“Have you?” Wendell asked.
Laci was horrified by the question. “Of course not.” She pointed out that she was not that kind of girl.
Except now she kind of was.
They managed to meet once or twice a week. Not always at the Day’s Inn, because it was expensive to have to rent a room every time. Sometimes they did it in Laci’s Honda minivan. One time, they tried it in the backseat of Wendell’s Buick, but he concluded that you’re not quite as limber in your forties as you were in your teens, so they opted for Laci’s van, which had seats that folded right down into the floor.
Handy.
The first few times, Wendell felt consumed with guilt. But the more Ellie went on and on about their daughter, the more he told himself that he had been driven to this. It wasn’t his fault. It was survival. It was the only way he could cope.
Maybe, once the baby was born, and things with Melissa had settled down, he’d end it with Laci.
That was what he told himself. There were times when he even believed it.
A few minutes after he’d finished talking with the police, the phone rang. He thought maybe it was Detective Wedmore calling, but when he saw the call display, he swore under his breath. What the hell was she doing, phoning him at home? Did the woman have no sense?
“Hello?”
“Oh, Wen, I just had to get in touch.”
“Laci, this isn’t a good time.”
“But I can’t stop thinking about you, about what you must be going through,” she said. She wasn’t whispering, which told Garfield that she was alone in her house.
“Where’s Trevor and the boys?” he asked her.
“He took the boys to Schenectady for a long weekend to see his parents,” Laci said. “They’ll be back later today. I’m just heading out the door to work. Wendell, you have to talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Have they found out anything? Do the police know what happened? I watched it on TV. I watched it at six, and I watched it again at eleven. It was very moving. You were very good, if you know what I mean. You held it together really well. I think, if anyone knew anything, if they knew anything at all, they’d call if they saw that.”
“I just got off the phone with the police,” Garfield said. “They haven’t received any good tips.”
“I feel… I feel so… It’s hard to explain,” Laci said. “I feel sort of guilty, you know? Because of what we’ve been doing, behind her back.”
“Those things don’t have anything to do with each other.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but I keep thinking, what if someone finds out? What if someone finds out what’s going on between us, and they think it has something to do with what’s happened to Ellie? And if, God forbid, something actually did happen to Ellie, then how is it going to look if-”
“Laci, please, don’t go there,” he said. “Maybe she just decided to go away for a while, clear her head.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. But I suppose it’s a possibility. I mean, they haven’t found her car or anything. If something had happened to her around here, you’d think they’d have at least found her car.”
“So you think she just decided to drive away? Like, to Florida or something?”
“Laci, I don’t know, okay? I don’t have any goddamn idea.”
His tone stopped Laci for a second. “You don’t have to get angry with me.”
“I’m going through a lot right now. I’m just trying to keep it together.”
“How’s Melissa coping?”
“Not well.”
“What about that man who got her pregnant? Is he still in the picture? Can he be there for Melissa at a time like this?”
“She says she doesn’t want anything to do with him. Honestly, I don’t think it would make things any easier for me if he was around right now.”
“I was just-oh my God, I just thought of something,” she said.
“What?”
“They’re not tapping your phone, are they? They’re not listening in?”
He felt a chill run down his spine. Could they be? He could kick himself. It hadn’t even occurred to him until she mentioned it. He’d been doing such a good job, being the distraught husband, he hadn’t thought there was any reason for the police to be bugging his phone. Sure, he knew the cops would probably be looking at him sooner or later, but he didn’t believe he’d given any indication that he was in any way responsible for his wife’s disappearance.
“I mean, if they hear us, and know we’ve been seeing each other, then-”
“Hang up, Laci,” he said.
“-then they might think that you had something to do with it, you know, so that you could spend your life with me and-”
He slammed down the phone. If the police had been listening, the damage was done. They’d know he’d been having an affair. They’d know he and Laci had been seeing each other for weeks now.
Not good, not good at all.
Laci’s call left Garfield rattled. He tried to tell himself he was going to get through this. He had to keep his wits about him. Even if the police found out he’d been sleeping with Laci, it didn’t have to mean he’d had anything to do with this business about his wife.
They hadn’t found a body. Or her car.
And he was as sure as he could be that they never would.
Pull yourself together, he told himself.
The doorbell rang.
Jesus, he thought. They really were listening to his phone, and now they wanted to question him about Laci, about whether he’d killed his wife to be with this other woman.
He took a couple of deep breaths, composed himself, and strode through the living room to the front door. He pulled the curtain back first, to see who it was.
It was a woman.
A woman with green parrot earrings.
Seven
Keisha Ceylon was ready with her “I feel your pain” smile. First impressions were everything. You had to come across as sincere, so you couldn’t overdo the smile. It had to be held back. You didn’t want to show any teeth. No empty-headed Stepford Wife/Jehovah’s Witness smile that looked like it had been pasted on. You had to get into the moment. You had to believe you were on a mission. And you had to look as though you were sorry to even be here, that if there was anywhere else on this earth you could be, you would.
But you were compelled to be here. You simply had no choice.
She saw the man pull back the curtain to get a look at her, and gave him the smile. Almost apologetic.
Then the door opened.
“Yes?” he said.
“Mr. Garfield?”
“You a reporter? We did the press conference yesterday. There’s nothing else I have to say at this time.” He leaned out of the door, looking past her down to the street, wondering, maybe, if a news van was nearby.
“I’m not a reporter, Mr. Garfield.”
“What do you want, then?”
“Let me give you my card,” she said, handing one to him.
He glanced down at it. The card read: KEISHA CEYLON
