Page 46 of The Perfect Divorce

“Dismissed,” I say.

Chatter ensues, and my team filters out of the room. I shut the computer down and get to my feet as Olson approaches, holding her head high.

“We need to bring Sarah in for questioning,” I say.

She furrows her brow. “I thought you said you wanted to wait, given the appeal.”

“I did, but with Stevens dead, I’m running out of people to question. Plus, I need to find out what she knows about her husband’s relationship with Stacy and then decide if she’s a suspect.”

TWENTY-SIX

SARAH MORGAN

I hold the front door open, allowing Eleanor to enter my home. If she weren’t so elderly and feeble, I would have turned her away, but I know that would reflect poorly on me, given the circumstances. She’s traded in her Manolo Blahnik heels for sensible flats, and I’m sure she hates them, especially now that I have several inches on her. Her classic scent of Chanel No. 5 permeates my nose, but she wears too much of it now—most likely trying to overcompensate for her old-lady smell. It’s nauseating, to say the least. It’s been a little over a year since I last saw Eleanor, and she’s aged so much since then. I’m not surprised though. It must be difficult to live with the fact that she watched her only son die right in front of her eyes, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. The skin on her face is pulled so taut, it looks as though it could snap at any moment, like a rubber band stretched beyond its limits. It’s clear she’s done everything she can to slow the aging process, but her efforts have only left her botched.

Eleanor doesn’t ask whether she should remove her shoes and instead floats into my home like she owns the place. In the kitchen, she pauses to survey it, her hands gripping the back of a chair to keep her body upright.

“It’s quite small in here,” she notes.

I ignore her gibe and offer her something to drink.

“Coffee,” Eleanor says, jutting her chin.

I retrieve a mug from a cupboard, filling it from the pot I made this morning. I remember she takes it black just like her cold dead heart.

She stands near the kitchen table waiting for her beverage. I hand her the mug of coffee and pull out a chair for her. “Would you like to sit?”

Eleanor doesn’t answer but takes a seat anyway. Her hands tremble as she grips the cup and brings it to her lips. The last thing I want to do is have a conversation with her, but I know she won’t leave until she says whatever she came here to say, so I pull out a chair and sit too.

Shakily, she sets the mug down, making a sour face to show her displeasure for the beverage. “Are you having money problems, Sarah? This coffee tastes poor.”

“I’m doing just fine, Eleanor. Now, what brought you here today?”

“Well,” she says, narrowing her eyes, “I caught your little stint on the news.”

I figured that was the reason for her unforeseen visit. She needs to have the last word, the last dig. I knew she was watching and that she’d be furious. But I didn’t expect her to show up at my doorstep. I assumed she was too old to make the trip. Then again, she’s always been driven by spite.

“I heard the statement you put out as well.”

“Sarah, it’s no secret how I feel about the legal representation you provided for my son. I made that clear twelve years ago, and those feelings have not changed. But obviously, your feelings for me have.”

I lean back in my chair, furrowing my brow. “I’m not sure what you mean, Eleanor.”

“I know we’ve had our differences, but you were my daughter-in-law, and I always treated you as such.” She lifts her chin a little higher.

I keep my composure, forcing my eyes to stay put and not roll around in their sockets from her complete and utter delusion. Either she’s suffering memory loss or she’s messing with me, trying to act like she’s always been the bigger person. My gaze goes to her wrinkly hand adorned with gaudy rings and long scarlet nails. I remember that same hand slapping me across the face so hard that blood was drawn. The words she uttered before the strike echo in my head:You wouldn’t know a mother’s love, you little bitch.I guess that’s what she considers appropriate treatment for a daughter-in-law.

Boots clomp down the hallway, and Alejandro emerges into the kitchen, pausing when he spots us. He eyes me and then my former mother-in-law, or at least her side profile. Eleanor stiffly swivels in her seat to get a better look. Her head bobs as she surveys him before returning to her original position.

“I see your taste in men has deteriorated, Sarah,” she says, attempting to raise a critical brow. They’re permanently lifted though, stuck in a position of constant surprise.

Alejandro squints, but I faintly shake my head, signaling that I don’t condone her rudeness and that it’s not worth an acknowledgment. He picks up on my nonverbal cue and relaxes his face. Folding his lips, he returns the nod and heads for the door.

“Why are you here, Eleanor?” I ask curtly, my patience wearing thin. I think it was thinning as soon as I laid eyes on her.

The glass door slides open, sucking all the air out of the room. Alejandro steps onto the deck and closes it behind him.

She waits to speak until he’s left the room. “A couple of reasons.”

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