THE PINK FILES: Case 001 — The Alibi (Chapter Three)

The problem with a good lie is that it only works when everybody remembers the same version.

Nia Carter had spent eight years learning her husband's habits.

She knew Marcus liked his coffee with two sugars.

She knew he hated sleeping with the television on.

She knew when he was irritated, when he was hungry, and when he was about to tell her something she didn't want to hear.

Or at least she thought she did.

Because apparently, somewhere between their wedding vows and the mortgage payments, Marcus had developed an entirely new habit.

Paying $325 a month for an apartment his wife knew absolutely nothing about.

Seven months.

Seven payments.

$2,275.

And one name that made the whole situation feel like a personal attack.

Simone.

Her best friend.

Her sister without the matching DNA.

The woman who had helped her choose her wedding dress and held her hand when she buried her mother.

If Marcus was cheating, that was one kind of betrayal.

But if Simone was involved?

That wasn't heartbreak.

That was a demolition.

Nia sat at the kitchen island, staring at the screenshot of the Parkview Residences payment confirmation.

Apartment 417.

She'd barely slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured Marcus opening a door she didn't have a key to.

And Simone standing on the other side.

Her phone vibrated.

MARCUS: Good morning, beautiful. Love you.

Nia stared at the screen.

Eleven years ago, that message would've made her smile.

Today, it made her wonder how many women received the same greeting.

NIA: Love you too. Quick question. Where were you last Thursday night?

The typing bubbles appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

MARCUS: At work. That late meeting. Why?

NIA: Just asking.

MARCUS: You okay?

Nia almost laughed.

Everybody kept asking if she was okay.

Nobody seemed particularly interested in making sure she stayed that way.

NIA: I'm fine.

And just like that, the first lie of the day belonged to her.

EVIDENCE NO. 03 — THE FIRST ALIBI

Simone answered on the second ring.

"Heyyyyy, girl!"

That voice.

Bright. Familiar. Completely unbothered.

Nia wondered whether betrayal sounded different when the person doing it knew they were guilty.

"Hey, sis. What you doing?"

"Running around. Trying to get my life together."

"Girl, aren't we all."

Simone laughed.

Nia didn't.

"So, listen. You remember last Thursday?"

Silence.

Then:

"Last Thursday?"

"Yeah. Marcus had that late meeting. I was trying to remember if you came over that night."

"Oh, no, honey. I was home sick. That migraine was tearing me UP."

Nia grabbed her pen.

THURSDAY — SIMONE — HOME — MIGRAINE.

"Oh, that's right," Nia said. "You feeling better?"

"Much better. Thank God."

"Good. Because I was thinking we should grab lunch this weekend."

"Absolutely! We need some girl time."

Nia smiled at the wall.

Oh, we're definitely going to need some girl time.

Before hanging up, Simone added, "And tell Marcus I said hey. I haven't seen that man in forever."

Nia stopped writing.

"Forever?"

"Girl, yes. Between his work and mine, I don't even remember the last time."

Interesting.

Nia hadn't asked when Simone last saw Marcus.

But Simone had answered anyway.

"Okay, sis. Love you."

"Love you more!"

Nia ended the call.

Then wrote one more sentence beneath her notes.

People who aren't being accused usually don't volunteer a defense.

THE SECOND ALIBI

At 2:17 p.m., Nia called Andre.

Marcus's coworker.

Family cookout regular.

Uno cheater.

The man who always brought cheap liquor and expensive opinions.

"What's going on, Nia?"

"Hey, Andre. Quick question. Y'all ever get that situation handled from last Thursday?"

"What situation?"

"The late meeting Marcus had."

"Oh."

One syllable.

But it sounded like somebody had just stepped into traffic.

"Yeah," Andre continued. "We got everything straight."

"What time did y'all finish?"

"Probably around seven."

Nia looked at the clock.

Marcus hadn't come home until 11:46.

"Seven?" she repeated.

"Something like that."

"So Marcus stayed after?"

"Uh... yeah. I think so."

"You think?"

"Well, I left early."

Nia leaned back.

"Andre."

"Yeah?"

"Are you telling me what happened, or what Marcus told you happened?"

Silence.

Then Andre laughed.

Too loudly.

"Girl, you know Marcus. Always working."

"That's not what I asked."

"Look, Nia, I don't want to get in the middle of nothing."

Her stomach dropped.

There it was.

Not nothing happened.

Not you've got it wrong.

Just I don't want to get in the middle.

"Middle of what, Andre?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"Look, I gotta get back to work."

The call ended.

Nia stared at her phone.

Interesting how everybody suddenly had somewhere else to be.

DINNER WITH A LIAR

Marcus came home at 6:32 carrying shrimp Alfredo from her favorite restaurant.

Flowers would've been too obvious.

Jewelry would've been suspicious.

But shrimp Alfredo?

That man knew his audience.

"Got something for my baby."

Nia looked at the bag.

"What's the occasion?"

"Can't a man spoil his wife?"

"Apparently."

He laughed.

She smiled.

Both of them were performing.

The only difference was Nia knew it.

They ate at the kitchen island.

Marcus talked about work.

Nia listened.

He complained about management.

She nodded.

He mentioned Andre.

She nearly choked on her water.

"So," Nia said casually, "how late did that meeting run last Thursday?"

Marcus kept eating.

"Pretty late."

