[This scene is Arnett’s interview with Lorraine Barnott, which was cut from the full manuscript, and just reported back to Fournier. It may contain inconsistencies with the final manuscript and/or errors; for example, Arnett’s perspective never appears in the rest of the book.]

Arnett pulled up to Lorraine Barnott’s split-level fifteen minutes after dropping Fournier off. A stay-at-home mom, Lorraine sat waiting on her porch in a white wicker chair while her preschool-aged son rolled trucks across the lawn. She rose as he climbed out of the rental car, and as she watched him approach, tugged her yellow sweater tight across her body. His wife had a sweater like that, and it confused him—strange cascades of material down the front, but no buttons or other attachments, so she constantly had to adjust it. What was the point?

Lorraine greeted him, then motioned him to a second chair across from a glass-topped wicker table. Without asking, she poured a glass of lemonade from the waiting pitcher and set it beside him, then tucked the sweater back across her chest.

“Well, then. I’m not sure what I can tell you.” Her eyes flashed to his.

“I need an idea of who Jeanine was, and why someone might have wanted to hurt her.”

“That makes no sense. She was attacked by a stranger. Your time would be better served trying to find him.”

He kept his tone neutral and compassionate. “We need to be sure of that. Roger Hammond tells me you were one of Jeanine’s close friends?”

“I was.”

“How close were the two of you?”

“As close as she was to anyone, I expect.” She removed a cigarette from the silver case lying on the table. He reflexively reached toward his pocket for the lighter that was no longer there, and stopped short. She flipped the top of a matching silver Zippo.

“She wasn’t close with anyone, you mean?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

Arnett tried to remain patient. “Did anyone harbor a grudge against her?”

“Nobody.” She pulled from the cigarette and left pale pink gloss on the end.

He fought back a sudden urge to snatch up her cigarette case and pull one out, his doctor’s hackneyed reminder that he was no spring chicken echoing through his head. He forced his eyes back to her face and tried to ignore the nicotine’s siren song. “Any trouble with anyone at work?”

“Not that I’m aware of. There were days when she’d be frustrated with her work, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Anyone from her past? An ex-boyfriend with an axe to grind?”

“No. Jeanine just didn’t have any enemies.”

He tried out one of Fournier’s southern-charm grins. “Everyone has enemies.”

She took another drag on the cigarette and stayed silent.

So much for charm. “How was her relationship with her husband?”

“They loved each other very much.”

“No fights or issues?”

She gave a tight, clipped laugh. “If you’re asking me if Roger killed his wife, he did not. He loved her dearly, and he was with us the entire day.”

“I appreciate that information. But I’d like to understand the general state of their marriage.”

“As far as I know, their marriage was as strong as any other. I don’t see any need to put it under a microscope because of a random, vicious attack.

“Any reason to think Jeanine might be having an affair?”

Her gaze raked his face. “Absolutely not. She was a good-hearted woman, with integrity.”

“Many good-hearted women find themselves lonely at times.

She stared at him through the smoke curling up from her fingers.

He cleared his throat. “One last question. Do you remember anything about an argument Jeanine had with her niece,” he made a show of flipping through his notes, “Teresa?”

Her brow furrowed, and her face tilted up. “I’d forgotten about that. It was more than an argument, actually. I’d call it a falling out. I don’t think they’ve talked in quite a while. But I don’t think it’s relevant.”

“What happened?”

“Well, it was ridiculous, truth be told. That child has always been a self-centered, spoiled brat. Her parents never set boundaries, always catered to her moods. Then she got a boyfriend, and of course things didn’t go well with that, her temperament being what it was. She came to Jeanine for advice, but then didn’t like the advice Jeanine gave. That was nothing new, but this time it was too much honesty for her.”

“How so?”

“The guy was a cocky little snot. But boys were never interested in her, he was the first real boyfriend, so he could do no wrong. She wasn’t going to listen to anything that put the relationship into question.” She highlighted her contempt with a small puff of air from her nose.

“That’s what Jeanine told you?”

“Jeanine was strangely reticent about it all. She didn’t tell us for a long time, and when she did, she was very careful about what she said.”

“Why?”

She flicked her ashes into their tray. “I think she was trying to be as fair to Teresa as possible. She chose her words very precisely, like she was at a deposition.”

Like she knew you already didn’t approve. “You said the guy was a jerk? How so?”

“Jerk doesn’t quite capture it. I said he was a cocky little snot. I only met him twice, but he was far too glib. And far too comfortable with people he’d never met before, and who were of a different generation. Treated us like beer buddies. No respect for the girl’s aunt and uncle, hands constantly all over her, right in front of them.” Her face screwed up, like her lemonade was too sour. “And there was something just odd about him.”

“Odd how?”

Her eyes searched the sky as she thought. “All I can say is he rubbed me the wrong way, like there was something not quite right. I can’t break it down better than that.”

“Odd enough that he might have killed Jeanine?”

She searched Arnett’s face. “I don’t know. I don’t recall feeling threatened by him at the time. But yes, I suppose it’s possible.”

Arnett looked at his watch, then stood up and handed her a card.

“I appreciate your time. If you think of anything else, anybody from Jeanine’s

past who might have been angry with her, no matter how small, please let me know.”

She nodded and looked down at the card. “I will.”