“Did you find it?” I ask now, feigning more sleepiness than I feel. But I know he’s lying. And that flash of anger in his eyes, that moment when he clearly wished I hadn’t gotten out of bed to find him.

It scared me.

Eddie scared me.

“No,” he says. “It’s probably in the driveway. I’ll check tomorrow.”

I see his eyes drift over me. I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt that hangs to my knees, but we hadn’t had sex when we’d gone to bed, and I catch the interest in his gaze now.

I could lean into that, smile back, give him some cheesy line about having something that might help him sleep.

Instead, I turn away, going back into the bedroom.

And later, when I lie in bed next to him, I keep seeing that look on his face, and wonder if there is even a boathouse key at all.

* * *

“Did you take money out of the account?”

I’m standing on the dock the next afternoon, looking out at the water. It’s basically all I’ve done today. I slept late, and have been reading since I woke up, trying to ignore the way Eddie keeps prowling around the house when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

The sun is hot on my shoulders, but I feel cold as I turn to see him behind me. He’s wearing swim trunks, his gaze hidden behind those mirrored sunglasses, and he’s frowning down at his phone.

Fuck. I’d thought I’d been so careful with John’s money, taking three hundred out of an ATM in the village, getting a hundred dollars back at the grocery store, spreading it out over a few days so he wouldn’t see a big chunk of money coming out. How did he notice it?

He’s still watching me, still waiting.

“Wedding stuff,” I say, waving a hand, even though the truth is I haven’t done shit for this wedding yet besides look at dresses. “You have no idea how many little things you have to put deposits down on.”

Eddie nods, but says, “I actually do have an idea. Had a wedding before, remember?”

That Eddie grin, the one that makes his dimples deepen, but there’s an edge to it now, and I suddenly remember that this is the same grin he gave John that afternoon in the parking lot when I went to get my stuff.

I’ve never had this directed at me before. “Of course,” I reply, giving a flustered little laugh. “You know all about this kind of thing. Anyway, it just seemed easier to use cash. I meant to tell you, but I guess the lake trip distracted me.”

I try to give him a sultry sideways look at that, but he’s already looking back at his phone.

“Gotcha. It’s just that the bank thought it looked suspicious and froze the account.”

My face flushes hot. Here I was, thinking I was being smart and subtle, and instead his bank saw a petty fucking thief.

“Shit,” I say. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, waving his free hand. “I’ll just let them know the charges were legit, and they’ll unfreeze it. Just.”

He looks up at me then. “Use the credit card I gave you, okay?”

“Sure, of course,” I say, and he nods at me, heading back inside while I stand there, blushing and sick to my stomach and nearly shaking.

We go out to dinner again that night, and this time I make sure not to drink so much, but it doesn’t matter. Neither of us can relax, and I get the sense Eddie is watching me just as carefully as I’m watching him. And when he suggests we leave early on Sunday, I agree too quickly. This place gives me the creeps.

We leave before nine, and when I get into the passenger seat, I tell myself I’ll never come back here, that we’ll sell this place and buy something new.

“I should get another boat,” Eddie says as we drive away, the house and the lake slipping from view. He sets a hand on my knee, squeezes. “Would you like that?”

Tripp Ingraham stands there in my mind, his basket on his arm, his face twisted in a smirk, and I push the image away, making myself smile at Eddie. “I’d love it.”

22

For the next two weeks, all I can think about is the way Eddie kept creeping around the lake house, and I find myself doing the same thing back in Thornfield Estates. Going down hallways, opening closets, pacing.

Standing in front of closed doors.

For the first time since I started seeing Eddie, I feel lonely.

I imagine bringing it up to Emily or Campbell, power-walking around the neighborhood, all, “Hey, girls, Eddie took me to the lake house where his wife died; weird, right?”

Fuck that.

But people are still talking, I know.

When I do manage to leave the house, even just to go to Roasted for a fancy coffee, I hear two women I don’t even know talking about Bea.

Two older ladies, sitting at a table near a window, one of them with her phone in her hand. “I ordered things from her website every Christmas,” she says to her friend. “She was such a sweetheart.”

I edge closer just as the other one says, “It was the husband, you know it was.”

“Mmmhmmm,” her friend agrees, lowering her voice to whisper, “It always is.”

But which husband? There are two involved here, and one of them is about to be my husband.

Then the lady holding her phone says, “It’s just such a shame she got caught up in it. You know that’s what happened. He probably didn’t want to kill both of them, but they were both there, and…”

“And what else could he do?” her friend says. “It was the only option.”

Like “murdering someone” is the same as saying, “Sure, Pepsi is fine,” when you order Coke.

These fucking people.

I keep listening, trying to discern whether they mean Tripp or Eddie, Bea or Blanche, so that the barista has to call, “Hazelnut soy latte for Jane?” three times before I remember I’m Jane.

I can’t keep doing this.

I need to talk to someone. I need to know what happened out there on that lake.

* * *

Detective Laurent’s card is still in my purse, and I think about calling her, just casually checking in, seeing if there’s anything I can do to help, but even I can’t fake that level of confidence.

No, the less I talk to the police, the better.

So, I decide to talk to someone I dislike nearly as much.