Page 63 of Little Last Words
“I’m not.”
I followed him into an office I would describe as ordinary, with one exception—there were stacks of books everywhere. I stepped over one heap on the floor, lifted a few more off a chair, set them on his desk, and sat down.
“I’ll get right to it,” I said. “I hear you and Penelope were texting before she left her husband.”
He nodded. “We were. She contacted me a couple of months ago, asking for advice. It had been several years since we last spoke, and I was happy to hear from her.”
“Dean knew you were messaging each other. Were you aware?”
“Oh, yeah. He came to my house after she left him, demanding I tell him where he could find her. Guess he’d spoken to Sadie on the phone, and she’d said they were back living by Angelica.”
“What did you tell Dean?”
“I said if Penelope was back in Cambria, I didn’t know anything about it.”
“You lied, then.”
“I did. It was the right thing to do. The best decision she ever made was to leave that guy.”
“Why? Because the relationship wasn’t good or because you still loved her or both?”
He leaned back, eyes wide, as if shocked at what I’d suggested. “What are you … why would you ask … Dean’s toxic, okay? She wasn’t happy. He wasn’t good for her.”
“You didn’t answer my question about whether you still loved her or not.”
“I have a wife. Two kids. What Penelope and I had was a long time ago.”
“Does your wife know you and Penelope reconnected?”
“She does. I talked to her about it as soon as Penelope reached out to me. I told her I wanted to be there for her if she needed me, and she agreed.”
“Agreed to what?” I asked.
“I could help Penelope make a plan to leave Dean. Once she got settled here, I went back to my life, and Penelope went back to hers.”
“Did your wife have any concerns about you seeing Penelope again?”
“No, we trust each other. We tell each other everything. We always have.”
“If you tell your wife everything, then she’s aware you kissed Penelope before she died and then told her you loved her and always had.”
His expression soured, his face turning pale. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do know what I’m talking about.” I opened my handbag, pulled out the baggie that contained the florist notecard, and showed it to him. “I found this inside Penelope’s house. Is it from you?”
He squinted, reading what was written on the card. “Nope.”
“Why did you lie to me about kissing Penelope?” I asked.
He folded his arms, going quiet for a time before saying, “I understand why you’re here, asking questions. You’ve been hired to solve Penelope’s murder. I’m not your guy, though. I didn’t kill her. I’d never do anything to harm her. I mean it.”
“I want to believe you. It’s just … I don’t. Maybe you killed her, maybe you didn’t. Either way, you’re not being honest with me.”
“I am. What reason would I have for lying?”
A wife.
He had a wife.