Page 106 of Happy Wife

“Like really bad.”

“Yes, the level of badness knows no bounds, Este. That’s why I need to find Perry, see if he’s found anything.”

“Well, then, how much do you love me?”

“The most?”

“Perry is staying at the Citrus Inn on Lee Road. I’ll drive.”

My jaw drops. “Why do you know that?”

“You sent him away in a bit of a…state after Will’s funeral, and I got his information as he was leaving.”

Everyone should have an Este.

—

The hotel is only about fifteen minutes away, but it takes us almost as long to get past the reporters.

“Damnit.” Este inches her car slowly out of the driveway. “We’ve got to start sneaking through the hedge to my house. The last thing we need is to run over one of these asshole’s feet.”

“But it’d feel kind of nice if you did.”

She giggles and so do I—nothing has been funny about the press being camped in front of my house. The thought of smashing a few toes sounds delightful.

It should be said that not every square foot of Winter Park is historic sprawling mansions and aspirational McMansions. And the houses get lower and smaller as we drive away from the Vias. The Citrus Inn is just a block from Eatonville, the oldest black-incorporated municipality in the country, and the town where Zora Neale Hurston grew up. It’s a tight-knit community beloved for its charm and history.

But none of that charm can be felt at the Citrus Inn. The motel is more of a sad relic of another era in Florida than anything else. One so old that they actuallydohave a pink flamingo in the patch of grass in front of the entrance. Ironic or not, I applaud their moxie.

We bypass a small building that houses a check-in desk and pull into the parking lot. All of the rooms have exterior-facing doors, and Este spots Perry’s gray sedan parked beside one. “My guess is he’s a first-floor guy. Probably has at least one busted knee.”

“Hey. Maybe don’t call him weird and old like last time?”

“Don’t you think that if I could censor myself I would?”

“I do not think that. No.”

“Fine. I’ll do my best.”

I climb out of the car, see the gray sedan I’ve come to know so well, and take the chance of knocking on the door it’s parked in front of. We wait a minute, and no one answers. Este rolls her eyes and knocks much more loudly. A moment later, an exhausted looking Perry cracks open the door.

“Nora. What are you doing here?” Over his shoulder, Lindy Bedford is on a muted TV with another talking head. I see a picture of Will pop across the screen, and then one of me walking into the police station.

Neat.

I can’t get sucked into self-pity, though. I launch into myapology speech, knowing I need to make things right with Perry before I even consider asking him for a favor.

“Perry, I’m really sorry for the way I lost it the other day. The funeral and everything just got to me, and I felt really bad.”

“Oh, there’s no need…no need to apologize. I can’t imagine what all you’re going through. But I’m glad you’re here. I was able to collect Dean’s personal effects from the hospital yesterday. Do you want to come in?”

Perry moves out of the doorway and motions us inside the room. He quickly tidies up the bed and turns off the TV. He moves some clothes off the couch and motions for us to sit. He’s been living here for two weeks now, just trying to help his friend. The gloom is practically wafting off the old polyester curtains hanging around his windows.

“Aren’t those a fire hazard?” Este whispers.

“Shh,” I hiss. “Clearly, you’ve seen what’s going on with me, Perry.” I motion toward the now blank screen on the TV.

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything quite like this town. Seems a lot of these people have more money than sense.”

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