And that I know Barbara didn’t suffer from depression. You made that up.”

If he came toward her, she’d scream. People would come running. How would he explain his presence in the powder room with her?

Paul’s eyebrows rose. “Well, if that’s what you meant, you’re mistaken. On both counts.” He sipped scotch.

“Look, I need to get going.” She eyed the doorknob. “My husband’s expecting me.”

Paul didn’t budge. “Why do you still doubt that there was an affair?” His voice had softened, become powdery.

The mirrors on opposite walls repeated their reflections dozens, hundreds of times; his frame towered over her. She tightened her grip around her empty martini glass. If he came within arm’s reach, she’d smash it and cut him again.

Paul pressed on. “I’m curious. What do you think they were doing all those hours they spent together? You saw the photos. But if they weren’t enough to convince you, how’s this? The night she died, Barbara admitted she’d been unfaithful. She begged me to forgive her.”

He was lying. “No. That didn’t happen.”

“It did. During our argument. My wife admitted that she was involved with someone. She wouldn’t identify him, but that didn’t matter as I already knew who he was.”

Nora frowned. Why would Barbara tell Paul she was having an affair when she knew he’d become enraged—and when she wasn’t even having one?

“After she confessed, Nora, the most incredible thing happened: The bubble burst. Poof. In a momentary flash, clarity set in. I had a revelation. I was, for the first time in years, free of her spell. No longer in love with her. In fact, I was repelled. I told her to pack and leave.”

Paul had to be lying. Just days ago, he’d been insane with jealousy and possessiveness, desperate to keep his marriage intact. But now, he claimed he’d told her to leave?

He was lying—about everything.

Paul sipped his drink, continued to lean against the door.

Except, what if he wasn’t lying? Barbara might have confessed to an affair in order to hide the truth about Dave and why she’d been seeing him. Paul will never let me leave. Maybe Barbara had admitted to one kind of betrayal in order to conceal another.

But there was no reason for secrecy anymore. “Here’s the truth, Paul. There was no affair. Dave was spending time with Barbara to help her prepare to leave you.” She watched him.

He frowned. “So. To be clear. You’re saying there was no cheating. And Barbara wanted to leave me. Oh—And she wasn’t depressed?” He smirked, rubbed his chin. “Do I have it right?”

Nora didn’t answer, held onto her empty glass.

“You are fascinating, Nora. But completely wrong.” Paul shifted his weight, leaned against the mirror by the door. The reflection looked as if he was shoulder to shoulder with himself. “Here’s what’s true. Barbara would never have chosen to leave me. She depended on me, completely. I saved her from a whore’s life and made her into a goddess.” He crossed his arms. “So, whatever your wandering husband told you, whatever far-fetched cover story he made up is just that—a cover story. Your husband lied to you to conceal their tawdry affair. But it doesn’t matter now. Barbara’s gone. Their affair is over. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of it. As to you? Well. Believe what you want.” He waited a beat, then turned to leave.

Nora’s face burned. She couldn’t breathe. She watched the back of Paul’s elegant black hand-tailored suit and as he reached for the doorknob, she heard herself spit out the question she had intended not to ask.

She expected him to spin around and attack.

But Paul turned slowly and merely raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Nora. The question isn’t whether I killed her. It’s why? Why would I kill her?” He scowled. “The answer is that I wouldn’t bother. We argued that night, yes. After the unpleasant incident with you—for which I sincerely apologize, by the way—I ended up in the hospital getting stitches, and I realized the low point to which that woman had brought me. How badly she’d disappointed me. And how, despite the wonders of modern plastic surgery, time was devouring her. Her skin was beginning to shrivel and sag. Jowls were forming.” He grimaced. “The point is that I saw that Barbara was, for lack of a better phrase, a used up, dried up, cheap old tart. After that realization, I didn’t need to kill her. To me, she was already dead.”

Nora couldn’t speak. How could Paul be so callous about anyone, let alone the woman he’d married, the mother of his children? Paul isn’t who people think he is. She sunk onto the vanity stool, stared at the pretty bottles of lotion and cologne, amenities Barbara had laid out for guests.

