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“Restless sleep is putting it lightly. I had nightmares all night.” I’m on the phone with Violet, finally revealing all I’d kept from her since our last chat—even my fiasco at the doctor’s office. “I dreamt that I woke up in the hospital in this foggy room 101 with no one around, and I didn’t even know why I was there. I was hooked up to several machines, and I had a panic attack so intense that I woke up sweaty and gasping for air.”
“My dream after that was even worse. I was being chased by killer clowns at a medieval festival I was covering live on Facebook. I kept screaming my script on air as I was running for my life. Okay, maybe that one’s a little funny, now that I say it out loud.” I laugh, but on the inside, I’m still disturbed by the text about Clayton loving me.
Violet snickers. “I think you’re just under a lot of pressure right now. You just lost a good friend, this Allegra Hudson deal is a huge story, and you’ve completely changed your entire career plan. If I were you, I’d probably be having weird dreams, migraines, and tinnitus too. You need to calm down, hon. Are you still running at the gym?”
Tears well up at the reality of Marcus being gone forever, and I sigh. “Yeah, I am, but not as much as I used to. Only once or twice a week. I should probably step it up. It does tend to help me relax, but so does wine.” I laugh half-heartedly.
My phone beeps, and I hold it away from my face to read the notification. On some level, I still expect a phone call or text from Marcus, but it’s a number I don’t recognize. “Vi, a weird number is calling me right now. I’d better answer it. It could be a tip.”
“You think it’s ‘a source’?” Violet asks with a loud gulp I can hear through the phone.
I wince, because the truth might actually be scarier than what I’ve been imagining. “God, I hope not. I’d probably shit a brick if I found out who it was.”
“Maybe it’s a ghost who stalks you and watches you when you get naked at home, and they just now learned how to communicate via text,” Violet jokes, but I want to smack her.
“Seriously, I do worry about crap like that. Anything’s possible!” I laugh to cover up the sensation in my stomach that something really is wrong—with me, with this situation. I can’t put my finger on it, and I don’t want to worry Violet, but I’m scared.
Another beep. “Okay, Vi. I’ve really got to go.”
“Bye, Mad.” Violet makes a kissing sound and hangs up.
I click over to the other call, and my stomach fills with dread. I answer with a slight break in my voice. “Hello, this is Madeleine.”
“Hi, Madeleine. This is Connor. Connor Hudson. Ivy Richards gave me your number and said you two had been discussing my late wife, Allegra. She said you’d be expecting my call.”
Knock me down with a feather. Although I’d hoped, I never thought Connor Hudson would actually call and want to meet with me. So Allegra’s husband is on the phone. The Allegra Hudson’s husband wants my help. “Oh, Connor. Wow! Yes, she sure did. And we have talked a few times. How, uh, can I help you today?”
“I thought we could meet and discuss all the information I know at this point.”
“Sure. I have one appointment later today, around three thirty. I can meet you anytime before that,” I offer, hoping we can work something out before he changes his mind.
“I have to drop by my son Garrett’s school at eleven. Could we meet for lunch at noon? Somewhere busy downtown perhaps, where people won’t recognize me?”
I try to think of somewhere with a loud atmosphere, somewhere that he won’t be overheard by bloggers, reporters, and busybodies. “How about Downtown Grille and Brewery, then? It’s nice and loud.”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you there. I’ll be wearing a red flannel shirt if that helps. I just realized you probably have no idea what I look like.” He laughs.
“That’s right, I don’t. I’m not dressed yet, but I’m sure I’ll be wearing my signature color, black.” I giggle and make a mental note to google his picture before our meeting.
He kids me with a warm tone. “I remember you from your broadcasts, so I’ll recognize you. Come to think of it, you do wear a lot of black.”
“Yeah, it’s a real problem.” I grin and laugh nervously, surprised at how nice he seems. Then I realize I told him I wasn’t dressed yet, and I hope he doesn’t think I meant I was naked while on the phone with him. I should’ve just said I was still in my pajamas or kept my big mouth shut altogether.
“I’ll see you there, then,” he replies.
