At this point, I’m half tempted to open the most expensive bottle I can find and wallow in my sorrows until I procure a Plan B. But I need to keep my wits about me, especially if I’m going to clean up the mess I made upstairs before Noah returns. If he returns, I remind myself. I’ve lost track of his schedule.

  En route back to the stairway, I glance up at the nearest oversized lightbulb hanging from wires. A black handle peers out from the hole cut in the drywall by the contractors for a light box. I drag an empty crate over from the corner and teeter on my tiptoes to reach the object.

  It’s a knife.

  It could be a drywall tool the contractor left behind. However, by the size of it, I suspect it’s a chef’s knife.

  With a rush of bone-rattling chills, I study it inside my open hand. Although it doesn’t match the set of professional-grade stainless steel knives we’d registered for with the rest of our wedding presents, it’s unquestionably a high-quality knife.

  Rocked by a memory, I waiver on my feet.

  The morning after Britta’s death, I’d made Taylor her favorite eggs cooked in bacon grease.

  When I had reached for a knife in Britta’s butcher block, I noticed one of the slots were empty.

  The set was black.

  The knife is from Britta’s kitchen.

  In the next blink of my eyes, I’m sitting at our kitchen island.

  Gabby grips my forearms, shaking me.

  As I look around, my eyelids feel heavy, as if they are covered in lead. “What’s going on?” I mumble. “What happened?”

  Gabby crushes me into her arms. “Oh, thank god! For a moment, I was afraid I would have to slap you silly, and I didn’t want to have to do you dirty like that. You were sitting there like a total space cadet, staring out the window.”

  When she draws back, I glance around the house. It’s dark out. What time did I go into the basement? It must’ve been long before noon.

  “How did I get up here?” I whisper. The last thing I remember, I’d found the knife tucked inside the basement ceiling. I must’ve blacked out after. Cold fear winds a ribbon around my heart. Where’d the knife go?

  Gabby frowns down on me. “Where were you before?”

  “Never mind,” I say, pushing away from the island to slide off the stool.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” Gabby sniggers. She motions to the emptied cupboards situated near the back entrance. “What happened here, Max? Did you have some kind of adverse reaction to those benzos I gave you?”

  “I think Noah was having an affair,” I blurt.

  Gabby’s threaded eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “And you thought you might find the little hussy hiding in your cupboards?”

  “I was hoping I’d come across something to vindicate him.” Remembering the knife, my stomach heaves. Fortunately, I didn’t eat anything all day. Or at least I think I didn’t. “What time is it?”

  “It’s almost eight.” Her augmented lips tremble with anger. “Are you expecting the cheating bastard to come home tonight?”

  “No…I mean…I guess I don’t know.”

  How did I lose track of an entire day? I’ve experienced time lapses before, but never for more than a handful of hours. If Gabby wasn’t doting on me, I would sneak out to the garage and see if my car’s engine was warm. What did I spend the day doing?

  “Max, babe, I’m worried about you. No offense, but you look like roadkill baked in the sun for a week.” Concern darkens her gaze. “What makes you believe Noah had an affair?”

  “I found a picture of a topless woman on his phone. He tried to delete it, but he must not know deleted pictures don’t immediately disappear.”

  “I’m sure it was just some porn he downloaded from the internet,” Gabby offers, heading over to the bar area. “How about I pour you a drink? You look like you could use a stiff one.”

  Irritation growing, I wipe both hands over my face. I need a minute alone to piece together the last several hours of my life and decide what to do about the discovery of what I think to be Britta’s knife.

  Gabby has proven to be a fiercely loyal friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if she would volunteer to help me dispose of the evidence to prevent my husband from spending the rest of his life behind bars. But I also don’t want her getting too involved until Noah’s intentions are clear.

  What if killing Britta and the waitress made him thirsty for more blood? I might be in danger of becoming his next victim.

  I wipe at my brow, feigning dizziness. “You know, I’m not feeling the best, Gabs. I think I’m going to lie down.”

