The Night Before by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online

She hesitated. Thought of the mess upstairs. The blood still on the closet. Somehow, she managed to pull herself together and open the door wider and had the distinct impression that the woman was sizing her up. “What’s this about?” Caitlyn asked, but knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that they were the bearers of horrible news.
    She stood aside, allowing them to enter, and even though a blast of heat from the outside followed them in, she was so cold she nearly shivered.
    “I’m afraid we have some bad news, Mrs. Bandeaux,” the man said, motioning to a chair as Caitlyn, her legs numb, propped herself on the chair back.
    “What?”
    “It’s about your husband.”
    “Josh?” she whispered and felt as if someone had wrapped ice-cold fingers around her neck, cutting off her oxygen. A sudden roar in her head, like the sea trapped inside a cave, was nearly deafening. She had a quick image of Josh lying pale and still upon his desk. “What about him?” She swallowed against a mouth that was as dry as the Sahara. Knew what was coming.
    “I’m afraid he’s dead,” Detective Reed said as the roar increased and her knees weakened.
    “But how . . .?”
    “We’re not sure what happened yet. We’re exploring all possibilities and waiting for the coroner’s report to come in.”
    “No!” She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t believe it.” But she did. She’d known. Somehow she’d known.
    “I’m sorry,” Reed said and the woman whispered some kind of condolences as well, but Caitlyn’s brain wasn’t processing their words. Her fingers curled around the upholstered back of the chair, but her legs were shaking so badly she could barely stand.
    “I know this is hard,” the woman was saying as if from a distance. Caitlyn barely heard. In her mind’s eye a kaleidoscope of images flashed. Josh as a young man at the helm of his sailboat, in Naples where he’d proposed, at Jamie’s birth, trying to hide his disappointment that the baby wasn’t a boy, sneaking in late at night, claiming he was working, angry when his investment turned down, white-faced and shaken at their daughter’s funeral.
    “Did your husband have any enemies?” the female officer—what-was-her-name? —asked, and Caitlyn snapped to the present.
    “I don’t know . . . yes, I suppose so.” But she couldn’t think.
    “I’ll need their names.”
    “Of course . . . but . . . he . . . he was a businessman in town. Some of his deals went sour.” Caitlyn’s head was pounding painfully, as if her brain was suddenly too big for her skull.
    “Was he depressed?”
    “Josh? Depressed? I don’t know. We . . . we were separated, oh . . . you must know that already since you’re here. We’ve . . . we’ve been living apart for about three years.” Numb from the inside out, Caitlyn tried to keep her wits about her. Impossible. She suddenly felt faint . . . sensed blackness picking at the corners of her consciousness.
    “She needs to sit down. Mrs. Bandeaux?” a woman asked from far away, and she felt arms around her, steadying her, leading her into the living room. Her legs were like jelly.
    “My husband . . . he, um, he was filing for divorce.” If she could just hang on until the police left her alone, gave her time to sort this out. She felt herself being lowered onto the couch.
    “And you?” the man asked.
    “What about me?”
    “Did you want the divorce?”
    “I don’t think she can answer right now,” the female cop said quietly.
    But Caitlyn wanted to answer. To get the interview over with. Now.
    “I, um, I had thought we could get back together, but . . .” She felt the first tear slide from her eyes. Josh. Dead? Healthy, vibrant, take-life-by-the-balls Josh? No . . . she couldn’t believe it. Josh couldn’t be dead. The tears began in earnest and her shoulders shook. Someone, the woman, she thought, handed her a tissue and she held back her sobs, but the tears flowed wildly, streaming down her