Margot Hunt - Best Friends Forever

It was a nonanswer, but if it frustrated Demer, he hid it well. Oliver, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to slap me.

“Fair enough,” Demer said. “Did Katherine ever complain about her husband?”

“Kat,” I corrected him.

“Excuse me?”

“She goes by Kat, not Katherine.”

“Okay. Kat, then. So, did she?”

“Complain about her husband?” I repeated. He nodded. “Sure, from time to time. I hate to break it to you, Detective, but most women complain about their husbands to their friends.”

The wonderful thing about this statement was that it had the benefit of being the absolute truth.

“Let’s get back to Howard Grant,” Demer said.

My patience was starting to fray. “I’ve already told you, I wasn’t close with Howard. I was friends with Kat. I suggest you talk to her if you want to know about her husband.”

“Oh, we’ve already talked to Katherine Grant,” Oliver inserted.

Something about this bald statement caused a flicker of concern at the edges of my consciousness. I wasn’t sure what exactly about it bothered me. Of course, it only made sense that they would interview Kat as part of their investigation, even if she was out of the country at the time of Howard’s death. But then, suddenly, I realized what the problem was. Kat hadn’t told me the police had been to see her. And we told each other everything, or almost everything. I knew when her insomnia was acting up, and when the dry cleaner ruined her favorite dress, and usually what she’d had for dinner the night before. So why didn’t she call to tell me the police had questioned her about her husband’s death?

“When did you speak with Kat?” I asked.

Demer shot Oliver a glance. She shrugged but didn’t say anything more. I suddenly had the distinct feeling that there was something more going on here. That the police had not asked me to come in simply to give them background information.

“What is this all about, anyway? Why are you asking me about Kat and Howard’s marriage?” I pressed.

“Like I said, we’re looking for background,” Demer said. “We’re just trying to make sure we’ve covered everything.”

“And they brought you all the way down here from Tallahassee to do that?” I asked.

Demer looked at me steadily but didn’t answer my question. It was clear there was something going on, some reason they had for questioning me, and I didn’t know what that was.

“Why don’t you tell us about when you first met Howard Grant?” Demer suggested.

“I’m not sure if I remember,” I said, thinking back. “It would have been three years ago.”

“Try,” the detective said. “Take your time.”

6

Three Years Earlier

“What are you doing in here?” Todd asked.

I started violently but managed not to scream. I was sitting in our home office, working on the computer with my back to the door that led off the front hallway. Our garage was on the opposite side of our one-story house, so I hadn’t heard Todd come home. I had always hated being startled. Horror movies, haunted houses, practical jokes—these were not among my favorite things. I also didn’t like the idea of someone entering my house without my being aware of it, even if that someone was my husband.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I said, willing my heart rate to return to normal.

“Sorry,” Todd said mildly. He dropped a kiss on the top of my head, and I could smell the scent of sweat still clinging to his body.

“How was your match?” I asked.

“First, ask me this... Who is the king of tennis?”

“Who is the king of tennis?”

“Me! I am the king of tennis. I just pulled out the win in a third set tiebreaker.” Todd raised two triumphant fists over his head. “I ended the match with an ace. It was so sweet. Maybe the best match of my life.”

“Good job,” I dutifully supplied.

“Good job? Is that all you can say?”

“What else do you need from me?” I asked. “Congratulations on your win? Yay you?”

“A little enthusiasm would be nice. That’s the first time I’ve ever beaten Joe Hammond. He’s owned me until now.”

Todd was a tennis fanatic and competed weekly in a local league. It was basically a bunch of middle-aged men playing at night after work, but they took it so seriously that you might have thought they were training for Wimbledon. Still, I was glad Todd had an outlet. When work started to overwhelm him and he wasn’t able to play, my husband became tense and moody. Far better he took his stress out on a little yellow ball. However, there were some downsides to his hobby.

“Speaking of tennis,” I said, “I was going over the bills, and I wanted to ask you about something. Did you really spend $224 at an online tennis store? I was hoping that was a mistake on the bill.”

I could see from my husband’s sheepish expression that it was not. My spirits plummeted.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding his hands up. “It was an impulse purchase.”

“What was?”

“A new racquet. But it’s the racquet Federer plays with. I was just going to try it out—they let you take it out on a test run and then return it if you don’t like it—but I couldn’t not keep it. It’s the best racquet I’ve ever played with. It’s the racquet that helped me finally beat Joe Hammond! Anyway, it was on sale.”

Tension tightened my shoulders, and acid roiled in my stomach. I took a deep breath, trying to contain the anxiety, not to lose my temper.

“We can’t afford a purchase like that right now.” I pointed to the Visa statement I had pulled up on the computer. “Have you seen this lately? Our balance is over ten thousand dollars. That’s the limit. We’re now officially maxed out.”

I could have continued with a full accounting of our current financial struggles. We were a few weeks late paying the mortgage because the majority of Todd’s last paycheck had been swallowed up by an expensive car repair. The school tuition bill was due. Liam’s birthday was in two weeks and he had been begging for a laser tag party, which we couldn’t afford at the moment.

It was times like these, the nights when I was poring over the bills, trying to figure out where I could cut our already tight budget, that I tried to remember why I had ever given up my job. But almost as soon as the question floated up into my consciousness, I would remember anew, with a fresh jolt of pain. It hadn’t been a choice to stop working but a necessity. The grief I experienced after losing Meghan was a dark, smothering force that robbed me of my will to do just about anything. Eating, sleeping and showering were all equally unappealing options. But I had a three-year-old and a newborn to take care of. Falling off a cliff wasn’t a luxury I could indulge in.

I had arranged for a three-month maternity leave before I gave birth to the twins. When that time was up and I was still struggling, I went to see the dean of the math department. He suggested I take the rest of the semester off. But even when the grief started to recede and I slowly rejoined the world, going back to work still seemed like an impossible task. Then Todd was offered a job in West Palm Beach, which at the time seemed to offer a fresh start for our family.

But it also meant that we suddenly went from enjoying a comfortable two-income existence to living on one. We learned to make do while we waited for the raises and bonuses Todd had been promised when he was hired. We made up the difference with a series of credit cards we were paying only the minimum on each month to cover the unexpected expenses. A repair to the air-conditioning unit at our house. A cavity that needed filling. Tennis club memberships.

“It was only $200,” Todd said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, how much have you been spending on all of those lunches out with Kat?”