Page 33 of Murder Will Out
Or did some part of her still not quite trust Geralt’s very young wife?
Naomi had left her phone face down on the table; Willow was jolted out of thought when it buzzed sharply, vibrating the tabletop. She hesitated, then thought,What if it’s the hospital, and something’s happened to Geralt? She’d want to know, before reaching over and picking it up.
The text message displayed on the screen; Willow’s eyes went wide. Naomi had apparently never adjusted the settings to hide messages while the phone was locked. If she were expecting messages like this one, she probably should have.
The text was not from the hospital. It was, instead, from someone with the moniker “Iron Man.”
Hey sexy where r u--I only have a couple hours. Jacuzzi’s waiting.
As Willow, shocked, sat absorbing what she was seeing, a second message came in.Bring pizza. Pepperoni. Getting hungry just thinking about you.Willow held back an eye roll; was this what passed for seduction these days? Then a third, a series of emojis. Willow knew what they meant, though she would not have expected anyone over the age of twenty-one to actually use them in a text to another person.
This is bad. This is very, very bad, she thought, quickly replacing the phone on the table where Naomi had left it and pulling out her own so she could pretend to look busy, wishing she could unsee what she had seen. She was barely in time; within seconds, Naomi stepped back around the corner and slid back into the booth. She picked up the phone, looked at it, and dropped it into her purse.
“I have to go,” she said. “Check’s taken care of. Look, I’m sorry if I came on too strong before.”
“It’s okay,” Willow said, bringing all her parent-taught social skills on line to hide the shock hovering just beneath her polite mask. “No apology necessary.”
Naomi smiled at Willow—a real smile. That smile opened a crack in the smooth, jittery exterior, and for an instant, Willow saw grief and anxiety and a terror that no amount of alcohol or hot fudge could assuage. Naomi reached across and took Willow’s hand again. “Thank you. You were with him. He wasn’t alone when it all… happened. And I know you went with him yesterday partially for me, but you went for him too.” Her eyes went a little sad. “He liked you. He’d barely met you, but he told me he liked you. That you reminded him of Susan.”
And I liked you better, Willow thought,when I didn’t know you were about to go sleep with another man while your husband lies possibly dying in the hospital.
Naomi looked down again, as though unsure whether to go on. “Look, I don’t know if I should even tell you this, but… your letter from your aunt. When did you get it?”
Not my aunt, Willow thought automatically, but wasn’t about to say it again. “Three days ago, I think. I just packed the car and came. Why do you ask?”
“Was… Did Sue put anything on the letter saying when she’d written it?”
Willow frowned. How had she known? “March. She wrote it in March.”
“A long time for a letter to get from Maine to Chicago, don’t you think?” Naomi asked, her eyes not leaving Willow’s.
Willow nodded. “I did think.”
“If it had gotten to you sooner…”
She nodded again. It would have gotten to her before Sue died. She would have seen her again. They could have made peace. Sue could have told her about—everything.
Willow realized what Naomi was getting at. “Are you saying someone delayed it on purpose? Sent it too late for me to have gotten here in time for the wedding?”
“I’m saying the person who delayed it never meant for you to receive it at all.”
Some irrelevant part of Willow’s mind wondered why people talked about the heart as the place emotion sits; for her, it was and always had been her solar plexus. Joy, terror, anxiety, and the ever-popular dread, snaking their way in now. Like a snag in her favorite wool sweater, a thread catching and pulling, tightening in its center and rippling out to her limbs…
“Who delayed it?”
Even as she asked, she knew.
Naomi said, almost reluctantly, “The day after Sue died, Geralt and I both went over to pay our respects to Rina. He didn’t want to, of course, but I bullied him into it. They had a huge fight, and Rina—well, you’ve met her, she shouted a lot and stormed out—”
Willow nodded. She was familiar.
“—and then Geralt started rifling through her desk. I tried to stop him, but Sue had apparently told him she’d invited your family to the wedding and written you a letter, and you never answered. He… found that letter. In Rina’s desk. Unmailed.”
Willow was still; her mask had no cracks. Not now. Not yet. “What did he do?”
Naomi said, “He took it, of course. He sent it off to you the same day.”
The phone in Naomi’s purse buzzed loudly, jarring them both. “Oh, shut up. I’m coming,” Naomi grumbled. She stood and looked down at Willow’s still face. “I hope it’s okay I told you. You had a right to know.”