“You do too,” I say as he hangs up. You do too? My cheeks grow warm as I replay our conversation. He probably thinks I’m a complete moron, and honestly, I would judge him a little if he didn’t.
***
A SCRUFFY-FACED MAN in a cobalt-blue sweater walks into the Downtown Grille just before I do. He doesn’t see me but apparently senses someone behind him and holds the door open for me like a true gentleman. I catch his profile and note how ruggedly handsome he is, so I give him my most pleasant smile accompanied by a very Southern “Well, thank ya, sir.”
“You’re so welcome, Madeleine. Should we try to sit upstairs or down?” He points at a table upstairs and waits for my reply.
I step back with rosy cheeks and study his shirt again, suddenly remembering I forgot to google a picture of him. “Connor? That’s not a red flannel shirt by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Oh, right. Coffee.” He tilts his head to one side as his lush, dark hair falls in front of his face.
I squint, confused. “Your shirt’s not really brown either...”
“No, coffee. As in, I spilled coffee all over myself on my way out the door and grabbed this at the last second.” He laughs, revealing perfect white teeth.
“You really should’ve texted me. This has thrown my entire day off,” I say with a playful smirk. It’s distracting, but I can’t help noticing how good-looking he is. He doesn’t seem forty-something at all.
Connor laughs as we seat ourselves by the downstairs window. “Thanks for that, by the way. I was long overdue for a good laugh.”
“Glad I could help you out.” I giggle, embarrassed at how I tried to flirt with him when we walked in. We have a seat and begin looking over our menus. I drop mine almost as soon as I pick it up to say my piece about Allegra and clear the air.
“Can I just say, it’s so nice to meet you. I hate that it’s under such terrible circumstances, of course, and I know you’re probably tired of hearing this, but your wife was such an inspiration to me. I met her at a workshop once. I used to write a bit of fiction myself and was inspired by old Hitchcock films, just like Allegra. So I really connected to her words on every level, and her books helped me get through a rough time in my life. It’s an honor to do whatever I can to help her and her family.”
Connor has tears in his eyes. “No, don’t apologize. I never grow tired of hearing how Allegra’s words made an impact on others. That was always her dream, you know?”
I pat his forearm three times before retracting my hand, and he wipes away a tear. “I know this is hard for you. Just tell me as much as you can. If you feel comfortable, that is.”
Connor sniffs back a sob and rubs his eyes. The love he clearly has for Allegra touches me. After all, I sat in his seat not too long ago.
“All right. I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t get emotional till we spoke for at least ten minutes. Yet here I am, crying before you’ve even asked your first question.”
I pat the table and perk up to lighten the mood. “All right, my first question is pretty easy.”
“Okay, let me have it.” Connor takes a deep breath.
I place both hands on the table and lower my voice, leaning in. “What would you like to order for lunch? The white pizza is my personal favorite.” I point at my menu and smile, hoping he’ll feel more comfortable.
Connor nods. “I love it too. Let’s both get it, then.” He motions the waitress over and orders for us.
Once we’ve ordered and the waitress is out of sight, I go ahead with another, more serious prompt. “Why don’t you just take a deep breath and start at the beginning. Tell me about Allegra. How did you two meet, and when?”
I take a sip of the water the waitress dropped off and hope Connor can gather himself together enough for me to gain some valuable information. He’s clearly a man torn apart, deeply in love with his late wife, and boy, can I relate to how he’s feeling. I’ve been there, and the longing is agonizing.
He clears his throat as if trying to keep it together. “We met in 2002. Her mom was one of my clients. She was renovating parts of her house, and I was her contractor. Allegra came by almost every day with Mason to visit her mom and make sure we weren’t swindling her out of thousands of dollars or anything. Mason was almost three then, and he was really craving some male attention, so sometimes on my breaks, I tossed a ball with him in the yard for a few minutes. Mason never knew his father, unfortunately, and we ate up our time with each other. Allegra and I spoke here and there, and I fell hard for her and her sassiness rather quickly.” He smiles, and I do as well as I continue to write.
“Allegra was dating that goofy Lane Stone, who teaches at Westview Academy. They weren’t very serious. You could tell. She thought he was endearing at first, but then his neediness and mood swings rode on her nerves.”
