Red Blooded Murder

Theo stepped into the hallway and held up a box of green tea in a silent question. How had he known that green tea was what I drank every morning, what I needed right at this very moment?

I smiled and nodded at him.

“What do you mean?” I said to Zac.

“I mean, was it just you and Jane or did you talk to any guys?”

“Uh … um …” It was a loaded question if I’d ever heard one. I had no idea what the right answer was. “We talked to a few people.” And one of those people is naked in my kitchen.

He said nothing.

“Is something wrong, Zac?”

“I got an early flight home last night. I waited up for Jane.”

“That’s nice,” I said, still unsure how he wanted me to respond.

“Yeah. It was. Except she never came home.”

5

I was still on the phone with Zac a few minutes later, spinning out possible hypotheses for where Jane had spent the night. I didn’t really believe any of them.

What I was really doing was taking up time, trying to let myself piece together the end of the evening. After Sam had hung up on me last night, I’d continued making out with Theo, partly out of spite and partly out of booze and partly out of the fact that he was so unbelievably hot. Before I knew it, he and I were in a cab on our way to my house. Before I knew it … Those were the words of someone who had done something wrong. Someone who should feel ashamed. That wasn’t me, I reminded myself.

As for Jane, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed quite possible that she’d gone home with the writer. She believed her husband was out of town, and she and Mick had been flirting madly. I hadn’t given it much thought last night. I’d assumed that flirting was all it was, but maybe it had gone further than that.

Shortly before I left, Jane had been there, slipping off her jacket, drinking in the visual praise of the men in the room, and then later when I looked up from my conversation with Sam, she was gone. I left ten minutes after Sam hung up on me, so I assumed Jane was just in the bathroom or at the back of the crowded lounge, somewhere I couldn’t see her. I’d searched around, and when I couldn’t find her, I’d texted her saying I was leaving and I’d talk to her tomorrow. And then, before I knew it, I was in the cab.

To Zac, I dished out more lame-sounding excuses—maybe she’d gone to a friend’s house, maybe she’d gotten a lead on a story and she was following that—while I tried to figure out what to do. Should I tell my friend’s husband that she’d been flirting with someone else?

“Was Jane talking to any guy in particular?” Zac asked.

“Uh …”

“Look, Izzy,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called you.” Silence. Then, “It’s not the first time this has happened, okay?”

“What do you mean?” I was in a robe by then. I went into my living room and sat on my favorite piece of furniture—a wingback chair Sam and I found at an antique store on Lincoln and reupholstered in a whimsical yellow-and-white fabric. The chair was unbelievably comfortable, and sitting there usually made me feel better. It wasn’t working today. Behind me in the kitchen, Theo was oblivious, whistling while he cooked.

“How close are you and Jane?” Zac asked.

“We’re friends from work. I used to be the lawyer for the company that owns Jane’s old station.”

“Yeah, I know, and she wants you to work for Trial TV.”

“Right. I accepted. But what did you mean that this has happened before?”

He exhaled, said nothing.

“Do you think you should call the cops?” This was all way too familiar. I could remember with crystal clarity the night Sam disappeared and that next morning when he still wasn’t around. “Or have you called the TV station?”

“I checked.”

“Have you talked to her family?”

“They live in Michigan. Plus, I think I know exactly what happened.”

“What?”

“I asked you before if you talked to any guys last night. Tell me the truth.”

I wrapped my robe tighter around me. “I did tell you. We spoke to a few people.”

“Who were they?” Zac asked.

“Um … let’s see.” I glanced over my shoulder, stalling for time. Over the breakfast bar, I could see Theo as he shook a small frying pan and flipped a perfect yellow omelet into the air, catching it again.

“You don’t remember who you spoke to?” Zac said. Something cold had crept into his voice.

“No, I do. I just …”

“What time did you leave?”

“One o’clock, I guess. Maybe two.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Well, this one guy.” A guy who was in my kitchen right now.

“What’s his name?”

“Um …” I knew it was Theo, but I had to think about his last name, which mortified me. Jameson! That was it.

Before I could answer, Zac jumped in. “Did Jane leave with him?”

“No.” I did.

“Look, Izzy, seriously. Don’t try to cover up for her.”

“I’m not. I know she didn’t go home with the person I was talking to.”

“Then who? Who was she talking to?”

I tried to think of the writer’s name. “I’m not sure.” I was relieved to be telling the truth. If I had thought it awkward to wake up with my first one-night stand, it was even worse to have a morning-after conversation with a friend’s husband.

Then he laughed. A caustic, short laugh. “Look, don’t worry about it. She just walked in.”

Zac hung up on me, the second man in twenty-four hours to do so.