It was nearly eleven when he arrived at Charlie’s house. The only car in the driveway was Charlie’s. No silver Lexus. And to his relief, no squad cars.

The bluish glow from the living room told him that the television was on, which meant Charlie was home. But where the hell was Maggie?

As he walked to the front door, he pulled out his cell phone, tempted to power it on and check if Maggie had messaged him. No, bad idea. If he turned it on, the police would be able to track his location. He started to slip it back into his pocket and suddenly paused, thinking. Remembering the evening when he’d received Taryn’s text message: I’m pregnant. He remembered how he had gone downstairs to fold Charlie’s laundry while Maggie had been upstairs in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, grinding coffee, setting cups and saucers on the tray. How long was Charlie alone at the dinner table? Five minutes, ten?

Long enough.

For a moment he stood outside Charlie’s front door, feeling as if the world had suddenly tilted off its axis. He should leave, now, except that he had nowhere else to go. The police were after him and his life was crumbling, but he had to know the truth.

He used his key and entered the living room. “Charlie?”

“In here,” Charlie called out.

Jack made his way into the kitchen, where Charlie sat on a barstool at the island, drinking a glass of whiskey. He was dressed in pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. The air was laced with the odor of disinfectant and the sour smell of a man full of cancer.

Charlie held up his glass. “Want to join me?”

“No, I’m fine.” Jack stood on the other side of the island, facing him. He couldn’t reconcile this dying man with the images that were now flashing through his head.

“Everything okay?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look like it is. Sit down; take a load off your feet.” Charlie nodded at an empty barstool.

Jack frowned at the scratches on Charlie’s face and the bruise over his left eye. “What happened to you?”

Charlie made a dismissive shrug. “Slipped in the shower.”

“Even after we installed those grab bars?”

“I wasn’t quick enough to catch myself.”

“Actually, I think I’ll have that drink.” Jack lowered himself onto the barstool.

Charlie pushed himself to his feet. He hobbled over to the cabinet where he stored the liquor, then crossed to another cabinet near the stove to fetch a glass. Jack tensed as Charlie opened the cabinet door. On the top shelf of that cabinet was where Charlie kept his Smith & Wesson .45. But all Charlie removed was a glass.

“Ice?”

Jack allowed himself to breathe. “Straight up is fine.”

Charlie poured whiskey and set the glass in front of him. “So what’s up?”

“Have you seen Maggie? She hasn’t been home.”

“Did you try calling her?”

“She doesn’t answer.”

Charlie hobbled back to the counter and refilled his own glass.

“You’re limping,” Jack observed.

“I told you. I took a slip in the shower.”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie turned to look at Jack. “Why’re you staring at me like that?”

“You know that Commonwealth student who died last week? Taryn Moore?”

“Yeah, it’s all over the news. Committed suicide, they say.”

“The police have changed their minds. They think it might be murder.”

“That right?” Charlie took another swallow of whiskey. “Based on what?”

“Based on a text that was sent from my cell phone.”

“Come again?”

“The police think I killed Taryn Moore because of a text message sent from my phone. It said I’d meet her at her apartment that night. Funny thing is, I never sent that message. I never went to her place. And I certainly didn’t murder her.”

He gave Jack an impassive look. “Okay.”

“But you did. Didn’t you, Charlie?”

“How the hell do you figure that?”

“That Friday you were at our house for dinner. When I went downstairs to do your laundry, I left my phone on the windowsill in the dining room. Taryn must have texted me while you were sitting there, right next to my phone. You saw the message. You know my pass code is Maggie’s birth date. You’re the one who texted her back.”

Charlie took another sip of whiskey, set down his glass, and wiped his mouth. He then gave Jack a look so poisonous that Jack shrank away. “I knew weeks ago that something was going on between you two. When Maggie said a girl came in to see her, I saw the way you reacted when she said the girl’s name. Taryn Moore. I’m not blind. I have an instinct about these things, Jack, and I always have. I hoped I was wrong about you. About her. Then I looked up her Facebook page. I saw her photo.” He shook his head in disgust. “You’re not the first man to let a pretty face ruin his life. But I thought you were a better man than that.”

