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A half smile tipped her lips as she weighed his words against his tone. “She was a great athlete.” She lifted her cup to her lips and paused. “You didn’t see anyone at the park that day?”
He sipped his coffee, sat back, and appraised her with a wary eye. “You sound like a cop.”
“Sorry. Most women who’re murdered are killed by someone they know.” During Philip’s stalking, she’d had a therapist suggest her husband could kill her. She’d dismissed the idea as preposterous. Her therapist had leaned forward in his chair, looked her in the eye, and said, “Seventy percent of the time, women are killed by someone who loved them.”
But David had said he didn’t love Deidre. Friends with benefits.
“I’ve called my lawyer,” he said.
“Why?”
“I didn’t hurt her. I can’t help the cops. But I only trust the system so far. Things get twisted. Evidence gets messed up or misinterpreted. It never hurts to have an attorney.”
Until now, her opinion of David had rested on his looks and athletic talent. Now, she decided, she didn’t like him very much. He wasn’t worried about Deidre. Only himself.
She checked her watch. “David, I really have to get going. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, sure. But you haven’t eaten.”
She pushed her plate away, her stomach knotting. “I’m not hungry.”
“Can I have it? God, I’m starved.”
“Yeah, sure. Help yourself.” She rose and pulled her coat off the back of her chair. He moved to stand, but she stopped him. “It’s okay. See you soon.”
She left him eating her pizza. Bells jingled overhead as she tugged open the door. An icy brace of air stung her face. As she zipped up her coat, she glanced back into the coffee shop. David, smiling now, had his head bowed as he typed into his cell phone. Deidre, what did you see in that guy?
She burrowed her hands into her coat pockets and moved down the street toward her car. As she walked along the cold, nearly deserted streets, her senses tingled, as if someone was watching her. The feeling grew so acute, she stopped and looked back, half-expecting to see someone there. But the street was empty. No sound of footsteps. No lingering shadows.
A chill rushed up her spine as she hurried to her car. She glanced in the darkened backseat and, satisfied it was empty, unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. Immediately, she locked the doors. The drive home took less than fifteen minutes, and she was grateful to pull the door to her town home behind her and lock it. She reached for the dead bolt, clicked it open and then clicked it closed again. Three times. Locked. Safe.
Shrugging off her coat, she’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and changed into sweats and a T-shirt. She scrubbed her face clean of makeup. Without makeup, under the soft glow of the bathroom lights, her scars brightened. Gently, she traced the jagged line across her chin.
Next, she allowed her gaze to drop to the scars she so often ignored. Carefully, she fingered the slash above her left breast and the short, jagged scar along her collarbone. The scars, like memories of her marriage, had faded but were not forgotten. And as hard as she worked to deny them, in the end they were always lurking, waiting to be unmasked.
When she turned from the mirror, she wasn’t upset or troubled by her scars. Like DNA, the scars were an undeniable part of her. A readiness to move forward washed over her. Time to abandon the past’s lonely road. Life brought enough darkness without her stirring up what had passed.
She dressed in pajamas and moved into the living room. There, she flipped through the day’s mail, which was mostly bills. The last envelope was light purple and hand-addressed, clearly personal. She turned over the envelope and saw her aunt’s return address. They spoke from time to time. Her aunt had slipped into the spot her mother had once filled. But the handwriting didn’t quite match her aunt’s.
Carefully, she tore open the end of the envelope and removed the card. On the cover was an adorable black Lab. Touched that her aunt remembered her love of Labs, she flipped open the card. It read, “Thinking of you.”
She turned the card over to see if there were any other notes, but the rest of the card was blank. She checked her watch and realized it was early in Oregon so she dialed her aunt’s number.
She answered on the third ring. Her voice sounded rough and heavy, as if she suffered from a cold. “Hello.”
“Aunt Jane, it’s Leah.”
“Leah? This is out of the blue. Is everything all right?” In the background, a television hummed with the sounds of a game show.
“Everything is fine. The job is going well and I seem to be settling into the new town house.”
“Something must be wrong.” Her tone had grown stern.
Leah deserved her aunt’s skepticism. She’d called too many times, terrified and scared, in moments when she’d imagined Philip lurking in the back booth of a café or hovering at the edge of an alley. The shrink had said it was PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. He’d given her tranquilizers, which she’d never taken. “No, it’s all good. I got your card and wanted to thank you for sending it. I love the Lab puppy on the front.”
A silence followed. “Leah, I didn’t send you a card.”
“The card has your home address on it.”
“Leah, I didn’t send it.”
Her smile flattened to a frown. “Are you sure?”
“Honey, I know when I’ve sent out a card. You said there’s a Lab puppy on the front. What does it say on the inside?”
A tension crept up her back and circled around her throat, constricting her breath. “It says Thinking of You.”
“Is it signed?”
“No.”
“Do you think it’s an old card, maybe one that got lost in the mail? I could have sent it last year.”
She picked up the envelope and rechecked the return address. The handwriting was bold and masculine. “It’s your new address. The house on Mulberry, so it can’t be more than a couple of months ago.”
“It didn’t come from me, honey.” Her aunt spoke carefully, as if fearing Leah would panic.
“Any relatives staying with you who might have sent it?” Leah stared at the card, all traces of goodwill fleeing as she struggled to find logic.
“No, hon. I just got back from my cruise, so no one has stayed with me in a while.”
The chill skimming along her skin grew colder. “This doesn’t make sense.”
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“No, it doesn’t.” Her aunt paused. “But Philip is dead.”
“Yes. Of course.” Her voice didn’t hold the conviction it should have.
“What about the local police? Have you called them?”
Several times in Knoxville, she’d imagined sounds and called the cops. They’d never found signs of any intruder. “A neighbor called them a month ago. I was having one of my nightmares, and they heard my screams. I’ve made a New Year’s resolution not to stress about sounds and noises.” She wanted to tell her aunt about Deidre, but that remained too painful.
“My word, I think the earth just stopped spinning.”
Her aunt’s dry tone coaxed a half laugh. “There’s life on the other side.”
“Yes, there is. And it’s good to hear you laugh, Leah. I’ve missed hearing you laugh.”
Leah traced the edges of the pup’s face on the card. “Aunt Jane, I’m not going to worry about this card. It’s some kind of odd mistake.”
“Of course it is. I wouldn’t worry, honey. I know, given your history, it’s natural to be worried and upset. But my guess is that the card is some kind of advertisement or mistake.”
Logic refused to listen to fear’s rants. “The envelope has your address and mine. Whoever sent this knows where we both live.” She glanced toward the front door and resisted the urge to test the lock. “Yesterday someone sent me flowers at work. They were addressed to me, and the card said Happy Anniversary.”
“Your wedding anniversary is a few days away. Could they’ve been for some other kind of celebration?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Leah, have you seen anyone around your town house?”
“No.”
“Has anyone been bothering you?”
“No.”
“What about odd phone calls?”
“Those are all the kind of things Philip did.”
“I know.” It wasn’t any one event but the drip, drip, drip of all those little things that coalesced into a flood.
“Did you call that South Carolina detective?”
“I left a voice mail. She hasn’t called me back yet. She probably thinks I’m back in crazy town.”
