Such a Perfect Wife by Kate White

Author:Kate White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-03-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING TO THE SOUND OF RAIN COMING down in sheets, splattering across the parking lot and dripping hard from the narrow overhang above my unit.

The rain, I realized, was not only going to make shooting the video a bitch but was also going to make me look like a soaked yak on camera. I decided to hold off on washing and blowing out my hair until right before the shoot.

I threw on jeans, a pair of short boots, and a black leather jacket. The look was a little too biker chick for conducting interviews at St. Tim’s, but it was my best shot at not being totally defeated by the weather.

After a quick breakfast in the village, I was back in my car by nine fifteen. I had a few minutes to kill before showing up at St. Tim’s, and it seemed like a sane enough hour on a Sunday morning to try to reach Kayla for a follow-up conversation.

“How are you doing?” I asked when she finally answered. She sounded glum, though it didn’t seem like I’d woken her.

“How do you think? I heard the news last night—that Amy’s definitely dead. She was murdered by a fucking serial killer.”

“Kayla. I’m so sorry. I know this must be a hard time to talk, but I was hoping to ask you a couple more questions.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to find the madman who did this. Shoot.”

“I went to the campground yesterday, and I saw what you meant. If Amy didn’t like the outdoors, it’s hard to imagine why she would have decided to spend two nights at that campsite. She never said anything that would explain it?”

“No, but I always assumed Page talked her into it. Page could talk her into anything.”

Interesting. Maybe Page had convinced Amy to check out Muller’s, too. And more.

“Kayla, please understand that I’m not passing any judgment with this next question. Do you think Page could have talked Amy into using drugs? Or even selling them?”

“No way whatsoever.”

“Are you saying she wouldn’t sell them or use them or both?”

“Both. Look, Amy wasn’t a saint. She drank and she liked to party. But she hated drugs. A guy she was friends with had died from an OxyContin overdose and she steered clear of them. She never even smoked weed.”

“Okay, I hear you.” But Kayla might not have been clued in to everything there was to know about Amy. People using or dealing drugs became experts at keeping secrets from even their most intimate acquaintances.

After saying goodbye and promising to do what I could to find Amy’s killer, I drove the short distance to the church. The parking lot—at least what I could see of it through the ribbons of rain—was about half full. I backed into an open spot, providing myself with a view not only of the front of the church but also of the side entrance, in case Nolan exited that way after mass. I cracked my window an inch to prevent the car from steaming up inside.

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