Chapter 132 #50: Try It
The chapel goes dead silent except for the distant roll of waves.
“Wait... what?" David says, his hands tightening around my waist. “There has to be a mistake! She was cleared of all charges months ago!”
“New evidence has come to light that leads us to believe she doctored the tape she sent to us six months ago, and then killed Maya to cover it up.”
“Mommy what's happening?” Lucy asks in a small voice.
I look down at her, then back at Harlan as he approaches holding the cuffs.
The metal clicks around my wrists before I can even process the sound. Tight enough to bite skin but not quite break it. My dress brushes the stone floor as they turn me, guiding my arms behind my back. The silk feels suddenly ridiculous against the rough edges of reality.
David is off the altar in three strides, placing himself between me and Harlan before anyone can stop him.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” he says, voice low and level. “Not without probable cause, not without reading her rights properly, and definitely not in front of our daughter.”
Harlan doesn’t flinch. “We have a warrant, Mr. Reid. Signed by a federal judge. Probable cause is established. Step aside.”
David doesn’t budge. “Show me the warrant.”
One of the agents – a tall female whose badge reads Agent Morales – pulls the folded paper from her jacket and holds it out. David takes it with steady hands, scanning the text while I stand there feeling the pulse in my wrists throb against steel.
“Murder in the first degree,” he reads aloud. “Premeditated? You’re charging my wife with murdering my mother based on what? The same circumstantial garbage you’ve been peddling for months?!”
Harlan’s mouth twitches. “Like I said earlier, new evidence has come to light. We’ll discuss it at the station. Now move aside, or we add obstruction.”
Lucy’s voice cuts through the tension. “Daddy? Why are they taking Mommy?”
She’s standing now, her small hands clutching the back of the pew, her eyes wide and frightened. Sel is already beside her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and murmuring something I can’t hear over the blood rushing in my ears.
David looks at Lucy first. His jaw works once, twice. Then he turns back to Harlan.
“I want my lawyers on the line before you transport her,” he says. “And I want it recorded that you’re removing a bride from her own wedding ceremony in front of her five-year-old child. That’s going to play beautifully in court.”
Harlan nods to Morales. “Cuff him if he interferes.”
David steps closer instead. “Try it and see how fast I sue your entire department. Go on... I dare you.”
I speak before it escalates. “David. Stop.”
He looks at me, and the moment he does, the fury in his eyes softens into something rawer.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Call Rachel and tell her everything. I’ll see you soon.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans in, presses his forehead to mine for three heartbeats, then kisses me hard enough that I can feel his desperation.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “I'll figure this out, okay? Just hang in there.”
I nod as they pull me away.
The walk down the path to the dock is humiliating. My wedding dress dragging behind me. Agents on either side, Harlan leading. Lucy’s sobs follow me the whole way. I don’t look back. If I do I’ll break.
The boat ride to the mainland is short. They sit me in the stern, my wrists still cuffed in front now. No one speaks. I stare at the water and think about how beautiful the day started. How perfect the vows felt. How quickly perfection can turn into something ugly.
By the time we reach the small precinct on the larger island, the sun is low. They process me quickly – fingerprints, photos, and put me in an ugly orange jumpsuit that makes my skin crawl.
Finally, I ask for my phone call and they hand me a phone.
David answers immediately.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Local station. They’re transferring me to the city tonight or tomorrow. I don’t know yet.”
“Rachel’s already in the air. She’ll meet you at federal holding. I’m chartering the jet now. Lucy’s with Sel and Marcus, they’re taking her back to the mainland house. She’s been asking for you.”
My throat closes. “Tell her I’ll be home soon and that..." I swallow. "Tell her that Mommy loves her.”
“You will be.” His voice cracks on the last word. “I’m coming for you Nora.”
“I know.”
They take the phone away before we can say goodbye.
The holding cell is small. It consists of nothing more than a concrete bench and fluorescent light that buzzes. I sit with my back against the wall and wait.
