It smelled exactly like Eric’s cologne.
At first, I didn’t pay much attention to it.
But two months earlier, Eric had come home with exactly the same smell, and when I asked him, he told me it was because of the new air freshener in his car.
I believed him.
Of course.
I didn’t hire the private investigator because of Natalie.
I hired him because of Eric.
The first emergency meetings took place on Saturday.
Then came the “business trip” to Asheville. On Valentine’s Day, he went out to buy me flowers and returned three hours later empty-handed.
I did not confront him.
I called Grant Miller, a private investigator.
“I want to know who he is,” I told him.
“That’s all.”
Two weeks later, he called me.
He asked me if I was sitting down.
I told him that I already was.
“Madam,” he said, “this woman is part of your family.”
I thought of a cousin.
A sister-in-law.
Someone further away.
Never, not for a single second, did I imagine that she was my own sister.
Until I opened the first photo.