  “Would you rather I make you a cup of chamomile tea?”

  I flash an appreciative smile. “Thank you for offering, but I need some peace and quiet. I’m sure I can sleep off whatever this is. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  As I’m beginning to turn away from her, she blurts, “Max, wait! Does this have anything to do with the pretty bartender they found? Do you think Noah might’ve been sleeping with her?”

  When our eyes meet, I struggle to come up with an answer. She already knows the truth. She'll see right through anything I say, any lie I come up with.

  With a solemn nod, she gestures towards the kitchen island. “Sit down, sister. I’ll pour us some strong drinks. Sounds like you’re gonna need one.”

  18

  9 MONTHS EARLIER

  Maxine

  In a rare gesture of hospitality, Britta invites Noah and me over for dinner one night. Typically, such an invitation would only be extended to Gabby and me.

  Maybe she’s ready to apologize for accusing Noah of cheating before we left for St. Thomas. Maybe she noticed our equally tanned faces and satisfied smiles, and decided I wouldn’t entertain her wild notions a second time.

  She was unaware I knew about Beth. And I wasn’t about to clue her in.

  When we walk in on Oliver pouring wine in the kitchen, Noah grips my forearm as I trip over my feet.

  “Oliver.” I choke down a startled squeal. “I can’t believe you’re here.” I don’t bother sugarcoating my surprise with any pleasantries. Everyone in the room knows my disdain for my cousin's estranged husband.

  “It’s my house, too,” he reminds me.

  I openly roll my eyes and accept the glass of wine he offers. “I wasn’t aware.”

  Britta steps in beside him in her favorite bright red apron over a black cocktail dress almost identical to mine. “The side dishes will be ready in half an hour.” She clinks one of the other full glasses against mine. “It’s our job to get properly drunk while the men cook the steaks.”

  “On it,” Oliver tells her with an oddly compliant nod. “Come on, Noah. I’ve got a couple of cigars and glasses of bourbon waiting out by the grill.”

  Noah bends to kiss me. “For the record, I’d rather hang out with you,” he whispers into my ear before trailing after Oliver.

  Britta and I sip our wine until the French doors close behind them.

  “What gives?” I spin on my heels to confront her head-on. “Why does it feel like we’ve walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone? Have you two made amends or something?”

  “Even better.” Britta’s lips bend with a devilish smirk. “I may have talked him into filing for a divorce.”

  “How?” I challenge, doubting it to be true.

  “I can’t say for sure. Maybe he’s sick of pretending like I am. Maybe he’s found someone that makes it easier to move on.”

  “How will you divide your assets?”

  Her smirk fades away. “We haven’t made it that far into the conversation. I hope he’ll be a reasonable adult when the time comes.”

  “Britta, that’s the reason you’ve stayed married this long. What makes you think he’s going to suddenly be a bigger person and agree to a fair split?”

  “I don’t know,” she admits, dropping her shoulders. “But I’m sick of living like this. I’m ready to move on…find the person I was truly meant to grow old with. You know?”

  Suspicion flickers through my mind. Funny, Noah had just said something very similar while in St. Thomas.

  All at once, there’s a commotion outside. Patio furniture flies past the French doors.

  “You’re a goddamn liar!” Oliver roars.

  Britta and I exchange wide-eyed glances before darting out to the patio. By the time we reach Oliver and Noah, they’re twisted around each other on the deck floor, determined fists swinging through the air.

  “Noah, stop!” I cry, unwilling to throw myself into the violent exchange to separate them. “What are you doing?”

  Oliver lands an experienced right hook into Noah’s face. Noah roars, cradling his nose, as Oliver backs off, cradling his hand.

  “Enough!” Britta demands, yanking on her husband’s collar to pull him away.

  “You broke my nose!” Noah snarls at Oliver before spitting a mouthful of blood.

  “You’re lucky that’s all I broke!” Oliver fires back.