I narrow my eyes, and as the waitress drops off our pizza, I wonder if there’s more to the story about Allegra and Lane’s relationship. Connor’s face is open and earnest; I think he’s being honest with me. He seems to have no animosity toward Lane Stone but maybe a little irritation. “So, you asked her out, even though they were seeing each other exclusively?”
Connor gives me a half smile and a plate full of pizza. “Not exactly. One day, when the three of us were playing ball in the yard at her mom’s, Mason asked her if we could all get pizza together. Allegra said yes. I drove home, changed, came back, and we were all four on our way to her car together when Allegra’s mom whispered in Mason’s ear, after which he announced he had a tummy ache. He said he wanted us to go ahead without him. Allegra said absolutely not, like any mom would, and made a fuss over him big-time, only to realize he was faking. I think he tipped her off when he giggled and said he wanted us to bring him back his favorite extra-cheese pizza when we ‘got done on our date.’”
Connor laughs. “So we continued our ‘date’ as ordered, and Mason stayed with Allegra’s mom, who was beaming as we left. We had a fantastic time. Just clicked, like magic. She broke up with Lane the next day, and we got married one year later with Mace as our little ring bearer. I adopted him before we left for our honeymoon because I couldn’t wait to be his dad, and Allegra got pregnant with Garrett two years after that.”
“Did she start writing her books right after you two got married, then?” I jot down more notes. Only a truly good man would be so generous to his new bride and her baby. Taking the baby as his own before heading off on his honeymoon showed he had the right priorities.
“After we got married, Allegra finally had the stability and flexibility to do what she’d always wanted but never had time for—writing books. She started writing her first book, got her agent, and landed a great publisher within two years. The rest is really history. Five years later, she had four books out, one movie under her belt, and two more films in the works—she’d made it big, and fast.”
Her story almost sounds like a book she would have written. The way the stars aligned for her and her career are inspiring but also a cautionary tale about getting too much success too fast. I bite my pen and cock my head, wondering how such success would affect an average family of four.
“At first, it was great. Mason was in elementary school all day, and she wrote mostly during Garrett’s naps. She’d also write after we all went to bed. So even though she’d sold her debut, nothing really felt different as far as her being busy. Then after her first five years of selling books and cowriting screenplays, we really noticed a change. She wanted the boys to be safer, so we hired security to accompany her on her book tours and moved into a fancier part of town. Allegra’s mom died from a heart attack around that time as well, and it really caused her to prioritize, as busy as she was. She and her mom were extremely close, and it was beyond hard on her. She thought if she stayed busy enough, she wouldn’t completely cave to those intense emotions. So after some tough times with her anxiety issues, she began flying to New York and LA every other week for something or another and going on tour for longer. It really started to take a toll on our marriage and on her friendship with Ivy. One thing she always did no matter what, though, was make time for the boys.”
I gaze up from my notepad to dig a little deeper. Connor doesn’t know that Ivy told me about Allegra’s pill problem, and I admire the way he keeps it a secret to protect her. He stayed vague by saying she had anxiety issues, but I already know the problem was much bigger than that.
“How did her busyness affect your marriage specifically?”
His jaw tightens, and there’s a hint of pain in his expression. I wish I could take the question back; I don’t like to see someone look so hurt. But then he answers, his voice slow and careful.
“She was gone a lot. And when she was here, she spent time with the boys and wasn’t very present with me. So we slowly became friends who happened to coexist in the same house. Before that, we’d always prided ourselves on our closeness. We were that couple everyone envied. We finished each other’s sentences and were annoyingly cute together, and I hate the word ‘cute.’ But alas, we were.”
“What about the boys, then? How did it affect them?” I sneak in another bite of pizza. The husband is usually the number-one suspect, although I’m not getting any inconsistent answers from him. He seems like a man who truly loved his wife, and their marriage was going through some difficulties they could’ve gotten through—if they’d only had more time.
