Chương 8
Mom took the phone back.
“Your sister is hurt.”
“So am I.”
“I know.”
I did not think she had known until I said it.
Her voice softened.
“I know now.”
That helped more than I expected.
I leaned against the counter.
“Mom, did you know she had the spare key?”
“Yes.”
I straightened.
“You did?”
“She mentioned it months ago.”
“For emergencies?”
“I assumed.”
“Did you know she was using the house?”
“Sometimes.”
My hand tightened around the edge of the counter.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“Emily, I honestly don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
A pulse started near my temple.
“What does sometimes mean?”
“There was a weekend in April.”
I had been in Germany in April.
“And?”
“Maybe one in January.”
I stared at the wall.
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s twice you’ve said that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She sounded defensive now.
“I was not keeping records.”
I pushed away from the counter.
The house suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Not because strangers had been there that afternoon.
Because they might have been there before.
I walked toward the hallway.
“Did she stay here alone?”
“I think she brought the kids.”
“Ryan too?”
“Probably.”
“Anyone from his family?”
“I have no idea.”
I passed the guest bathroom and stopped.
A towel hung over the shower rod.
Not one of mine.
White with a thin navy stripe.
Cheap hotel style.
I stared at it.
“Mom, I need to go.”
“Emily.”
“I’ll call later.”
“Don’t do anything while you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You sound angry.”
“I’m tired.”
That was not the whole truth.
It was close enough.
I ended the call.
For a few seconds, I stood in the hallway looking at the towel.
Then I began opening doors.
The guest room looked normal at first.
The bedspread was wrinkled.
A phone charger had been left plugged into the wall beside the nightstand.
Not mine.
The closet contained two empty wire hangers that had not been there the last time I remembered checking.
In the second bedroom, the window was cracked open.
A child’s plastic bracelet lay beneath the bed.
I picked it up.
Bright pink beads spelled MADDIE.
I did not know any Maddie.
My exhaustion disappeared.
I went back to the kitchen and opened the junk drawer where I kept spare batteries, tape, takeout menus, and a small notebook.
The notebook was there.
The spare garage remote was not.
I pulled the drawer farther open.
Nothing.
I checked the mudroom shelf.
Then the bowl by the back door.
Nothing.
“Damn it.”
The word sounded too loud in the empty house.
I called Jessica.
She answered immediately.
“Emily?”
“Where is the garage remote?”
Silence.
“What?”
“The spare garage remote.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s gone.”
“Maybe you moved it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’ve been gone for months.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She exhaled sharply.
“I might have it at home.”
“Why?”
Another silence.
“For convenience.”
My eyes closed.
“How often have you been using this place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mom told me about April.”
Jessica said nothing.
“And January.”
Still nothing.
“How often?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
My stomach sank.
“That isn’t a number.”
“Emily, you weren’t here.”
I gripped the phone.
“That stopped being a reasonable excuse about five hours ago.”
“We only came a few times.”
“We?”
“Me and the kids.”
“Ryan?”
“Sometimes.”
“His family?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
I walked back into the guest room and picked up the bracelet.
“Who is Maddie?”
“What?”
“There’s a bracelet under the bed.”
Silence.
Then, “Maybe one of Chloe’s friends.”
“Maybe?”
“She had friends up once.”
“How many?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was Ryan here with them?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Why are you interrogating me?”
The question came out sharp and wounded.
I almost snapped back.
Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath me.
“I’m trying to understand how many people have had access to my home without my knowledge.”
She lowered her voice.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“You never used it.”
“I used it whenever I could.”
“You were never there.”
“Jessica.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“I know how that sounds.”
I stared at the bracelet in my palm.
“When did it start?”
A long pause.
“Last summer.”
I felt something cold settle behind my ribs.
“How many times?”
“Maybe six.”
“Six?”
“Maybe seven.”
I stood.
“Seven times?”
“Not all overnight.”
“That is not better.”
“I know.”
“Did you ever bring people here while I was deployed?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than another lie might have.
“Did you charge anyone?”
“What?”
“Did you rent my house out?”
“No.”
“Think before you answer.”
“I am.”
“Did Ryan?”
Silence.
I stopped moving.
“Jessica.”
“I don’t know.”
That was the first moment the situation changed completely.
“What does that mean?”
“He had some clients here once.”
“Clients?”
“He said they were potential investors.”
“In what?”
“His business.”
I walked toward the kitchen again, every step suddenly deliberate.
“How many clients?”
“Four or five.”
“When?”
“March, maybe.”
“I was overseas in March.”
“I know.”
“Did they stay overnight?”
“Yes.”
I put my free hand flat against the counter.
“Did they pay him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he tell them this was his house?”
Another pause.
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I wasn’t in the room for every conversation.”
“But you were here.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone ever hand him money?”
“I didn’t see it.”
“Did he ever call this property part of his business?”
“No.”
Then she added, “Not exactly.”
My pulse jumped.
“What does not exactly mean?”
“He called it the company retreat place once.”
I closed my eyes.
The room seemed to tilt slightly, though I knew it hadn’t.
“Company retreat place.”
“He was trying to impress them.”
“That doesn’t make it true.”
“I know.”
“Did you correct him?”
Silence.
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
May you like
“Of course not.”
“I didn’t want to embarrass him.”
