“That outfit must be worth a fortune. I heard she just got back from France—she’s rich, no way she’d need to kill anyone. And did you see how the Detective Sergeant looked at her? Dang, he looked like he wanted to be glued to her side. If she really was the murderer, he would’ve arrested her on the spot.”
My nails dug deep into my palms.
I was standing outside the office door and heard a voice I knew all too well.
“Has Wiley been treating you well these past few years?
“You know your brother—once he heard I was coming back, he went and bought me a private jet. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’s been five years of marriage and he still acts like a kid…”
“That’s good. Then I can stop worrying.” Monty’s voice was full of bitterness, low and heavy.
“Monty, hey, I really owe you for what happened back then. If not for you, I might still be rotting in jail.
“By the way, I think I’ll skip tomorrow’s family dinner. Don’t wanna upset Verity. I mean, every time she sees me, she remembers Uncle Rauben and Auntie Aurelia. I don’t want her blowing up at you again…”
That’s always how Sylvie was—taking all the benefits, then turning around to throw shade at me. Mocking and sarcastic.