Paul continued. Pieces of him, his shoulder, an arm, the side of his face were reflected in the mirror. “Our argument was admittedly rather ugly. I told my wife flat out that I’d become bored with her and wanted a divorce. She didn’t believe me at first. She couldn’t imagine that I, who’ve doted on her for over a decade, simply no longer cared for her. When I insisted that I did not, she became vindictive, promising that our divorce would be scandalous and ruin my political career. I reminded her that we live in the 21st century. Divorce is well tolerated by the vast majority of the electorate. Hell, half the voters are divorced themselves. I assured her that my campaign would be unaffected by our split, but that, due to our prenuptial agreement, she’d receive not one cent. I suggested that her lover might support her, but failing that, she might return to the—shall I call it a profession? A trade? Either will do, I suppose, for the way she supported herself when I met her, except that now, being substantially older, she’d be far less marketable. And, given her circumstances, she’d never get the children.

“She did a good deal of yelling and crying, but in the end, I told her to pack up and go, as I couldn’t endure the sight of her anymore. That was the last thing I said to her. She ran out of the house sobbing. I heard her car speed off.” Paul looked into his drink. “I didn’t follow, just let her go. How could I have known where she headed?”

Paul’s gaze became momentarily vacant, then he took a drink and looked at Nora quizzically. “I behaved monstrously to you that day. Is that why you think I’m capable of murder?”

Nora doubted everything he’d said. “Tell me how you did it.”

“Really? I know I was out of line, but murder?”

Someone tried the doorknob, knocked.

Nora considered asking the knocker for help, but stopped herself, picturing the chaos that would ensue. “I’ll be right out,” she called.

Nora drew herself up and met Paul’s eyes. “Tell me,” she repeated.

With her back straight, her chin raised so she could look into his eyes, she stepped closer to him. She didn’t falter. She didn’t back down, didn’t even blink, not even when she stood close enough to inhale his scotch-drenched breath. She was actually confronting him, refusing to be bullied. And, somehow, she wasn’t afraid.

“Nora, I’d never hurt Barbara. I was finished with her, but why would I physically harm her?”

“Oh please. Paul, you physically harmed her all the time. I saw the black eye, the huge bruise on her arm.”

Paul’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Last week. Have you forgotten beating her up?”

“Beating her up?” His face twisted. “That’s absurd. I have no idea—Oh, wait. I know about the bruise, but you’ve got it all wrong. I found Barbara with a knife, about to cut herself. I tried to take it, and she fought me. I grabbed her arm and twisted until she dropped the knife—That could have caused the bruise.”

Nora shook her head, amazed at the ease of Paul’s lies and the quickness with which he spewed them. Barbara hadn’t been about to kill herself. She’d been about to leave and start a new life. She’d been excited for her future.

“And the black eye?”

“I’d assume that happened during our struggle as well. I might have elbowed her. I don’t know. But Nora, I am not a violent man, let alone an abuser. I never laid a hand on Barbara.”

Nora studied his face but found no signs of lying. Paul was smooth, practiced. She remembered how he’d forced himself on her, the gleam in his eyes. He’s not who he seems to be.

Paul finished his drink and set the glass on the vanity. “Believe what you will, but even the police say she died by her own hand. And think about it. If I’d wanted to kill Barbara, would I have done it so clumsily? Don’t you think I would’ve have made sure she was never found?”

“Sure, if you’d planned it. But you were angry, not thinking clearly. Acting on impulse.”

“I wasn’t angry, Nora.” His voice was calm, almost gentle. “I was indifferent and bored. Finished. That’s why she did what she did.” He glanced at the door behind him. “Look, I have to get back. People must be looking for me.”

Nora waited, but he didn’t leave.

Instead, he watched her, as if deciding whether to say more. Then his lips curled into a smile, or maybe a snarl. “Fine. Let’s put this to rest. For the sake of argument, let’s say I killed her. How did I do it?”

Nora stepped back, knocked the stool. “Maybe you drugged her like you tried to drug me. And put her into the car.”

“I see.” He met her gaze. “So, I laced her drinks with crushed sleeping pills, rendering her all but unconscious.” He put a finger to his lips as if thinking. “Then I put her into the car and drove to the pier where I then rearranged her in the driver’s seat, belted her in, put the car into drive and her foot on the gas, somehow accelerated, and slammed the door just as it went flying into the water.” He shook his head, seemingly at how preposterous the scenario was. “Do you honestly think that would have been possible? That I could have pulled it off leaving no witnesses, no evidence? That I would have taken that risk, especially now when I have so much to lose?”

Nora’s breath caught in her throat. The description sounded far-fetched, but Paul’s details were disturbingly exact. She thought of Barbara. Of how much Paul had to lose. “Yes. I do.”

His broad grin was wrong, inappropriate. “But why kill her? I have a lot to lose, and a divorce would have cost me nothing.”

Nora chewed her lip.

“I’ve got to get back. Come out and get a refill.” He winked at her empty glass, unlocked the door and left.