Page 70 of The Perfect Divorce

THIRTY-SIX

SARAH MORGAN

It’s true what they say. You can get used to anything—like reporters swarming and shouting out questions or comments nearly every time I pull up to the office. Luckily, they’re only around in the morning, and they leave shortly after I enter the building. But they’ll be here as long as there’s a story, and I know our story isn’t finished yet. I exit my vehicle and hold my head high because I have nothing to be ashamed of. My stilettos clack against the pavement while cameras flash incessantly and microphones clutched in the hands of overzealous reporters are thrust into my face.

Ms. Morgan, do you have any thoughts on Ryan Stevens’s death? Are you glad he’s dead? Did you want him dead after what he did to you and your husband? Were you involved? Do you think Ryan killed Kelly Summers? What does your current husband think of all of this?

The sheriff’s office released a statement on Ryan’s murder last night—along with a grainy still of a man dressed in scrubs and a surgeon’s cap and mask—and a plea to the public to come forward with any information that would help them identify the suspect. I don’t answer or acknowledge any of their questions, even the loud ones. Any lawyer worth their salt knows sometimes the best thing to say is nothing at all, and the second-best thing to say is a lie.

“Goddamn,” Roger grumbles as I arrive in the lobby. The media knows not to enter, but that doesn’t stop them from pounding on the glass doors. Roger gets to his feet and shuffles around the front desk. His hand hovers a foot or so from the gun nestled in his holster. It’s supposed to make me feel safe, but I think I feel less safe with him having it.

“Get. Get,” Roger yells, waving them off. He turns to me. “You all right, Sarah?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. They’re mosquitoes,” I say, flicking my wrist. “Just a nuisance, nothing serious.”

Roger makes ahumphsound. “Mosquitoes kill more people a year than any other animal, including humans.” His eyes go to the screaming reporters and then back to me. “So, I’d say that’s an accurate description.” He smirks.

“I’m not worried about them.” I tightly smile as I continue through the lobby and call for the elevator. “Have a good one, Roger,” I say, stepping into it.

“You too, Sarah.”

Natalie stands from behind the reception desk as soon as I push open the door to the Morgan Foundation. “Good morning, Sarah.”

“Morning, Natalie.”

“Here’s your coffee,” she says, extending a to-go cup from a local café to me.

I take it and thank her.

Anne appears from around the corner. “There you are,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief. She’s dressed in a pencil skirt and matching blazer with a folder tucked under her arm.

“Yep, here I am.” I gesture with my coffee cup before bringing it to my lips and taking a quick sip.

Anne falls into step with me, and we walk through the office. I smile and acknowledge my employees as I pass by them.

“I heard the police were here yesterday,” Anne whispers.

“You heard right,” I say, unlocking my office door and flicking on the lights. “Sheriff Hudson and his chief deputy had some questions for me about the Kelly Summers case,” I add as I drop my bag beside my desk and take a seat. “Where were you yesterday?” I ask, looking to Anne, realizing I didn’t see her at all. I just assumed she was here because she’s always here.

“I took a sick day,” Anne says, having a seat. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

She nods. “Yeah, it was just a migraine. Did you see the news about Ryan Stevens?”

“Briefly,” I say, unpacking my bag. “But Hudson had already filled me in on it yesterday before the news broke.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead.” Anne chews on her thumbnail, looking off in the corner as though she’s deep in thought. “Who would even want to kill Stevens?”

“A lot of people in this town wanted Stevens dead.” I place a stack of folders on my desk.

She draws her brows together. “So, he stopped by to talk to you about the Summers case but then brought up Stevens’s murder. Does he think they’re related?” Anne’s asking a lot of questions right now, and I’m not sure I like that.

“He didn’t say. What’s the status on the appeal?” I say, changing the subject.

“Oh, sorry. That’s why I ran to find you. We just got word: The court granted the appeal.”

I force my mouth to curve at the corners. It’s good news... I mean if I wanted the case to be reopened, which I don’t. But I knew it would be.

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