The police search our house for hours.

When they finish, the house is in shambles. As expected. Neither of us are working today—I’ve taken a personal day, and Enzo is trusting his work to his staff—so we get to cleaning it all up. I’m just hoping we can get it done before the school bus delivers the kids back home. If they walk into this mess, they will panic.

Enzo and I clean together in silence. We’re working on the kitchen now, putting away pots and pans that were thrown on the kitchen floor. It’s almost like unpacking our boxes all over again.

Even though I shouldn’t say it, there’s a question running through my head, and before I can stop myself, I blurt it out. “Enzo, did you tell Suzette that you only married me because I was pregnant?”

His body goes rigid. “What?”

“Did you tell her you knocked me up?”

“No, I did not say that to her.” He rubs his jaw. “Why would you think I would tell her that?”

“Because she knew about it. And I sure didn’t tell her. So how did she know?”

“Ada is eleven. We are married less than twelve years.” He lifts a shoulder. “She did math?”

Maybe. It’s entirely possible I might have mentioned that we were married eleven years. I should have been more careful about what I said around somebody like Suzette. She was surely analyzing every word.

He narrows his eyes at me. “When were you talking to Suzette about this?”

I can’t very well tell him that I snuck into their backyard last night. He would be furious. “This was a while ago. I just started thinking about it.”

“Believe me, Millie, I do not say our business to anyone.” He frowns at the kitchen counter. “They broke three plates. You know that?”

“I told you they were not going to be gentle.” “This is allowed? They just break things?”

I don’t know what to say. What are we supposed to do? Call the cops on them?

“Do you know if they found anything?” I ask him.

“No. They did not find anything because there is nothing to find.” He clenches his fist in frustration. “They broke a mug too! Is ridiculous!”

“Enzo,” I say, “why don’t you let me finish up in the kitchen? You can go clean up the bedrooms, okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

He stalks off, leaving me alone to clean the kitchen. Good thing, because I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more that they broke in here. There are fewer things to break in the bedrooms.

While I am throwing away the remains of the broken dishes, my phone rings. It’s a 718 number, which means it’s not somebody on the island. I take the call.

“Millie?”

It’s Cecelia’s voice—I recognize it from yesterday. I still can’t get over how different she sounds from the little girl she used to be.

“Hi, Cecelia,” I say. “I I guess you heard what happened.” “Yes, I spoke to Enzo this morning. He wasn’t happy.”

“We were just surprised,” I say. “We were hoping it wouldn’t come to this. That they would find another suspect.”

“Oh no,” Cecelia says. “They are laser-focused on Enzo right now.” “Did you check out the backyard at the Lowell house?” I ask her. “I

looked around, and there is definitely a place where you can get in without passing the front of the house.”

“Yes, I was able to confirm that. But it might be a moot point.” “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when they were searching your house, they found something.”

What? Enzo was so emphatic that nothing would be found that would incriminate him.

My stomach sinks. “What did they find?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “They are being incredibly difficult about sharing any information at this time, but I was able to ascertain that from one of my contacts. They are doing some tests right now, but my contact said they think it’s a ‘slam dunk.’”

A slam dunk?

Oh my God, what if they found that bloody shirt? Enzo swore it was his own blood, but if they say it’s a slam dunk

“Does Enzo know this?” I ask.

“Yes, I just got off the phone with him, but I wanted to let you know as well because it didn’t sound like he was going to tell you.” She hesitates. “This is all in confidence, of course. I’m not supposed to know this information at all, and I’m certainly not supposed to tell either of you. Can I trust you to keep this between us, Millie?”

“You can,” I confirm.

“Benito and I both have our ears to the ground.” Despite the fact that my world is crashing around me, Cecelia doesn’t sound the slightest bit rattled. And her confidence makes me calmer. “If we hear anything at all about an arrest warrant, I’ll call you immediately.”

The idea of my husband being arrested is almost too horrible for words. Suddenly, I’m too choked up to even respond.

“Millie.” Cecelia’s voice is firm. “We are going to figure this out. I promise you that. Do you believe me?”

“But ” I manage. “What if ”

I can’t even complete the sentence. Anyway, I don’t know what I’m going to say next.

What if my husband really was having an affair with Suzette Lowell?

What if Enzo really killed Jonathan Lowell?

What if they lock him up? What the hell am I going to do? What will I tell our children?

“Millie,” Cecelia says in that confident, capable voice of hers. “You need to trust me on this. Because I trust you. I trust Enzo. We will get through this.”

“Okay,” I agree. “I trust you.”

Except how exactly will we get through this? If they found that shirt, covered in Jonathan’s blood, Enzo is in deep trouble. I have to hope that he got rid of that shirt. That he put it somewhere they’ll never find it.

It doesn’t even occur to me that they have found something far worse.