  “Come on,” I tell Noah, hooking my arm underneath his armpits to help him stand. “We’re going home.”

  Britta backs away from her husband. “Maybe you two should talk⁠—”

  “I’ve had enough talking with this imbecile,” Oliver tells her, stomping into the house.

  We all watch as he cuts through the house to the door leading into the garage. A moment later, the metal garage door whirls open, followed an engine roar and tires squealing.

  Britta rolls her eyes. “Sometimes he acts like a damn teenager.” She sets a hand on the crook of Noah’s arm. “Are you alright? You should go to the ER and have that looked at.”

  “I’m fine,” he insists, jerking away from her. “I broke my nose a bunch of times in football. My mom taught me how to reset it.” He presses on either side of his nose and inhales deeply before jerking his hands to the left. I wince with the quiet crack that follows.

  I eye Britta with growing suspicion. “Aren’t you going to ask what their argument was about?”

  She flinches and side-eyes Noah. “Whatever it was doesn’t matter. I’m sure Oliver’s immaturity unnecessarily escalated the situation.”

  Noah tugs on my hand. “Let’s go.”

  Britta’s silent as we leave.

  On the boat ride back, Noah stares into the darkness with an alarming amount of intensity. I purposely don’t question him.

  I want his full attention when the inevitable argument begins.

  Once inside our kitchen, he pours a full glass of whiskey over ice before taking the remainder of the bottle to the island. I rummage through the freezer for a bag of peas and hand it over.

  “Put this over your nose and left eye. You’re gonna have a nice shiner in the morning.”

  “Thanks,” he grumbles, snatching it from my hold. He gingerly places it against his nose and hisses. “I hope that asshole broke his hand.”

  “He took boxing in college, Noah. He knows how to throw a punch without injuring himself.” I take the bag and shift it to partially cover his bruised eye. “What did you two argue about?”

  “I asked when he was finally going to let Britta go.”

  “Doesn’t explain why he called you a liar,” I point out.

  Snatching the bag from me, he tosses it onto the island. “Can we do this another time? I’m beginning to get a whale of a headache.”

  “I’ll grab you some painkillers after you tell me one thing.” I clench my fists against my thighs. “Is it over between you and Britta?”

  Glancing at the ceiling, he holds his arms out. “Christ, Max! I told you⁠—”

  “No more lying,” I snarl. “I want to know the truth! Why are you and Britta both so intent on lying about it when I know you’ve slept together?”

  “How in the hell could you possibly know such a thing?”

  “Are you afraid to admit it because you were still legally married to Kathy at the time? You said you were separated when you first came back here. If you’re worried it’s because I’ll suspect you’re a serial cheater⁠—”

  His eyes harden with resolve. “I would never be unfaithful to you, Max.”

  “Dammit, Noah! Tell me the truth, or I’m walking out the door and never coming back!”

  “Alright!” he concedes, holding the palms of his hands up. “I’ll tell you!” Turning away, he swipes his full glass off the island, chugging it in one gulp. He then slams the empty glass down, licks his lips, and takes a deep breath. “Britta and I don’t admit we slept together because we have an agreement that affects more than just the two of us.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Remember how I said I’d realized I didn’t want children after Kathy faked her pregnancy?”

  “Of course.” I wind my arms around myself. “That was a memorable conversation.”

  “I was mad at Kathy and in a bad headspace when Britta came here that first summer to stay with your grandma. When I ran into her, it took a minute to register it was your cousin. She was so much older than the scrawny kid you brought to my house that one New Year’s. I know this will sound messed up, but being around your cousin made me feel closer to you.”

  “You’re right,” I say, flashing the palm of one hand. “That’s extremely messed up.”

  “Well, I must’ve been blitzed out of my mind by the end of that night because I don’t remember hooking up with her until I found her naked in my bed the next morning.”

  I grimace. “I don’t need to know the details.”

  “I want to clarify that I wasn’t in my right mind. Because I missed you so damn much, and she reminded me of you, I must’ve drank myself stupid.”

