Page 221 of The Call of Crimson
“Do you know of anyone who would want your husband dead?” Darian asks.
“I’m sure any number of his business rivals would love to see him gone. But dead?” She shakes her head, taking another sip of tea. “No, I can’t think of anyone who would have a reason for wanting him dead.”
There’s a yellow tint to the skin beneath her eyes and a strange stiffness to her posture. Her breaths are shallow and more rapid than most.
It could be a looming panic attack.
“Do you know what your husband was doing at the pub last night?” Darian continues.
“Not the faintest idea,” Mariel replies airily, her voice cold and indifferent. “I just hope he settled the tab before he died.”
I get the notion that she might have an idea why he was there, but I doubt it has any relevance to solving his murder.
“Thank you, Mariel. We’ll let you know what we discover. If you think of anything else that might be of importance, please don’t hesitate to find me.” Darian stands, the rest of us following suit. “My condolences to you and your children.”
Mariel nods curtly, her lips pressed in a thin line.
Once we’re back on our horses, Darian turns to me. “Did you notice anything?”
“She was rather calm for a grieving widow,” I muse.
“Indeed. What are your thoughts?”
My brows shoot up. “You’re asking for my opinion?”
“Despite my personal feelings toward you, I cannot overlook the way your mind works.” Darian kicks his horse into a slow trot. “You proved yourself when you spotted the pattern in the poison attacks.”
“Ryder, Zion, did you hear that?” I lift my voice. “I need witnesses for the first time Darian has complimented me.”
“I assure you it will never happen again,” Darian says, rolling his eyes. They’re such a piercing shade of blue, I find it hard to look away.
“To answer your question, he beats her,” I say bluntly. “She doesn’t look like a grieving widow, because she’s not one. She’s a relieved widow.”
“That’s a bold assumption to make,” he challenges.
“There was a healing bruise under her left eye. It was faint, but there. Her posture was too rigid. I know a cracked rib when I see one.” I explain, pulling my hood tightly around my head to keep out the winter wind. “Then there was her overall demeanor and her comment about the kids.”
He lifts an eyebrow, urging me to continue.
“I don’t know that he hurt them, but he certainly never loved them as a father should. No one in that home was particularly sad about his loss, and I think that says a lot more about him than it does them.”
The edge of Darian’s mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile. “How astute of you.”
“You already know all of this?” I ask in disbelief.
She’s a cousin of Oren and Talon. Their parents are friends with mine and like to give them updates about anything to do with their family,” he explains, pulling his hood up to block out a gust of wind. “She hides it well, but yes, he was a violent male.”
“Good riddance,” I mutter. My brow furrows. “Why did you bring me if you already knew all that?”
We’ve already made it back to the castle walls when he answers, “It wasn’t my idea, remember? That was all Ayden.”
“Then why did he?”
He shrugs. “My guess? He was tired of seeing the ghost of you and knew that I’d provoke you out of whatever stupor you were in.”
“My best frienddied,” I say quietly. “I’m allowed to grieve.”
“You’re right. You are allowed to grieve. But you aren’t permitted to just give up on living.” He holds my gaze, challenging me to disagree.
