Chương 9
“Not exactly.”
“What did he say?”
I read the last text aloud.
Hale was silent for a second.
“Don’t respond.”
“I already froze outgoing transfers.”
“That’s fine.”
“He said reversing one could put him in real trouble.”
“Do you know where the money went?”
“No.”
“Do not try to find out by contacting whoever received it.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
That was only mostly true.
I had already imagined searching the routing trail, googling the last four digits, digging through Daniel’s email until I found something.
Hale said, “Forward screenshots of the messages to the number on my card.”
“I have the card.”
“Good.”
“And Sergeant?”
“Yes?”
“I found seven thousand five hundred dollars in transfers from our joint checking account.”
His tone changed again.
“Transfers you authorized?”
“No.”
“Recent?”
“Within ten days.”
“Send that information too.”
I sat at the table and forwarded everything.
Patricia watched me without asking questions.
Hale waited until the files came through.
“Got them.”
“What happens now?”
“There are several possibilities.”
“I don’t want several possibilities.”
“I know.”
His answer was calm enough to annoy me.
“I want to know if my husband gave our money to criminals.”
“I can’t tell you that yet.”
“But you think it’s possible.”
“I think you should treat any threat as credible until we know otherwise.”
A pulse beat behind my eyes.
“Should I leave the house?”
“Yes.”
The certainty frightened me more than caution would have.
“Tonight?”
“Now would be better.”
I looked around the kitchen.
The cereal box Daniel had left open was still on the counter.
A dish towel hung crooked from the oven handle.
Nothing about the room looked dangerous.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Somewhere he doesn’t routinely associate with you would be preferable.”
Patricia straightened.
“Not my house, then.”
Hale heard her.
“Correct.”
I rubbed my forehead.
My sister lived forty minutes away, but Daniel knew exactly where.
Nina lived across town, and Daniel had met her twice.
A hotel suddenly seemed absurdly expensive and perfectly reasonable.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Don’t post your location.”
“I don’t post anything.”
“Good.”
He hesitated.
“And Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“Change any passwords he may know.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s going to be a long afternoon.”
After we hung up, Patricia looked offended on behalf of her guest room.
“So I’m compromised.”
“You’re his mother.”
“I suppose criminals understand family trees.”
“Apparently.”
She stood.
“I’m going home.”
“I don’t think you should be alone.”
“I am not staying here if you’re leaving.”
“Then call someone.”
“Who?”
The question exposed something I had not considered.
Patricia had friends.
Church friends.
Bridge friends.
Women she met for lunch every Thursday.
But she was proud in an old-fashioned way that made asking for help feel like public undressing.
“What about Linda?”
Patricia grimaced.
“She’ll ask questions.”
“That is generally how humans work.”
“Your sarcasm is not helping.”
“Mine is keeping me from screaming.”
She almost smiled.
Then her face collapsed into fatigue.
“I could call Joan.”
“Call Joan.”
“She’ll think Daniel is a criminal.”
I looked at her.
Patricia sighed.
“Yes.”
She picked up her phone.
While she called, I went upstairs and packed.
Packing for danger was different from packing for a trip.
I stood in front of my closet holding two blouses and could not remember why anyone needed blouses.
I put jeans in the bag.
Underwear.
Sweatpants.
Toothbrush.
Laptop.
Medication.
Then I took out the laptop because Hale’s warnings about preserving devices had infected my brain, even though it was mine and unrelated to Daniel.
I put it back.
My hands would not stop moving.
At the dresser, I opened the top drawer and found Daniel’s socks beside mine.
For years I had complained that he folded them into balls that stretched the elastic.
I had unfolded them sometimes when he was not looking.
The intimacy of that tiny irritation made my chest ache.
I closed the drawer.
His wedding ring was not there.
Of course it was not.
He had worn it out of the house.
I looked at my own ring in my palm.
I had carried it upstairs without noticing.
I placed it inside the ceramic bowl where I kept earrings and loose change.
Then I changed my mind and put it in the zippered pocket of my bag.
I did not know why.
Downstairs, Patricia was arguing with someone.
“No, Joan, I am not sick.”
A pause.
“No, I don’t need soup.”
Another pause.
“I just need to stay with you tonight.”
I entered the kitchen.
Patricia covered the phone.
“She thinks I’m dying.”
“She’ll be relieved.”
“She sounds disappointed.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Patricia laughed too, and then put her hand over her mouth as if laughter were inappropriate.
For five seconds, the kitchen belonged to two women who had survived Thanksgiving dinners together.
Then her phone buzzed.
She checked the screen.
Her face changed.
“Daniel.”
“Don’t answer.”
“I’m his mother.”
“That hasn’t protected either of you so far.”
She flinched.
I regretted it immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
She stared at his name until the call stopped.
“You’re right.”
A voicemail appeared.
Patricia reached for it.
I caught her wrist.
“Not yet.”
Her eyes met mine.
Slowly, she lowered the phone.
A few minutes later, Joan agreed to pick her up.
I ordered a hotel room under my maiden name and immediately wondered whether that was paranoid.
Then I remembered strangers might know where Daniel lived.
Paranoia and prudence had become difficult to separate.
Before leaving, I walked through the house unplugging things that did not need unplugging.
The coffee maker.
The curling iron I had not used.
A phone charger with nothing attached.
Patricia followed me into the hallway.
“What are you doing?”
“I have no idea.”
I stopped.
For the first time that day, the house smelled like our house again.
Laundry detergent.
Old wood.
The citrus cleaner Daniel hated because he said it smelled like fake oranges.
May you like
I leaned against the wall.
“I don’t want to leave.”
