AVAILABLE JANUARY 23RD 2018/ MIRA
How well do you really know your best friend?
Kat Grant and Alice Campbell have a friendship forged in shared confidences and long lunches lubricated by expensive wine. Though they’re very different women—the artsy socialite and the struggling suburbanite—they’re each other’s rocks. But even rocks crumble under pressure. Like when Kat’s financier husband, Howard, plunges to his death from the second-floor balcony of their South Florida mansion.
Howard was a jerk, a drunk, a bully and, police say, a murder victim. The questions begin piling up. Like why Kat has suddenly gone dark: no calls, no texts and no chance her wealthy family will let Alice see her. Why investigators are looking so hard in Alice’s direction. Who stands to get hurt next. And who is the cool liar—the masterful manipulator behind it all.
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“Mrs. Campbell is here,” Demer said to her. “I see that. I’ll be right in,” Oliver replied.
The detective led me to a small conference room and ges- tured for me to sit at a rectangular table with a shiny cherry finish. Sun was streaming in through two windows, and Demer adjusted the blinds so the light wouldn’t be in my eyes. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked. “Coffee? Al- though I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He held up his Starbucks cup. “I’m not a coffee snob by any stretch, so you can imagine how bad it would have to be to get me to spend five bucks
on this. We also have soda and bottled water.” “Water would be great,” I answered.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”
Demer left just as Oliver strode in. She had removed her suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her blue oxford button- down. Her face was bare of makeup, and the only jewelry she wore was a pair of small gold hoop earrings. She took a seat across from me, dropping a notebook on the table.
“You took your time getting here,” she said. The bad cop was officially on the scene.
I wondered if she was always this bad-tempered or if there was something about this particular case bothering her. Was it contempt for the extremely wealthy area her department policed? But if so, why choose to work here over a grittier but surely more exciting law enforcement agency, like in West Palm or even Miami? Or did her anger stem from Demer’s presence? Maybe she was angry that he had been brought in from Tallahassee to work on an investigation that she had ex- pected to take the lead on.
I chose not to respond to her comment. Instead I looked
back at her steadily, wanting to make it clear early on that I would not be bullied.
“I heard you’re some sort of a writer,” Oliver said, folding her arms over her chest.
I nodded. “I’m the author of a series of books of logic puz- zles for children.”
The door opened and Demer came in. He glanced from Oliver to me and back again.
“Everything okay in here?”
“Sergeant Oliver has been asking me about my work ex- perience,” I said. “But I assume that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about.”
“No, it’s not,” Demer agreed. He handed me a bottle of water and sat down next to Oliver. The detective placed a folder on the table and f lipped it open. “Thank you for tak- ing time out of your schedule to come talk with us.”
“Of course. Although I’m still not sure how I can help you.” “Why don’t you let us worry about that?” Oliver interjected.
I pressed my lips together and folded my hands in my lap. Demer’s eyes f litted in the direction of his partner. I sensed that he wasn’t on board with her interview technique. Maybe he didn’t like the good cop–bad cop dynamic any more than I did. Or maybe this was part of their act, too.
“As you know, we’re investigating the death of Howard Grant…” Demer began.
“As I’m sure you know, the cause of his death was unusual,” the detective continued. He glanced up at me. “I’m assuming you know how he died.”
“Yes.” I couldn’t help but shiver. “It was pretty awful.” “How well did you know Mr. Grant?” Demer asked.
I paused, not quite sure how to answer this.