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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

C HAPTER T WENTY -T HREE

It was Friday morning when Chloe stepped inside the house after taking Rowan to school. Wesley came downstairs carrying a hand towel. He was shirtless, his hair damp from a recent shower.

“Aren’t you going to be late to work?” she asked him.

“I have some time. I heard the door and I wanted to see how you were feeling after everything you went through yesterday.”

He had no idea.

He used the towel to dry his hair, his chest inflated like a male turkey with puffed-out feathers, strutting his stuff, establishing social dominance. Wesley might as well start gobbling. He hadn’t returned home until after seven last night. Blake was the only one who had appeared happy to see him. Ridley had looked disinterested, and Rowan had been unusually quiet.

When she went to Rowan’s bedroom later in the evening to say good night, she sat on the edge of the bed and asked him if there was anything he wanted to talk about. He shook his head. She apologized for not realizing he’d been hanging out with Rosella and asked him if he wanted to attend her funeral next week. He said he did. And that was all she got out of him. Trying to figure out what was going on inside Rowan’s head, or any of her kids’, for that matter, was like trying to crack open a coconut on the beach without a rock or any tools at all.

“What’s wrong?” Wesley asked as he followed her to the kitchen.

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“I do,” he said. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“Okay. Fine.” She turned toward him, crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned against the marble counter. “Do you remember the doll Ridley made years ago out of tree branches and sticks?”

He laughed. “No, but it sounds like something Ridley would do. She loved climbing trees and finding the perfect branch to use as a sword. She always wanted to be the knight, never the princess.”

The twinkle in his blue eyes as he talked about their daughter was one of many things she had once loved about Wesley. She shook off the thought. “Well, way back when, Ridley created a doll figure made from sticks. It had walnuts for eyes and a bit of moss for hair. She was never the creative one out of the three, which is why I saved it.”

“Why do I get the feeling this conversation is going somewhere unpleasant?”

“Because that’s what it has been around here lately. Unpleasant. Rosella’s death has opened Pandora’s box.”

He sighed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I? Since you asked what was wrong, I’m going to tell you. I’ll start with Rowan. Did you know he was friends with Rosella? Apparently, she would make him cookies and talk to him when he was sad. She gave him all of Daniel’s video games and told Rowan he reminded her of Daniel when he was Rowan’s age.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

She ignored his comment. “Rowan wants to go to Rosella’s funeral.”

He raised a brow but said nothing.

“And then there’s Ridley,” Chloe went on. “Have you noticed a change in your daughter over the past year or so?”

“I put it down to teenage drama and hormones.”

“I think there’s more to it. In the past few days, I’ve learned Daniel meant much more to Ridley than I knew. It’s starting to look as if they might have been more than friends.”

“Ridley told you that?”

“No. I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“Okay. Who’s next?”

“You are.”

Both of his brows shot up.

“I invited the women in the neighborhood to our house the other night.” His expression changed. He already knew this. Of course he did. Becky must have told him. “I was hoping to find out if anyone had suspicions about who might have killed Rosella—”

“Why would you do that?”

“Don’t you want to know if someone on our block committed murder?”

“Not really. Not if it’s someone we know.”

“What if it is?” Chloe asked. “Doesn’t it frighten you to think your kids might be hanging out with a murderer?”

He shook his head, all the while regarding her with a puzzled expression. “Not once did I think one of our friends, someone living next door, could have possibly killed that woman.”

How could he make a judgment about anything going on in the neighborhood if he was seldom home? Lately it seemed as if he only cared about himself. Kids grew fast. Did he know Blake’s favorite food was lasagna? Did he know Ridley’s favorite color was red? Did he have any idea that Rowan had aced his math test?

“What about you?” she asked, feeling feisty, knowing he was a good dad to his kids but hating him just the same, ready to have it out with him and put it all on the table. “Did you kill her?”

He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He guffawed. He sounded like a donkey.

“Is that a no?” she asked.

“No. I mean yes. It’s a no ... I didn’t kill Rosella.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Are you nuts?”

She considered his question, then shrugged. Maybe she had cracked. “After I accused Jason of having something to do with Rosella’s death, Dianne became furious with me. She said I should be questioning you —the man who was making payments to Rosella.”

He had nothing to say, but she didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes and the way his body stiffened. He knew exactly what Dianne had been talking about.

“Were you paying Rosella to keep quiet about something?”

His eyes narrowed.

“You were. You are!” Chloe saw the answer to her question in every twitch of his jaw. “Rosella knew, didn’t she? She knew you were having an affair with Becky, and she capitalized on it.”

His face turned as white as her kitchen cabinets. “You’re being irrational,” he said.

“Don’t bother denying it. I saw you and Becky at the Residence Inn yesterday afternoon. I couldn’t believe how flexible she was when you lifted her into the air and she wrapped her legs around your hips. Impressive.”

“It’s not what you think.”

That made Chloe smile.

“I told her I needed to end it. That I was in love with you.” He reached for her, and she swatted him away.

“Stop it, Wesley. It’s over. I don’t love you, and you don’t love me.” She knew it would be beneficial if she took some time to cool down and gather her thoughts before engaging, but beneficial to whom? Not her. She didn’t give a shit about his feelings—if he even had feelings.

Chloe’s cell phone rang. She picked up the call, listened, and said, “It’s perfect timing. No problem at all. I’ll be right over.” She grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Wesley asked. “We need to talk.”

She turned to face him. “We’re done talking. I froze the credit cards and canceled your access to the main accounts. You still have your own checking account where you’ve had direct deposit from your work for years. It’s a hefty amount. You’ll be fine.”

“You can’t do this.”

“I can and I did.”

“You can’t give up on the two of us without thinking things through. We can go to counseling together—”

“Years ago, after you cheated the first time, everyone told me I should leave you. Once a cheater, always a cheater. But I believed in you—in us. I thought we were different. I believed your lies, and look where it got me. Being the fool is a deeply unpleasant experience, Wesley.”

There were a million things Chloe thought he should have said in that moment, including I’m sorry . But he said nothing.

“I have to go,” she told him. “Becky and Holly need me to watch their kids. I guess the police want to talk to them.” She lifted a brow. “Holly said they had to hire a lawyer,” Chloe went on. “And that’s a shame because they can’t afford one, just like they can’t afford to hire a babysitter whenever Becky feels the need to get laid.”

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