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wanted to be alone.”
    “Why?”
    “Jay, I don’t know! I don’t know
what
he did when I went out!”
    “Did he know what
you
did when you went out?”
    She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her hands were clenched tightly, and he realized she was shaking. He couldn’t tell if the shaking was due to fear, anger, or sadness. “What is it you’re trying to get at?” she said finally.
    “Some of this is conjecture on my part, but I’ve done this before. I know the drill.”
    “And what is that drill?”
    “A lot is going to depend on what time Evan was killed. We’ll know that fairly soon. The timing is going to make things complicated.”
    “Complicated how?”
    “You have to understand, I’m talking about appearance now, not reality.”
    “Just talk.”
    “I might be your alibi. Depending on the timing. I’m also your lover. And I’m also the fucking chief of police.”
    “So?”
    “If the time line shows that he was killed while we were together, there are going to be several possibilities that have to be covered. One is that I’m lying to protect you. Two is that we’re both lying to protect each other.”
    “It’s crazy. They’ll think
you
killed Evan?”
    “Maybe. Or that you were using me and you hired someone to kill him while you could get me to vouch for you.”
    “Nobody could think that.”
    “Yes, we will.”
    “We?”
    He nodded and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t know how this is going to play out, Abby. But I’m going to be involved in this investigation one way or the other. Either as a suspect or because it’s my job.”
    “Do you think I’m capable of doing that, Jay? Do you think I’m capable of doing what we just did in your bedroom while I knew someone was murdering my husband?”
    He couldn’t help himself. The tiniest hint of a sad, regretful smile crossed his lips. “I’m a cop, Abby,” Justin Westwood said. “I think almost anyone is capable of doing almost anything.”
    Abby Harmon shifted in her seat again so she faced forward. She didn’t say another word as he made a left and drove through the open gates, ornate enough that they looked like they should lead toward a stairway to heaven but only led up the driveway toward her house where her murdered husband’s body awaited them.

4
    Justin had been in similar situations often enough to know that for many people death turned the world upside down. The secure became insecure. The satisfied were suddenly morose, and the complacent were lonely. Murder took things to another, surreal level. Truths were often shown to be lies. Strength was revealed as weakness. The mundane could prove crucial. Things that seemed so impregnable suddenly crumbled at the merest touch.
    His life had disintegrated when death had hit his family. His lovely little daughter had been murdered and, never being able to cope with the loss, his wife had committed suicide a year afterward. It was only now, so many years later, that he felt as if his life was being stitched back together. And Justin was very cognizant of how quickly that stitching could unravel.
    Watching Abby walk up to the home she’d lived in for over four years, Justin understood that she was uncertain now about how to do something as simple as open her own front door. He took her arm as they approached the steps, and she didn’t flinch or shake him off. He saw her shoulders sag just slightly in relief, and her muscles relax, grateful for any support. When they got to the door, she stood frozen. She didn’t know if she should reach for her keys or knock or just go right in. He’d noticed that, although she hadn’t said a word, her eyes had narrowed at the gate to her driveway, in recognition of the fact that it was open and that it was unnecessary to use the various security precautions that normally kept people off the property. Invasion was not normal for her. She was used to controlling her surroundings, dominating her environment. But things