As Long as We Both Shall Live
Page 29
“I know you are,” Matt said. He thought Kimmy would be more than up to bossing around some cops, even though she was young and petite and looked naïve, but she was also what Matt’s grandmother would’ve called a firecracker.
Firecracker: noun. Grandmother-speak. A woman who gives no shits what anyone thinks.
“I’ll talk to them,” Matt said again. He held up the wand with the button at the end, the one that connected to his IV and pumped morphine into his system every time he pushed it. “If I start feeling overwhelmed, I’ll just hit this a few times. They won’t be able to get a coherent word out of me after that.”
Kimmy grimaced.
“You know that button doesn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Seriously, though. If you start to feel bad, we’ll give them the boot.”
“It’s fine, really. I suppose they need to wrap things up before I go home.”
“I should really ask Dr. Hammett—”
“Kimmy. Let them in.”
In all honesty, he wanted to get it over with. The cops had come by the day before, caught him when he was in serious pain, in that long thirty minutes before the next dose of good medicine came, when he thought it might be better to be dead than to feel this way. They’d left without saying a word. And now they were back. They were going to talk to him sooner or later, better to get it over with.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Kimmy said, but then left to get the cops anyway, the door wheezing shut as she went. The sound of muffled footsteps out in the hall came to him, and a smattering of laughter, all before the door closed. He looked at the little tree. It would be getting cold outside, the leaves would begin to change and fall. Maybe he’d be out of here by then, enjoying the change in seasons from his home.
There was a knock on the door and it pushed back open. No laughter came in this time, and no Kimmy, but just the cops. Loren and Spengler.
“So sorry to bother you again, Mr. Evans,” Spengler said, pulling a chair to the left side of the bed. It made an unpleasant squealing sound as it dragged across the linoleum. She didn’t sound very sorry. “We just wanted to touch base with you, let you know what’s going on.”
“We won’t take much of your time,” Loren said. He didn’t bother sitting.
Matt nodded and smoothed his hands over the cheap hospital blankets. They could’ve been the same ones from twenty-three years before.
“How are you feeling today?” Spengler asked.
“Much better, thank you. I hope to go home soon.”
Spengler’s eyebrows drew together over her smile, and she glanced at Loren. Matt looked back and forth between the detectives.
“I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere near home soon,” Spengler said. “You’ll be staying here until the doctor gives the okay for you to leave, and then we’ll be placing you under arrest. A guard has been stationed outside the door to keep an eye on you.”
He looked back and forth between the two, thinking it must be a joke. He cleared his throat. It was time to sell, he thought. It was all or nothing at this point. The pitch of a lifetime.
“Look, I know I’m in trouble about Janice faking her death, but my lawyer said it’s not that big of a deal. It was Janice who orchestrated the whole thing, and it was twenty-three years ago. I know I’ll have to pay back that insurance money, but I have the cash in the bank—”
“First of all, what you did twenty years ago is a big deal,” Spengler said. “But that’s not the reason we’ll be arresting you.”
“You’re arresting me?” he asked slowly. “Let me get this right. Marie faked her death, set me up for her murder, killed Riley—and you’re arresting me?”
“That’s right,” Spengler said, smiling.
“Your wife was a sneaky gal,” Loren said. “Spengler here kept calling and leaving her voice mails, and then Marie responded. She didn’t actually have to call her back—you can just respond to a voice mail with another voice mail, did you know that?”
Matt shook his head.
“Anyway, your wife sent Spengler a voice mail. Well, not an actual message, it’s just a recording Marie made.”
“I think you’ll find it interesting. Here, listen.” Spengler held up her phone and pushed a button on the screen. There was a moment of static and then there was Marie’s voice, light and breathy, the one he hated so much.
“Tell me, did you enjoy killing her?” Marie whispered. “Riley didn’t even see it coming, did she? She went out thinking you were actually in love with her, isn’t that right? How humane of you.”
“I wish I’d had the chance to bash your skull in,” his own voice said. He didn’t recognize himself, as was the way when a person heard a recording of their voice, but he’d know his own words anywhere. “I wish I could’ve killed you instead of her. But I had to do it. Prove to everyone what a jealous, crazy wife you are.”
Spengler stopped the playback. Matt leaned back on the pillows and closed his eyes. It was like he’d gone back to the beginning again. Twenty years back, don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars.
“Have you found Marie yet?” he asked.
Loren laughed.
“The search continues,” he said. “We’ve been sweeping the river for a mile downstream from where she went under, but there’s been no sign of her yet. The team keeps saying there’s no way she could’ve survived that current, but I’ve heard that malarkey before.”
