CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 35

NEENA

I stared out the window as Matt pulled the car out of the visitors’ lot. The seat belt cut into my stomach, and I knew I should hit the treadmill before bed and burn off the extra thousand calories our little get-together had caused. The bruschetta had been a mistake. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from taking one after another, the blue cheese–topped calorie bombs barely helping my nerves as Cat had downed glass after glass of the expensive limoncello. William hadn’t even looked at me in the hospital. He’d dismissed me as if I were one of his employees, as if we hadn’t shared a dozen special moments, a unique bond, a sexual history. Pulling at the waist of the seat belt, I stewed over the brush-off.

Matt put on the blinker too early, and the tick-tick-tick filled the car. I listened to the maddening sound for a half minute, then reached over and flipped it off. “There’s no one around,” I said tersely. “Just turn.”

He turned, and I stared out the window, watching as a runner stopped at the intersection, jogging in place. I should have run this morning. I’d been so stressed over everything with tonight that I’d skipped it. “I should have just stayed home. I could have cleaned up the mess. Now her vomit is going to be caked on.”

Honestly, with the staff that Cat had, she really should have sent over someone to help. I didn’t have the money or inclination to bring in a professional crew just to clean up her mess.

“I don’t think you’re understanding what has happened.” Matt spoke slowly, as if I were mentally handicapped. “William said that Cat ingested something that made her sick. That she was poisoned.”

“Oh, please,” I sputtered. “Poisoned? Matt, you don’t believe that. That’s Cat being dramatic.”

“You saw her. She looked terrible. She threw up everywhere.”

“So, someone poisoned Cat? Who? Why?”

“I think William thinks that we did,” Matt said quietly.

I flinched. “He doesn’t think that. Maybe she thinks that, but he doesn’t. He’d never think that of—of us.” I almost said me but caught the pronoun just in time.

“You act like it doesn’t matter if Cat thinks that!” My passive husband exploded, and I was reminded of the fact that—beneath his very sweet and calm exterior—there did lie a killer. “That is a big issue, Neena. A huge issue.”

He suddenly gripped the steering wheel, his face tightening. “Oh my gosh. I think I’m going to be sick.” He retched, and I glared at him.

“Don’t you dare throw up in here. You shouldn’t even be driving. You’ve been drinking all day.” Between him and Cat, I might as well put vomit patrol on my forehead. “And I don’t know why you drank the limoncello. You hate limoncello.” Fresh anger burned at the thought of her cozied next to his side, her hand on his arm, my guileless husband’s mouth on her drink.

“Do you have anything for me to throw up in?”

“Are you serious? Pull over, I’ll drive.”

He yanked the wheel unnecessarily hard to the right, and I opened the door in time to hear him retch.

I stomped around the front of the car and glared at him, waiting as he emptied his stomach into the thick grass. “Done?”

He didn’t respond, just straightened and walked around to the passenger side. Stepping over a pathetically small pool of vomit, I moved the seat forward and fastened my belt.

“I need to know if you put anything in that liqueur.” Matt closed the door with his good arm, the motion awkward around the cast.

“I didn’t put anything in it.” I yanked the car into drive and flipped the headlights on.

“Neena.”

I hated when he said my name like that. As if he knew everything and I knew nothing.

“I didn’t,” I insisted.

“If you did, and the police find out—”

“I didn’t.”

“I won’t protect you. This isn’t like before. What I did . . . I can’t go down that path again. It just about killed me.”

I pulled out into the street and accelerated past a minivan. “I didn’t do it,” I repeated, my voice softening.

He said nothing, and inside the stuffy car, the distrust between us grew.