  “You’re five years older than Britta,” I say as if he needed reminding after the fact. “How old was she?”

  His eyes briefly close. “Seventeen.”

  Acid rises in my throat. While I’m confident nearly every state in the US has deemed the age of consent to be either 16 or 17, I’m also aware that doesn’t necessarily mean it would’ve been legal for a young adult to have sex with a minor. “You don’t want anyone knowing, including me, because she was under eighteen? She would’ve turned eighteen before fall.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that.” He refills his glass and takes a large swallow. “We didn’t see each other again the entire first year she was at the U. When she returned the following summer, she wanted to hook up again.”

  With a grunt, I swipe the glass from his hand and suck down the remainder. Unsurprisingly, the sting of the bitter alcohol doesn’t do anything to tame the acid burning through my esophagus. Once Britta started college, we hung out quite often. She was spending entire weekends at my apartment in St. Paul.

  “I tried to convince her that she should find someone her age,” Noah continues. “I told her she would be better off with someone she could marry and start a family with since those weren’t things I wanted. When we ran into each other at the street dance the night before the Fourth of July, she tried to kiss me. I told her I was done and it would never happen again.

  “Mid-August of that year, she stopped by my place with a bottle of tequila. She was determined to convince me it wouldn’t be so bad marrying her and having her children. Even though I was freaked out and wanted her to leave, I must’ve blacked out from the tequila. I don’t know how to explain it…being around her made me crazy in a bad way. I hardly remember a single detail of those two nights after a certain point. It’s like I couldn’t drink enough when she was around. It’s a lame as hell excuse, but it’s true.”

  He pauses, watching the ice jingle in his hand. “The first time we slept together, there was a condom wrapper on the nightstand. The second time…” Anger flickers through his eyes when he gulps down the rest of his drink.

  Numbness creeps into my veins. I know what he’s trying to say long before the words spill from his lips.

  “Two weeks after she returned to college, she called to let me know she’d taken a pregnancy test.” His bloodshot gaze returns to me. “Taylor’s mine.”

  19

  PRESENT DAY

  Maxine

  Once Noah calls to let me know he’ll be spending another night in the cities and will return the following evening, Gabby and I stay up until early morning. While she does her part to empty our wine cellar, I review my knowledge of Noah’s history with Britta and fill her in on the knife I discovered.

  We both stare at Britta’s house through the bay windows as if waiting for her to return home. I’ve become accustomed to seeing it dark all the time. At this early hour, before the sun has yet to rise, it projects an eerie darkness.

  “Before we jump to any conclusions and assume he’s guilty of something this extreme, we need to gather more evidence,” Gabby decides, tapping her sharp nails against her umpteenth glass of red wine. “It’s pretty clear he had a hand in Brit’s death, but why?”

  “Maybe they didn’t stop seeing each other after Taylor was born,” I grumble, swirling my untouched wine. “They could’ve already been together when he suggested I move back. That day, when we ran into him on the beach, she acted like she owned him. And on our first anniversary, she tried convincing me he was cheating on me.” Without question, she’s jealous of what Noah and I have. My heart gives a little squeeze. “Probably because he refused to commit to her like he did to me.”

  Gabby nods enthusiastically. “And she was getting ready to spill the beans to you, so he silenced her! That would make perfect sense! Now we just need to somehow confirm he was seeing that bartender!”

  Letting out a curt laugh, I guzzle more wine. “You don’t think that nude selfie was proof enough?”

  “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, sister, but I’m sure your hot hubby has a harem of women throwing themselves at him every time he’s in New York. And around here, an attractive man of his caliber is a rarity. Especially when you add in the rich factor.”

  She turns to me, her eyes narrowed into slits. “You know, that detective mentioned Linda Boese has a twin sister. We could find out where she lives and invite her over so she’s here when Noah arrives. If he killed that woman, I imagine it would shake him up to see her doppelgänger sitting in his home.”