Chapter 4: Three Alibis

My husband carried his mistress into breakfast with a bag of frozen peas balanced on her ankle.

Her right ankle was wrapped in a kitchen towel, and the peas were holding it down.

Phillip set her in the chair across from mine and stood behind her with both hands on its back.

"Beatrice," he said. "Why did you push Linnea down the stairs last night?"

It was seven in the morning, and I hadn't had coffee.

Jax stopped with a croissant halfway to his mouth.

Sterne put down the paper.

"I'm sorry?" I said.

"She lay at the bottom of the staircase for hours. She couldn't get up. I found her at six-thirty."

"I fell, Phillip," Linnea said quickly, with a small shake in her voice. "I think I fell. It was dark. I don't want anyone in trouble."

She looked at me, and then at the floor.

"There was a hand," she said. "Maybe I imagined it."

It was well done.

It left the accusation in the room and her hands clean.

"Phillip," I said, "I was on the second floor all night."

"Doing what?"

"Working."

"She was working," Jax said, mildly. "I'd stake my career on it."

"Where was she?" Phillip asked.

"In her room," said Sterne. "With me."

"And with me," Jax added.

Phillip looked from one to the other.

"Both of you."

"We keep a rotation," Jax said.

"It's a household," I said quickly. "Everyone has a role. Sterne is medical. Jax is morale."

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