I held up the green one.
“Whose is this?”
Liam said nothing.
The warmth disappeared from Mrs. Palmer’s face.
“Take her to Frank.”
Liam looked at her.
“Mrs. Palmer.”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am,” she shrugged. “She’s your wife.”
I looked between them.
“Who is Frank?”
Mrs. Palmer gave me a sad little smile.
“The first door.”
—
Twenty minutes later, we stood outside an aging brick apartment building on the other side of town.
A man with white hair opened the door before Liam knocked twice.
Frank looked at Liam.
Then at me.
“You finally told her?”
“Apparently everybody in this city knows more about my husband than I do.”
Frank winced. “Not everybody.”
“Comforting.”
He invited us inside.
The apartment was ordinary. Baseball played quietly on the television beside a plate holding half a sandwich.
Then I noticed a photograph on the bookshelf.