“Don’t get me wrong. Allegra had major mom guilt. She loved those boys more than anything in the world, but she slowly let work take over. And to put it simply, they missed their mom. She was gone a bit too much toward the end, and for so long, they were used to her always being home.” He seems to regret saying that, like he hates himself for saying anything negative about his wife.
I purse my lips, wondering about the drama with her friends. “How about Ivy? How did she cope?”
Connor shuffles in his seat. “Ivy’s a dear, but she also calls it like she sees it. And she didn’t hold back when it came to Allegra. Ivy told her she was doing too much and she needed to get her priorities in order, which didn’t sit too well with Allegra. Especially since deep down, she knew Ivy was right. She was escaping to avoid dealing with her loss and her anxiety head-on. Mayven pushed her to be involved with her many charities, to make public appearances, and to get involved with the community, which was great, except Allegra was only one woman. And as hard as she tried, she couldn’t do everything without falling short on a lot of things.”
He stops and rubs his face. “I’m so sorry. I never thought I would spill so much to you today. I guess I just needed to talk to someone.”
After taking another bite, I look around the room and sigh, processing everything he said. I feel terrible for Connor and Allegra because they seemed to have so much unfinished business despite their love for each other. Now they’ll never have the chance to tell each other how they really felt. This whole situation is such a shame—for him, for her, for their children. For everyone.
“Okay, I think I’ve got the gist of it now. Let me ask you this, though. Is there anyone in Allegra’s life, past or present, who might have had reason to harm her? Anyone ever send her, say, a threatening note?”
Connor looks me dead in the eyes. “No,” he answers convincingly.
I feel a rush of disappointment hearing that Allegra might not have been receiving threatening notes like me. I was hoping for a connection there. I wonder if he realizes he should probably be pointing me toward anyone but himself. Despite my belief in his innocence, the public will still think it’s the husband, alibi or no alibi, especially if there were marital issues.
“Not even Lane Stone?” I narrow my eyes, knowing he’s an easy target.
“Honestly, I know he doesn’t care for me, but he’s harmless.” Connor shrugs as if unconcerned.
I dab my napkin around my mouth to check for pizza crumbs. “Are you sure? I heard he had a hard time letting go after the breakup.”
Connor’s mouth tightens. “He did. I mean, he would show up places he knew Allegra would be to try to win her back. It was pathetic if you ask me, and Allegra wasn’t into it at all. Thinking of how long he had to wait around to run into her at the gym, the grocery store, and the gas station really gave her the creeps. But I think he was desperate for closure and a little out of his right frame of mind.”
I scrunch my brow. “That doesn’t seem like a red flag? He sounds like he googled ‘stalking 101’ and put it to use. People like him can be dangerous, you know.”
“I know. I really don’t think there’s anything there, but if you think it’s worth looking into, by all means, do it.”
“I’ve already spoken to him once, but I have another meeting with him scheduled for today, actually. He’s the three thirty I told you about.”
“Oh, really? Well, there’s obviously something I don’t know. I just keep thinking it had to have been a random crime or an accident somehow. She didn’t have any enemies. Everyone liked her. The police are really leaning toward calling it a random act of gang violence. I just... I don’t know. But I feel like there’s a story there, which is fitting, because Allegra was all about those dramatic stories.”
“Yes. Yes, she was.” I frown as I look at the table and think of her debut suspense novel, the one I read while pregnant with Graham.
“Listen, I’d better go. I’ve got a job site to check on before I pick Garrett up from school. If there’s anything else you need from me, don’t hesitate to call or text. At any time.” He passes me his business card and throws a fifty on the table. “My treat.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I argue with a smile as we both stand to say goodbye.
“No, but I wanted to.” He shakes my hand then holds it for a second. His eyes meet mine, and something in them feels familiar and safe. “Thanks. For everything you’re doing. I appreciate someone having Allegra’s back, and I know she would too. I’ll speak with you soon.”
As he exits the restaurant and makes his way across the street, my hand lingers in the position where he last held it, and my eyes have stars in them. I shake it off and gather my things. No, Madeleine. You can’t develop a crush on Allegra Hudson’s husband. This is beyond ridiculous, not to mention inappropriate. The poor man’s wife just died, and he’s probably fifteen years older than I am.