Hours later – maybe three, maybe four – they move me to interrogation. It consists of the same metal table and same two-way mirror. Harlan enters first, followed by Morales and a man in a dark suit I don’t recognize. He introduces himself as Special Agent Kessler.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Harlan says, sliding a folder across the table. “You remember the slap in the hospital hallway?”
I don’t answer.
“There were multiple witnesses and security footage. You told Elaine Reid her body would wash up in the Hudson if she kept pushing you. That was the very same river she ended up in.”
“Same circumstantial bullshit you had last time.” I say. “What's your point?”
He smiles at me for a moment and opens the folder in front of him. “We also found hair... your hair... under her fingernails. Fresh enough that the lab says it indicates a struggle within hours of death.”
My eyes snap to his. “That’s impossible.”
“Lab doesn’t lie, Mrs. Reid. DNA match is 99.999 percent. Your hair, her nails.”
I lean forward. “I never touched her after that slap. Someone must’ve planted it.”
Harlan doesn’t blink. “Convenient, isn’t it? The struggle is also dated about the very same day you threatened her life in front of twenty people in a hospital lobby.”
Morales speaks next. “We also re-examined the recording you provided six months ago. We invited an audio forensic specialist out of Quantico and he found edits. There were multiple cuts, background noise discontinuities, etcetera. Someone doctored that recording. It was clean work, but not clean enough.”
The room tilts. “That’s not possible. Vincent–”
“Vincent Calder your ex husband?” Harlan cuts in. “The very same one we also haven’t been able to get a hold of in months. Another convenient occurrence, wouldn’t you say?”
I close my eyes for one second, and force myself to breathe. “You’re building a story. Not a case. For all we know, Maya could’ve planned the whole thing and framed me to get herself off the hook.”
“We had a feeling you'd say that.” Kessler finally speaks, pushing a folder in front of me covered with pictures of my house. “We executed a search warrant on your apartment while you were on the island. We found traces of blood in the bathroom grout, behind the baseboards in the master bedroom, and inside the kitchen cabinet under the sink. Luminol lit up like Christmas. We ran the DNA and guess our surprise when it was a direct match to Maya’s medical records from her last physical six months before she vanished.”
My mouth goes dry. “Maya was never in my apartment.”
“Blood says otherwise,” Harlan says. “Here's our theory... do correct me if I’m wrong. You always hated David’s mother, even you yourself admitted to that fact, and you were jealous of David and Maya’s engagement. You saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. You killed Elaine to get her out of the picture and framed Maya at the same time. Then you killed Maya to keep her quiet, making it look like she ran, and planted just enough evidence against her with the recording to sell the story.”
To my own surprise, a harsh laugh rips out of my throat. “You think I murdered two women, staged a disappearance, faked audio forensics, and still managed to plan a wedding on a private island? I must be the busiest murderer in New York.”
Harlan leans in. “Or the smartest. Either way, the evidence doesn’t care about your schedule.”
They keep going for another hour. Questions. Accusations. The same loop. I answer what I can, stay silent when I can’t. By the end my head pounds and my wrists ache from the cuffs.
By the time they finally stand to leave, I don't need anyone to tell me I’m cooked.
They lead me back down the hallway toward holding. We pass an open interview room, and sitting at the table with a uniformed officer, is Sarah.
Sarah, the mother from Lucy’s school. The one whose fingers I threatened to break when she tried to hit Lucy all those months ago. Although at this point, I highly doubt the police would be interested in why I threatened her. All they’ll see is a pattern.
Our eyes meet as I pass.
She smiles.
Not a polite smile. Not nervous. An evil, satisfied little smirk that curls one corner of her mouth and stays there.
They pull me forward before I even have a chance to react and the door closes behind me.
I don’t look back, but I know exactly what that smirk means.
She talked.
And whatever she said just buried me a whole lot deeper.