"Andre said he left around seven."

Marcus looked up.

"Yeah. He did."

"So what time did you leave?"

"Nine. Maybe nine-thirty."

Nia set down her fork.

"You got home at 11:46."

"Stopped for gas."

"For two hours?"

His jaw tightened.

"Nia, what is this?"

"A question."

"Feels like an interrogation."

"That's funny. I thought it was a conversation."

He pushed his plate away.

"You've been acting strange all day."

"Have I?"

"Yes."

Nia tilted her head.

"Maybe I'm just tired."

"Then get some rest instead of questioning me about every little thing."

Every little thing.

Seven payments.

One apartment.

Her best friend's name.

And he had the audacity to call it little.

Nia looked him directly in the eyes.

"Marcus, is there something you need to tell me?"

For one brief second, his expression changed.

Not anger.

Not confusion.

Fear.

Then it disappeared.

"No, babe."

She held his gaze.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Nia smiled.

"Okay."

And Marcus relaxed.

Which told her something else.

He wasn't relieved because he'd told the truth.

He was relieved because he thought she'd believed him.

A FRIENDSHIP WITH TOO MANY SECRETS

At 8:41 p.m., Simone texted.

SIMONE: Hey sis! Random question. You and Marcus good?

Nia stared at the message.

Random?

Absolutely nothing about that question was random.

NIA: Why wouldn't we be?

SIMONE: No reason lol. Just checking on my girl.

NIA: We're fine.

SIMONE: Good. Love y'all!

Y'all.

Nia had never hated a contraction more in her life.

She opened Simone's social media profile.

Something about the conversation was bothering her.

Not the migraine.

Not the overly cheerful greeting.

The way Simone had insisted she hadn't seen Marcus in forever.

Nia scrolled through her pictures.

Brunch.

A birthday dinner.

A new handbag.

A mirror selfie.

She almost kept scrolling.

Then she noticed the floor.

Black-and-white tiles.

A gold-framed mirror.

Brass mailboxes reflected in the background.

Nia had seen that lobby earlier while researching Parkview Residences.

She opened the apartment complex's public photo gallery.

Same floor.

Same mirror.

Same mailboxes.

And there stood Simone, smiling in a cream-colored dress.

The caption beneath her picture read:

New beginnings look good on me. 💋

Posted three weeks ago.

Nia enlarged the photograph.

There was something else.

A reflection near the edge of the mirror.

A man's arm.

Dark sleeve.

Silver watch.

Marcus wore a silver watch.

So did half the men in the city.

Nia knew better than to call a reflection proof.

But she also knew it was one more detail nobody had bothered to explain.

She saved the photograph.

EVIDENCE NO. 03A — PARKVIEW LOBBY.

Then her phone rang.

Simone.

Again.

Nia answered.

"Hey, girl."

"Hey, sis. Listen, I forgot to ask you something."

"What's that?"

"Did Marcus mention seeing Andre last Thursday?"

Nia went still.

"Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Andre was telling somebody they were together, and I couldn't remember if Marcus said anything."

Nia looked at her notes.

Andre said he'd left at seven.

Marcus said he'd stayed until nine-thirty.

Simone said she'd been home with a migraine.

Yet somehow, Simone knew Andre was discussing Thursday night.

"Simone?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you know what Andre said?"

Silence.

Then:

"Girl, people talk."

Nia nodded slowly.

"Apparently."

THE MESSAGE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

At 9:08 p.m., Marcus went upstairs to shower.

Nia sat alone in the kitchen.

Three stories.

Three people.

And not one version that fit together.

Her phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

UNKNOWN: You asking the wrong people the wrong questions.

Nia's heart began pounding.

NIA: Who is this?

UNKNOWN: Marcus wasn't at work Thursday.

NIA: How do you know?

UNKNOWN: Because I saw him.

Nia gripped the phone.

NIA: Where?

The response came immediately.

UNKNOWN: Parkview Residences.

Her mouth went dry.

NIA: Apartment 417?

Three dots appeared.

Then stopped.

A full minute passed.

UNKNOWN: You already know more than I thought.

Nia sat perfectly still.

NIA: What happened there?

UNKNOWN: I saw Marcus go inside.

She closed her eyes.

There it was.

The thing she'd been afraid to hear.

NIA: Was he with Simone?

No answer.

NIA: ANSWER ME.

The typing bubbles returned.

UNKNOWN: Simone wasn't the person I saw him with.

Nia stopped breathing for a moment.

What?

NIA: Then who?

UNKNOWN: That's what you need to find out.

Nia stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor.

NIA: If you know something, say it.

The reply came seconds later.

UNKNOWN: Ask Simone who opened the door.

Nia stared at the screen.

Upstairs, the shower stopped.

Footsteps.

The bathroom door.

Marcus was coming downstairs.

Nia quickly locked her phone.

Then it vibrated again.

One final message.

UNKNOWN: And Nia? Don't tell Marcus you heard from me.

She swallowed.

NIA: Why?

The answer appeared just as Marcus entered the kitchen.

UNKNOWN: Because he already knows who I am.

"Who you texting, babe?" Marcus asked.

Nia looked up.

Her husband stood in the doorway.

Smiling.

Waiting.

For the first time all day, she didn't have a prepared answer.

And judging by the way Marcus was looking at her phone...

Neither did he.

END OF CHAPTER THREE