“Why would she do that? You weren’t close friends.”
“We . . . we were closer than I let on.”
“Wait a minute. If that’s true, did she tell you the real reason why she was interested in the play Waiting for Godot?”
“I don’t know.”
“What the hell do you mean you don’t know? Either you do or you don’t.”
“She was worried about something. But she wouldn’t fully confide in me. I think she was scared. I told you that before. And she didn’t want to involve me. I think she was protecting me.”
Devine studied her. He said slowly, “It sounds like you and Sara were way more than friends.”
“Sara and I—”
“Sara and you what?”
“I . . . I can’t—”
Devine was out of patience. “For God’s sake. Sara is dead! Just fucking tell me!”
She drew in a long, tortured breath and then let it go. “We . . . we were in love. Okay! We were in love. Satisfied, asshole?”
She jumped up, hurried over to the Prius, started it up, and drove off.
Devine just sat there and watched Stamos disappear into the dark.
He finally went back inside, where Valentine said, “Damn, she is so hot. Are you doing her?”
“Just shut up, Will. Just shut the hell up.”
Devine, his mind reeling, walked upstairs to his room and slammed the door.