“But I’m not the one who murdered her. I’m not the one who sent her that text. You went to her apartment to kill her, Charlie. You threw her off the balcony.”

“Two out of three.”

“Two out of three what?”

“Yes, I sent the text, then deleted it so you wouldn’t know. And yes, I went to her apartment. Didn’t even need to hunt down her address. There it was, right in your contacts. But I didn’t go there to kill her.”

“You sent that text to frame me.”

“No. I did it to fix the fucking mess you made! I did it for you, goddamn it. And for my daughter and my grandchild. I did it to save your family. But I most certainly did not go there to kill her.”

“Then how the hell did she end up dead?”

“I went to apologize on your behalf. I told her I was sorry for all her problems, blah, blah, blah. Said I was willing to pay for an abortion. She refused.” He stood up, went to the freezer, and dug around through the packages of frozen food. He took out an envelope and slapped it onto the counter where Jack was sitting.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Jack opened the envelope, and a banded brick of cash fell out. He stared at the bundle of fifty-dollar bills lying on the counter.

“Five thousand dollars,” Charlie said. “I keep it in the freezer for emergencies.”

“You were going to give this to her? To pay her off?”

“She told me to go fuck myself. She didn’t want my money. I told her I didn’t know whose baby it was, and I didn’t care. But I’d give her the benefit of the doubt that it was yours. I told her that I loved my daughter and didn’t want your affair to destroy her marriage. Her happiness.” There was nothing in Charlie’s face that suggested he was lying, no involuntary flicker of his eye, no telltale twitch. Just that tired old face full of conviction.

“And?” Jack asked.

“The fool girl went ballistic. Said she didn’t want my fucking hush money. That I couldn’t buy her off, not with a million dollars. So I asked her what she wanted, and that’s when she got ugly. She said she wanted to bring you down, to destroy you. And she didn’t give a shit who else got hurt.”

“And then what happened?”

“I slapped her. I couldn’t help it. The way she was talking about my Maggie, as if she didn’t matter. As if my grandchild was nothing but a nuisance. I slapped her across the face, and she came at me like a fucking lunatic. I tried to hold her off, but she reached for a statue on her bookshelf and swung at me.”

“She hit you?”

“Would have cracked my skull if I hadn’t swung back. She fell, slammed her head on the coffee table. When she didn’t move, I thought she might be dead, but then I saw she was still breathing. Oh, I thought about calling nine-one-one. Then I thought about the consequences if she woke up and told everyone what I did. What you did. Most of all, I thought about Maggie and how that—that cheap piece of trash could destroy Maggie’s happiness. That girl was relentless. She’d never give up, so I had no choice. I had to finish it.

“I dragged her to the balcony. Figured the fall would mess her up enough to hide the fact she’d already slammed her head on the coffee table. I took care of your problem. And then I cleaned up all the blood.”

“You really thought the truth wouldn’t come out?”

“I was a cop, Jack. I know how hard they’re worked. I figured they’d just call it a suicide, close the case, and walk away.”

But Detective Frances Loomis hadn’t. She was never going to walk away.

Jack shook his head, stunned by Charlie’s confession. “She was still alive. And you killed her.”

Charlie took a long wet breath, suddenly looking frail, as if he were standing on the edge of his own grave. “I haven’t got much time left before I step off this bus, and I don’t give a rosy-red shit about what happens to me. But I do care what happens to Maggie. I care about the baby and, by association, you. I had to do something.”

“But you pinned it on me.”

“I tried not to. I took her cell phone to hide those text messages. Smashed it so it couldn’t be tracked. I really thought the police wouldn’t bother to look for it.”

“They got hold of the messages. They think I did it.”

“Don’t blame me for that. You’re the one who got yourself into this mess.” Those ice-blue eyes pinned Jack to his seat. “Did you love the girl?”

“No.”