“And here’s a funny thing,” Spengler said. She looked amused. “A ranger found a life jacket abandoned on the shore a few miles downstream. There was some blood on it, and a rip that looked like it’d been done with a knife. Now, I don’t remember seeing Marie wearing a life jacket, but that sweatshirt she had on was awfully big. It could’ve hid a lot, I suppose.”
“But I’m sure she’s dead,” Loren said.
“Oh, yes. Definitely,” Spengler said. “But we’ve all said that about your wife before, haven’t we, Mr. Evans?”
* * *
The cops didn’t stay long. They didn’t have much else to say to him, now that they had what they needed. As they left and the door eased shut again, Matt saw the uniformed cop sitting right outside his door, scrolling through his phone.
He slept after a while. It was restless and full of dreams, although some of it might’ve been real. He saw someone come into the room and put flowers on the windowsill, and Kimmy came back in to take his blood pressure. And there was Marie, standing at the foot of his bed, her lovely face smiling, pointing a gun right at him, and he came awake with a start, a hand clutching at his throat, gasping for air.
He was alone.
No one had pulled the blinds, so the late-afternoon sun slanted through hotly, and there was sweat gathered on his upper lip. He reached out to push the call button, to ask a nurse to come to his room and flip the blinds, but then the phone rang. It was the phone on the table beside his bed, jangling with such ferocity that it shook in the cradle. Once, and then again.
Was it Marie? Would he ever hear a phone ring again without wondering if it was her, calling to taunt him?
No, she was dead. Had to be. Drowned. Or bled out from where he’d stabbed her.
But there was that life jacket.
He put a hand out to grab the phone and had the sudden awful thought that even if he ripped it right out of the wall, cord frayed and broken at one end, it would ring anyway, that there was no escaping her, that he’d made his bed and had to sleep in it, just like his mother used to say. Till death do you part, as long as you both shall live and all that jazz. He considered pushing the phone off the table, sending it clattering to the ground, but answered it instead. He couldn’t help himself.
You could never kill Janice.
Or Marie, either.
“Matt,” she said breathily, and if he’d been able to reach through the speaker and strangle his wife he would’ve gladly done it then. “Are we having fun yet?”
A
cknowledgments
If you’ve ever spent time in Rocky Mountain National Park, you’ll know there is no cliff that overlooks the Three Forks River, as I’ve made the place up. There are other things I’ve changed or added here and there to suit the story, and a sharp-eyed reader will be sure to notice.
As always, I’d like to give my deepest thanks to Stephanie Cabot, Ellen Coughtrey, and all the team at the Gernert Company. Immense thanks to the entire team at Flatiron Books, especially to Amy Einhorn, Christine Kopprasch, Conor Mintzer, and Amelia Possanza. Also, thanks to the copy editor, Greg Villepique, who understood every time I used italics and gave some amazing suggestions.
I’d also like to thank Jennifer Thomas, who is one of the most thoughtful, caring women I’ve ever met and will definitely be killed in my next book; as well as Jess Hartlep, who made me laugh at least 250 times. But no more than 255. 300 at most. Thanks to Leigh Raper, who always knows the right card to send for every occasion; and to Sandi Reinardy, who talked me through some tough times with wise words.
And of course I’d like to thank my family. Cade, Jacob, and Lauren, who are quite simply the best kids I could ask for, and have somehow turned out to be kind, brilliant human beans despite how screwed up I am; and to my parents, who raised a writer. And to Jason, who helped piece me back together again.
Recommend As Long as We Both Shall Live for your next book club!
Reading group guide available at
www.readinggroupgold.com
ALSO BY JOANN CHANEY
What You Don’t Know
About the Author
JoAnn Chaney is a graduate of University of California, Riverside’s, Palm Desert MFA program. She lives in Colorado with her family. She is also the author of What You Don’t Know, which was named one of Book Riot’s Best Mysteries of the year and longlisted for the CWA New Blood Dagger award.
Visit her online at joannchaney.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Epigraphs
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Mama, Just Killed A Man
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Like A Record Baby
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
As I Watched Him On The Stage My Hands Were Clenched In Fists Of Rage
Think About It Every Night And Day
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Gonna Love You Until You Hate Me
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Gave Away The Things You Loved And One Of Them Was Me
Acknowledgments
Also by JoAnn Chaney
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
AS LONG AS WE BOTH SHALL LIVE. Copyright © 2018 by JoAnn Chaney. All rights reserved. For information, address Flatiron Books, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.flatironbooks.com
Cover design by Keith Hayes
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-07639-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-07640-3 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250076403
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First Edition: January 2019