Drake reaches around me and pushes the doorbell. The classic “ding dong” rings out through the house, and a few moments later, a man appearing to be in his early forties opens the door.

“Can I help you?”

“Mr. Gentry?” I inquire.

“And you are?”

“Noelle Bond,” I reply, pulling my private investigator ID out. “Ex–Dallas PD and private investigator at Bond P.I. in Holly Woods. Can I come in for a chat?”

“And the gentleman accompanying you?”

I just know that, if I were to turn, Drake’s lips would be curving.

“Detective Drake Nash. Homicide, Holly Woods PD. Off duty, of course.”

I bet he even pops his collar.

“And the matter is concerning…” Professor Gentry trails off.

“Lena Gentry,” I reply, keeping my eyes firm on his.

Never look away from a man asking questions—especially if you know he has answers to yours.

The man before me visibly balks at the sound of her name. His eyes flit between us, terror rampant in them. Slowly, he brings his fingers to this throat, and stammers, “It’s…it’s been a long time, Ms. Bond. Forgive my rudeness.”

“Not at all, Mr. Gentry.”

“Doctor,” he corrects me, the word almost a whisper. “I received my PhD not long after she left me.”

“I’m sorry. Dr. Gentry. We really do have some questions for you.”

“Of course. Come in.” He steps to the side and sweeps his arm in a welcoming motion, but I notice the rigid way he holds himself. Like he’s not really comfortable at all. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

I look at Drake as I realize that this man has no idea his wife is dead.

“We should take a seat,” Drake suggests in an odd, bossy way.

Dr. Gentry nods and leads us to a bright room filled with plants and two wicker sofas with cushions tied on. He takes one, leaving me and Drake to fill the other.

“Dr. Gentry, I’m afraid your wife was found murdered approximately twelve days ago.”

I freeze as the words wash over the man opposite me. First, his eyes widen. Then his mouth drops. His hands go to his throat as if he can barely breathe through the news before they drop to his lap as the hopelessness of this situation falls over him. Tears fill his soft, hazel eyes, although I suspect they are more regretful than sad.

Eventually, Dr. Gentry sits forward, his hands trembling as he clasps them. “How?”

Drake gives him a basic rundown of the case, omitting all information about Daniel, I notice. I try not to give him a suspicious glance because Dr. Gentry strikes me as the kind of person who would notice that right away.

He asks all the right questions, and Drake answers them all while I quietly look around. There are pictures of a little girl, from birth to around age six. My eyes linger on one specific frame—the little girl, the double of Lena, sitting on her lap. A heavy weight sits in my lower stomach as the pieces fall together in my mind.

No.

“When was the last time you saw Lena?” I draw my attention to the somewhat distraught man in front of me.

“Just before she died,” he replies quietly, his eyes falling to the very same photo I was just looking at. “She was here for Melly’s birthday.”

“Who’s Melly?” Drake asks.

“Their daughter,” I answer, focused on Dr. Gentry.

He confirms it with a single slight nod.

“You have custody?”

“Full,” he replies. “Lena suffered severe postpartum depression. In and out of hospital. She couldn’t trust herself around Melly, so she agreed to let me raise her and have visitation rights. She came every week, like clockwork.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“Yes, it was. It is. But I coped because I knew Lena couldn’t look after her. My parents have been big helps. She’s there right now.”

I nod slowly. “My sister-in-law suffered after her first. It was tough, but she manages it now.”

“Lena couldn’t. No matter what she tried, she was physically incapable of coping. She moved out not long after our agreement and went home.”

“Did your relationship break down?”

“Of course.” He holds his hands out. “How could we have a relationship if we only saw each other three hours a week?”

“Why didn’t you divorce?”

“I-I wanted to.” He sighs heavily. “But I just…couldn’t. I loved her. I always hoped she’d be able to beat the illness and come home to us. It’s all I wanted.” Again, his eyes drift to the photo.

“The last times you saw her,” Drake inputs, “did she seem different? Agitated? Scared of anyone?”

“No, sir.” Dr. Gentry shakes his head. “She was just…Lena.” Tears fill his eyes.

I nudge Drake’s arm. “Thank you for speakin’ with us, Dr. Gentry. I’m sorry we had to meet under such bad circumstances.” Lena’s mom’s words come back to me. “Here.” I delve into my purse and scribble her details on the back of a receipt that was languishing somewhere beneath a half-drunk water bottle, Chucks, and a candy bar wrapper. “This is Lena’s mom’s phone number. She wanted me to pass it on to you.”

“She told me her parents had died,” he whispers, taking the sheet.

“Well, I assure you, sir, they’re very much alive.” Drake shakes his hand. “I’m told her funeral is tomorrow morning. I’m sure Mrs. Young can give you more information.”

“Thank you. For stoppin’ by. I’ll… Please keep me involved in this investigation.”

“Of course.” We exchange cards, and I tuck his into my purse. Out in the truck after saying goodbye to him, I look at Drake. “He’s involved in this. Not directly. But he’s…somewhere.”

He looks at me funny as he pulls back. “That makes no sense, Noelle.”

“I know. But my gut… I don’t know. Ignore me. I need to think about what I do next.”

“Which is?”

I chew on my thumbnail and grimace. “Tell my client that the woman whose death he has me investigating isn’t really his wife.”

My conversation with Ryan went about as well as the winter Olympics in Australia. It occurred to me on the way back from Houston that I needed a copy of Lena and Dr. Gentry’s marriage certificate as proof for when I told Ryan. Dr. Gentry willingly scanned it and e-mailed it to me without asking why I needed it, and the printout I gave Ryan lasted all of ten minutes before he angrily tore it up.

Long story short, he had a police escort out of my office, and I’m now fired.

Which was happening anyway. Let’s be honest. The woman lied to him. To all of us—but to him the worst.

Briefly, I wonder if Julia will ever forgive him.

Probably not when it gets out that Penny’s baby is Ryan’s and his penis is a rogue animal incapable of staying inside its cage.

I sigh and stop into Rosie’s Café on my way home. Right now, I need a big ol’ vanilla latte and perhaps a slice of pie…or ten. That’s equivalent to one Gigi’s cupcake, right? To me, it is.

“Goodness, Noelle! Did you hear?” Rosie gasps as soon as the door shuts behind me.

“Hear what?”

“Lena! Married. With a baby!” She shakes her head and pushes some stray hair from her face. “Why, I can’t believe it. How did she keep that secret?”

“I don’t quite know,” I say quietly. “Can I get a low-fat vanilla frap and two slices of your cherry pie?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She busies herself with my order. “I’m so darn confused. And Ryan—that poor boy! How’d he cope with the news?”

“Not well,” I admit. Although “not well” is somewhat of an understatement.

“And the case? He hired you?”

“Hired me, fired me.” I shrug and hand her a twenty.

She clutches a hand to her chest and leans forward. “But you are still investigating?”

I take the box containing my pie and bring my coffee to my mouth, my lips slowly curving at the sides. “Now, Rosie,” I say, heading for the door. “I never outstep my bounds. I’m surely sittin’ by and lettin’ the police finish out the investigation.”