Chương 1
The little girl wrapped both arms around Mara Ellison’s waist and cried, “Mommy,” loudly enough for half the pharmacy to turn and look.
Mara’s first instinct was to catch the child before she slipped on the polished floor, because the girl had hit her at a run and was trembling so hard her pink plastic sunglasses fell beside Mara’s shoe.
Her second instinct was to find the mother whose face was about to change when she saw a stranger holding her daughter.
“Hey,” Mara said, keeping her hands visible instead of hugging the child back.
“I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
The girl lifted her face.
She was maybe six, with dark curls escaping two uneven braids and a smear of blue frosting near one corner of her mouth.
For a second she only stared.
Then her expression collapsed in a way that made Mara’s stomach tighten.
“No.”
A woman came running from the greeting-card aisle.
“Lucy.”
The child flinched but did not let go.
The woman stopped several feet away, one hand pressed against her chest, and Mara saw fear arrive before anger covered it.
“Lucy, come here.”
“But Mommy—”
“That is not your mother.”
The words came too quickly.
Too sharply.
The woman looked at Mara as though Mara had engineered the entire scene.
Mara crouched carefully, peeling the girl’s fingers from the belt of her coat.
“Your mom’s right there, sweetheart.”
Lucy stared at her.
“You cut your hair.”
Mara’s hand went unconsciously to the blunt ends at her jaw.
She had cut eleven inches off three weeks ago after spending an entire Saturday pretending the decision had nothing to do with her divorce.
The woman’s face lost color.
“Lucy.”
This time the warning in her voice was unmistakable.
Lucy went to her reluctantly.
The woman seized her hand, then seemed to notice how that looked and loosened her grip.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Mara.
“She gets confused.”
Mara stood.
“It’s okay.”
“It isn’t.”
The answer was strange enough that Mara waited.
The woman blinked and produced a tight smile.
“I mean, she shouldn’t run up to strangers.”
“Probably not.”
Mara bent for the sunglasses.
Lucy reached for them, but her mother took them first.
“Thank you.”
Mara nodded and turned toward the pharmacy counter.
She had made it four steps when Lucy called after her.
“You have the green coat too.”
Mara stopped.
The coat was old, dark green wool with one loose button and a coffee stain hidden beneath the left pocket flap.
Her sister called it the divorce coat because Mara had worn it through nearly every courthouse meeting with Daniel.
She turned.
The woman was already pulling Lucy toward the automatic doors.
Lucy twisted around as she walked, watching Mara with a frightened concentration no six-year-old should have been capable of faking.
Then the doors opened, swallowed them into the parking lot, and closed again.
“Ms. Ellison?”
The pharmacist held up a white paper bag.
Mara looked at it without understanding.
“Your prescription.”
“Right.”
She crossed to the counter.
The pharmacist, a gray-haired man she had seen twice before, tried not to look curious.
He failed.
“Kids,” he said.
Mara slid her credit card into the reader.
“That appears to be the prevailing explanation.”
He gave a cautious laugh.
Her phone vibrated inside her purse.
For one ridiculous second, Mara expected the child’s mother to have somehow obtained her number.
Instead it was Daniel.
Did you sign the revised house agreement?
Mara stared at the message until the payment terminal beeped impatiently.
She had spent fourteen years learning the many forms Daniel’s impatience could take.
The clipped text message was among his favorites because it allowed him to be annoyed without technically being rude.
She typed, My attorney has it, then deleted the sentence and put the phone away.
Outside, the afternoon had turned colder.
Mara stood under the pharmacy awning and searched the parking lot despite herself.
No woman.
No Lucy.
No explanation for the green coat.
A child could notice clothing.
A child could confuse faces.
A child could have seen Mara somewhere before.
There were dozens of harmless explanations, and Mara began arranging them in order because arranging explanations was what she did for a living.
As a claims investigator for a regional insurance company, she spent most weekdays listening to people describe kitchen fires, stolen jewelry, flooded basements, and conveniently timed accidents.
The job had taught her that bizarre facts were often less important than ordinary ones.
People lied about money.
They lied about embarrassment.
They lied because they were scared.
Mostly, they lied badly.
Her own car was parked three rows away.
A dented silver minivan backed out in front of her, and Mara stepped aside.
When it passed, she saw Lucy in the rear passenger window of a blue Subaru near the exit.
The girl had both palms against the glass.
The woman was behind the wheel.
She saw Mara.
Their eyes met across the parking lot.
The Subaru accelerated hard enough to make the front end rise slightly.
Mara stood still as it turned onto Madison Avenue.
Only after it disappeared did she realize she had memorized the license plate.
She hated herself a little for that.
By six, she had almost succeeded in making the incident stupid.
Her townhouse smelled faintly of the lemon cleaner her mother had given her during the move, apparently believing divorce required industrial quantities of disinfectant.
Mara changed into sweatpants, reheated leftover Thai food, and opened her laptop at the kitchen island.
Daniel had sent another message.
Then another.
The third contained only a question mark.
Mara ate a cold piece of broccoli before answering.
I’ll sign after Rebecca confirms the language about the sale proceeds.
Three dots appeared immediately.
You asked for that language.
I asked for protection if the sale is delayed.
Same thing.
No, Daniel.
She watched the screen.
The three dots appeared, vanished, appeared again.
May you like
Finally he wrote, I’m not doing this tonight.
Mara laughed once through her nose.
