Page 105 of Angels & Whiskey
“What happened?”
“Did he file a charge against me? Is this what this is about?”
“Mrs. Jones, please just answer the question.”
“Fine. We went to my house to get my things because I was leaving my husband. He’s not the man everyone thinks he is and I no longer wanted to be married to him. While we were there, he showed up and said some nasty things to me—”
“What’d he say?”
I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “He said that he’d never loved me and only married me because I looked good on his arm.”
“And that pissed you off?”
“Well, of course it did, detective.” I hissed.
“Enough to kill him?”
I sucked in a breath again and stared at his face, not saying anything for a few seconds. “What?”
“Were you angry enough to kill your husband?”
“I … You’re …” I paused again, trying to form the words in my head. “Are you saying Rich is dead?”
“You didn’t know?”
“How was I supposed to know? I left him and haven’t seen him in twenty-four hours.” I looked down at my lap, feeling a lump form in my throat. I wanted to fight off my tears. Rich wasn’t worth them, but my heart didn’t know that. Detective King didn’t say anything while I ran my hand over my forehead, still looking down at my lap as if I had a headache, thinking of how this was possible. “How?” I asked, not lifting my head.
“We’re not sure yet.”
I raised my head to meet his gaze again. “You don’t know how?” A single tear spilled over my bottom eyelid and I wiped it away.
He shook his head. “No, we’re still running tests.”
“So he wasn’t shot or something obvious?”
“No, we’re still reviewing the footage from the video cameras in your house.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. “Where? I don’t even know where that’s kept.”
“Your husband had an app on his phone that can play back live footage and anything within twenty-four hours.”
“I always suspected he had the feed in his office at his work.”
“We haven’t checked there yet. If you could give me the address that would speed up this process.”
I gave the detective Rich’s work address. “Who found him?” I asked.
“His campaign manager Trista.”
“When?”
“This morning. When he didn’t show for their meeting, she drove to your house and found him.”
“What about Remo?”
“Mr. Romero was found with him.”
“Dead?” I whispered.
