Love Can Be Murder

wearisome suddenly embodied strength and security.
    “There, there,” he said, rubbing my back as I clung to him. “We’ll get this all straightened out.”
    And even though I’d heard—and seen—him say the same thing to serial killers he’d defended, I believed him.
    “Let’s sit,” Grant said, guiding me back to the chair.
    I was overcome with humiliation that the first time I’d talked to Grant in the three years since we’d divorced was to ask for his help to ward off an imminent charge for murdering my ex-lover. I felt compelled to make some kind of small talk.
    “Thanks for coming,” I said. “How have you been?”
    He smiled. “The same—fine.”
    That was Grant, a constant term in the nonlinear equation of life. “And your folks?” His father had had a cancer scare when Grant and I had been married. I felt petty for not having stayed in touch.
    “They’re fine. Now, tell me what happened, Renni.”
    With excruciating unease, I relayed the sordid details of Daniel’s arrival, our coupling, and his murder just as I’d recited them to the detective (including the lie about the unlocked door). But if I thought my post-divorce coital activities would upset Grant, I was wrong. His expression remained concerned, but untouched, as if I’d called to ask for his help with a flat tire. With jarring clarity I realized my law school sweetheart, the man who’d loved me more than I’d deserved, was over me. It was salt on my selfish open wound.
    “What’s going to happen to me?” I murmured, clasping his hand. I knew, but I wanted to hear his comforting spin.
    “You’ll probably be questioned again, then released. You don’t have a record, and you’re an officer of the court. No charges will be filed until the forensics are processed, which will take a day or two.”
    Until the forensics are processed. Then it hit me—Grant actually thought I’d killed Daniel.
    “That will give us time to get our ducks in a row,” he said, patting my hand, the one that had once worn his wedding ring. I was still too stunned to speak. If Grant thought I was capable of murder, I didn’t stand a chance convincing anyone else I was innocent.
    “I’d recommend you go back to work tomorrow,” he continued. “It’s important you maintain some kind of routine.”
    A knock on the door sounded. The detective was back, with two bottles of water, which she offered to me and to Grant. We both declined. My head was spinning.
    “When can my…client go home?” Grant asked, and I had the strangest feeling he’d had to stop himself from saying “wife.”
    “Soon,” Detective Salyers said. “Miss Greenfield’s apartment has been processed, but I’d like to ask her a few more questions.”
    “Go ahead,” Grant said. “Renni has nothing to hide.”
    Salyers looked doubtful, then turned to me. “Mr. Hale was wearing a tux when he arrived at your place. Did he say where he’d been?”
    “He didn’t say, but there was a charity dinner at the Ritz last night the partners of the firm attended.”
    Salyers looked puzzled. “You weren’t invited?”
    “I’m not a partner.”
    “I meant as a date. I assume guests were allowed.”
    “No, I wasn’t invited.”
    “Who did Mr. Hale take as his date?”
    I shrugged. “You’ll have to ask someone who attended the event.”
    “We did. Mr. Hale took a paralegal in your office.” The detective looked at her notes. “Leora Painter. The same woman he began dating when the two of you broke up, I’m told.”
    So they’d already interviewed her coworkers. “Actually, Daniel was dating Leora before he and I broke up,” I supplied.
    “Your cheating ex-boyfriend shows up on your doorstep fresh from a date with the woman he cheated on you with, wanting to spend the night with you. Must’ve stung.”
    I wasn’t sure what would make me look worse—saying I’d been angry over the late night booty call or saying I’d been pleased Daniel had chosen to spend the night with me versus Leora. I said nothing.
    “Your theory cuts both ways,” Grant pointed out. To me he sounded amiable, as if he were offering Salyers a piece of apple pie. “Maybe the Painter woman followed Hale to Renni’s and stabbed him out of jealousy.”
    I perked up.
    Salyers acknowledged his remark with a nod. “We’ve already questioned Miss Painter, but we didn’t see a reason to hold her.”
    I deflated.
    “Miss Greenfield, can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Mr.