Page 72 of The Perfect Marriage

There’s a knock on the door. Anne opens it, carrying in a tray full of snacks, soda, and water. “Right this way,” she says to D.A. Peters who is following behind her.

“Who’s this?” He gestures to Matthew. “Discovery is only for council.”

“This is Matthew. He is assisting with this case.”

Matthew stands and holds out his hand. “I’m doing more than assisting.”

“Does he even have a law degree?” D.A. Peters asks me as if Matthew isn’t in the room.

“Yes, he and I went to Yale together.”

“Which is why I’m a lobbyist now, not some D.A. that went to George Washington night school.” Matthew smirks and takes his seat.

D.A. Peters doesn’t respond to Matthew’s quip. He sits down and directs his attention to me.

“Anyway, thanks for coming down here on such short notice,” I say.

He nods. “Of course. What is it you wanted to discuss? Might I remind you, the plea bargain is off the table.”

Anne gently closes the door behind her as she leaves.

“We wouldn’t take the plea bargain even if it were on the table.” Matthew gives him a stern look.

“Okay, then what is it you’re looking for?” D.A. Peters clasps his hands together.

I point to the stack of boxes, and then I slide a few more folders toward him. “This is our discovery so far. There will be more.”

He glances at the boxes and then pulls the folders toward him, flipping through them quickly. He closes them back up and looks at me.

“You might want to take a closer look. Not sure they taught you this at night school, but evidence is the most important part of a law case,” Matthew retorts.

D.A. Peters rolls his eyes, paying no mind to Matthew’s bad cop routine. “You could have sent these over to my office. I didn’t need to come down here.”

“I know that. I just wanted to give you the courtesy.” I smirk.

“The courtesy of what? This case is open and shut.”

“Is it, counselor? Because from what I’ve found, it’s not. That’s where my courtesy to you comes in. You’ve been good to me, and I didn’t want to embarrass you in that courtroom, so I’m giving you nearly all of our discovery early.”

He glances at the boxes again and at the folders in front of him. A look of suspicion begins to creep into his eyes as he tilts his head in either bewilderment or disbelief, I’m not sure which. I fully expected this reaction though: I would have the same. I quickly press on. “Oh, I almost forgot.” I slide another folder to him. This folder contains the transcript of a conversation between Jesse Hook and Sheriff Stevens. I highlighted areas that I need D.A. Peters to see. I need him to want to talk to this witness. I need him to get more information out of this witness.

He opens the folder up and scans it. “Who’s Jesse Hook?”

“Exactly,” Matthew says. “Not so open and shut, is it?”

“Jesse Hook is—” I say. There’s a scream from outside the conference room.

44

Adam Morgan

An hour ago, I got in the car, and I didn’t stop driving. I had tunnel vision. I was full of rage. The outside world careened by me but only in various hues of crimson and scarlet, as if the blood boiling in my veins had grafted itself onto every single object I was seeing. And I knew leaving the house was going to have consequences, but I didn’t care—I still don’t care. I need to see this through. I need to get to the bottom of all of this. I’m running out of time and this is my last chance, my last opportunity to learn what really happened that night at the lake house, to discover who is responsible for Kelly’s death, and to free myself from this nightmare.

I’m a few steps away from throwing the doors open and coming face to face with Anne, the woman I’ve known for years, the woman who threatened me, the woman who most likely killed Kelly, and the woman who is trying to frame me for it. How could she? How could she get so close without me knowing? Why was she at our lake house? I know Sarah has let her stay there in the past for vacation, but why was she there then?

She’s never been a person I looked at twice. She was there, seemingly innocent, but now I see the cracks in her—I see who she really is: a vengeful monster. Her quietness is now plotting and manipulative. Her politeness is cunning. Her entire wholesome demeanor is just a façade for who she truly is: a bitch of the highest order.

The photo and the Post-it note are clutched in my hand. I throw the doors open and I scan the office. A couple of people look up, some look scared, others are unphased by my disheveled appearance. I walk further into the office. I am looking for one person and one person only. I know where she’ll be. It’s where she always is. Sitting, plotting, waiting. I round the corner and notice her desk is empty.Fuck.

---