Best Friends Forever: A gripping psychological thriller that will have you hooked in 2018. Margot Hunt
I did. Kat’s great. I’m glad she called me.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s smart and funny and really has her act together. She owns the most beautiful modern art gallery.”
“You’re smart and funny,” Todd said loyally.
I smiled and put my hand on his arm. “It was nice having someone different to talk to. Almost everyone I know here I’ve met through the kids in one way or another. Moms from school, women from the playgroups the kids were in when they were little. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice ladies. Or at least, most of them are. But every time I get together with any of them, the conversation revolves around the children. What the moms are doing at the PTA. Whom they’re friends with, whatever the latest drama is at school. It just gets so tedious.”
Todd’s eyebrows arched, but he didn’t speak.
“Don’t judge,” I said. I loved being a mother, but there were so many aspects of it, especially when my children were little, that I found mind-numbing. Singing the same cloying songs every week in the Mommy & Me class. Sitting on the cold tile floor during bath time. The hours spent at playgrounds being commanded over and over to “Watch me! Watch me!”
Having children was a wonderful, miraculous, soulful experience. Just not each and every moment of it. I found motherhood easier to cope with now that Liam and Bridget were older and more independent.
“It was nice to talk to someone about other things. About art and work and life,” I said.
Todd nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Does Kat have children?”
“Yes, a daughter, but she’s in college.”
“Kat’s older than you, then?”
“A bit, although she did say she had her daughter when she was young,” I explained. “I think she’s in her mid to late forties.”
“Do you think you’ll get together with her again?”
I rolled my wineglass in my fingers, the way I’d once been taught at a wine-tasting class, and watched the bloodred liquid stream down the inside of the glass.
“Yes,” I said. “I think I will.”
Present Day
“I’m curious about something,” Sergeant Oliver said. “Why did you think Howard Grant was suicidal? I thought you said you weren’t close.”
“We weren’t. And I never told you I thought he was suicidal. I thought that’s what Detective Demer was suggesting.”
“I don’t think he suggested that at all,” Oliver said, fixing her eyes on me. They were dark and flat, like a shark. I wondered again why she was being so hostile. Had she met Kat, not liked her and extended her dislike to me? Kat could be charming and funny, but I had also seen her turn suddenly cold and imperious, especially when she was challenged. It was not hard to imagine Oliver affecting her that way.
“I have a question,” I said. Oliver just stared at me, but Demer nodded, so I addressed him. “You said you were brought in from Tallahassee. Why was that?”
Demer glanced at Oliver. “It’s not uncommon for a small police department not to have any detectives on staff. Sometimes when there is a situation that requires a more in-depth investigation, they’ll request a detective on loan.”
“So, I’m not sure how this works. Are you and Oliver partners in this investigation?” I asked. “Or are you in charge, and she’s reporting to you?”
I knew instantly from the sour expression on Oliver’s face that they were not, in fact, partners. Demer was the lead, Oliver his unhappy subordinate.
“I’m taking point on the investigation for the time being,” Demer said mildly. “Let’s go back to your friendship with Katherine Grant. How long have you known each other?”
“Three years.”
“And you’re close friends?”
“Yes,” I said. “Very close.”
“How would you describe Katherine Grant?” Demer asked.
It was odd hearing Kat constantly referred to by her full name. She had always been Kat to me.
“How would I describe Kat?” I repeated. How did you distill someone you loved down to a few words? “She’s funny. Smart. Thoughtful. Loyal. Generous... Solid.”
Solid? Was that really Kat? I wasn’t so sure. Kat was more like quicksilver, shimmering and changing. You’d think you knew her, were sure you could predict absolutely what she’d do, and she’d still somehow find a way to surprise you. Oh, well, I had already said it. I couldn’t exactly take it back now, could I?
Oliver didn’t actually roll her eyes at my description, but I think it took all her willpower to avoid doing so. I sensed that she was not the sort of woman who’d ever had a best friend. Certainly not the kind of best friend who rubbed her pricked finger against yours to become your blood sister. I actually could relate. I had never been that sort of a woman before, either.
“Would you say that Howard and Katherine Grant had a happy marriage?” Demer asked.
I hesitated. The truthful answer would be no, they certainly did not. But I also didn’t see any benefit in telling the police that.
“I don’t think anyone on the outside ever truly knows what goes on inside a marriage,” I said carefully.
Demer smiled patiently. “No, probably not. I’m just asking for any impressions you might have formed from being around them.”
“That’s just it. Whenever I saw the two of them together, well, I was there, wasn’t I? Most married people behave differently when there are other people around. I know my husband and I do.”
It was a nonanswer, but if it frustrated Demer, he hid it well. Oliver, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to slap me.
“Fair enough,” Demer said. “Did Katherine ever complain about her husband?”
“Kat,” I corrected him.
“Excuse me?”
“She goes by Kat, not Katherine.”
“Okay. Kat, then. So, did she?”
“Complain about her husband?” I repeated. He nodded. “Sure, from time to time. I hate to break it to you, Detective, but most women complain about their husbands to their friends.”
The wonderful thing about this statement was that it had the benefit of being the absolute truth.
“Let’s get back to Howard Grant,” Demer said.
My patience was starting to fray. “I’ve already told you, I wasn’t close with Howard. I was friends with Kat. I suggest you talk to her if you want to know about her husband.”
“Oh, we’ve already talked to Katherine Grant,” Oliver inserted.
Something about this bald statement caused a flicker of concern at the edges of my consciousness. I wasn’t sure what exactly about it bothered me. Of course, it only made sense that they would interview Kat as part of their investigation, even if she was out of the country at the time of Howard’s death. But then, suddenly, I realized what the problem was. Kat hadn’t told me the police had been to see her. And we told each other everything, or almost everything. I knew when her insomnia was acting up, and when the dry cleaner ruined her favorite dress, and usually what she’d had for dinner the night before. So why didn’t she call to tell me the police had questioned her about her husband’s death?
“When did you speak with Kat?” I