The more I try to talk myself into being repulsed by his age, or by the situation itself, the more romantic it seems. I keep picturing myself with him. What the hell is wrong with me? I mean, he is hot and seems to be sweet, loving, and a great husband and father. Of course I would feel attracted to him. Maybe I should give myself a break. I’ve never even thought about another man in this way since—
The clearing of a throat makes me jump.
“Ms. Barton?” a man’s raspy voice asks from behind me.
“Yes. Can I help you?” I turn and immediately notice his white hair, round frame, and tall stature. If he had a full beard instead of just a mustache, he would make a perfect Santa Claus.
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a badge. “Detective Jeff Wentworth.” He states it as if I should be impressed or surprised. I can’t help eyeing his clichéd black trench coat. He hasn’t disguised himself very well if that was his goal.
“I can see that.” I stretch out my hand. “Madeleine Barton, Marcus’s friend and colleague, but it seems you already put my face with my name.” I cautiously wonder if Wentworth’s even thought of his “friend” Marcus since his passing, especially since I don’t recall seeing him at the funeral.
He ignores my friendly handshake, pulling out a pen and a piece of paper from the other side of his coat pocket instead. With my rejected hand, I scratch my head and wonder how long he was watching Connor and me.
“Can I ask what your business was with Connor Hudson here today and how long you’ve known him?” He scribbles on his pad.
I gulp as I recall what Ivy said about him wanting to quickly wrap up a case so long as there’s someone around that it’s relatively believable to pin the murder on. It seems irrational, but I can’t help wondering if he’s going to zero in and watch me closely.
“We only met today, actually. And if you must know, he’s asked me to look into Allegra’s death.”
He stops scribbling and eyes me like I have three heads. “You a PI?” he asks as if considering such a ridiculous notion is about to blow his mind.
“I’m a freelance reporter and journalist,” I answer confidently.
The corners of his mouth turn up slightly. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I knew that. I was just yanking your chain. And you and Connor only just met today, huh?” he asks again, presumably to see if I change my story.
“Yes. Why?” I hope he’ll clue me in to what he’s getting at.
“You seemed to get along rather well for two people who just met. Don’t you think?”
His accusatory tone instantly makes me defensive.
“Not particularly. We didn’t not get along. We just had a lot to say because we’re both taking this case very seriously, and there’s a lot to discuss.” I’m not letting him put any words in my mouth, intimidate me, or insinuate anything.
He closes his pad of paper and buttons his coat. “Honey, don’t you think you’re in a little over your head here? Someone like you could get really hurt out there, and you have very limited resources.” He pats my shoulder with what he probably considers fatherly concern, but it comes across as condescension.
“I think I’ll be fine, thanks.” I play along as if I’m naive.
“Let me walk you out.” He guides me toward the frosty front door. “I’m going to let this one slide for now, but if my calculations are correct, your parking meter ran out of time about three minutes ago.” He makes his way across the street, where his black SUV is parked.
“With all due respect, I would’ve left five minutes ago if you hadn’t approached me, Detective Wentworth.” I let him know I came to play.
He reaches his car and smirks as he opens the door. “Touché, Ms. Barton. Touché.”
***
I PULL MY COAT TIGHT. As Lane approaches, I rise from the concrete picnic table on the grounds of Westview Academy. I grin as our eyes meet; his smile could light up the world if he could harness its energy. Admittedly, I can totally see how hanging out with him enough would build Allegra’s self-esteem and optimism. He seems fiercely loyal to her, but his supposed clinginess after the end of his relationship with Allegra makes me keep my guard up. He might be dangerous. I shake his hand. “Nice to meet with you again, Mr. Stone.”
He turns my offer of a handshake into a hand hold that lasts too long for my comfort.
“No, no, no. Call me Lane, please.”
“All right, Lane. I think I can handle that.” I force a smile as I gently pull my hand back and have a seat. My phone dings. “Let me just turn this on silent really quick.” I reach into my bag and glance at it as a new text flashes across the screen. My shoulders tense up as I read it.
So, Mad. Which one are you going to believe? —a source.