Page 27 of You Know Why

“I would never. I’ll have to report this if it was done without your knowledge.”

“I understand. But can you wait for a day? Let me figure out what’s going on first?”

“For you, yes.”

“Great. I’ll be back in Nashville tomorrow.”

I debate calling Bob. Before I can, Margot’s face appears on my phone.

“Are you there? Have you heard from him?”

I try to stay calm. “No. And apparently, Trey has emptied all the accounts and hasn’t been paying the credit cards. Everything’s frozen. I can’t check into the hotel because they need a card for incidentals, and they won’t honor yours.”

“That son of a bitch. How dare he?”

“Be pissed later. I want to come home. I need to file the missing persons report in Nashville, not Atlanta.”

“That’s ridiculous. And bad news, the rental agencies are even more stringent than the hotels. They’re going to need a card, too. I already tried that. Since we decided an Uber isn’t safe, I’ll just come get you. You can just park it in the hotel lobby, they’ll let you, right?”

An idea flashes. Eden Barrow. I think about it for a minute. Weigh the creep factor with the need to see my children safe and rested. Weigh the chance to learn more about Trey’s supposed background against standing here in the total dark. Weigh calling my uncle again and getting Trey into worse trouble than he already is.

Decision made.

“I hate the idea of you on those mountain roads after dark. I’ll get a cab back to the address of the woman from the airline. She was very happy to put us up. You can start first thing in the morning. We’ll be fine at Eden’s place tonight.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind. Gives me an excuse to make a latte, caffeine up . . .”

“Absolutely. Honestly, Margot, at this point, she’s probably the only lead I have. I wanted to find out more about what she thinks she knows about Trey anyway. I was going to call her tomorrow. I’ll send you the address.”

“Be careful, Brook. Something feels very wrong about all of this.”

“No kidding, sister. You be careful. He might come home.”

I force myself to stay calm and rational, not just collapse into a puddle and start crying. That’s going to get me nowhere. Instead, I send Eden a text.

Are you still up?

My phone rings a second later.

“Hi there. What’s up? News?”

“Not exactly. This is so embarrassing. I’m having a little credit card hiccup. The hotel—”

“Don’t say another word. The offer still stands. You are more than welcome to stay here. And I’ll get my detective friend to come by. We can . . . talk.”

“Thank you, Eden. We’ll be there in thirty.”

“Do you need me to come get you?”

“No, that’s fine. I have enough for the cab. My sister is coming down from Nashville in the morning. We’ll ride back with her. Thank you, seriously. We appreciate it.”

I’m not an idiot. I know this is chancy. But Eden Barrow is the one tenuous link to my husband, and there’s no way for me to find the truth if I don’t go looking for it. But just in case Eden is some sort of crazed axe murderer, it makes me feel better that there is external accountability. I text Margot.

All set. We’re on the way to Eden’s house. I dropped a pin on the address. She has a friend who is a detective meeting us. Will keep you informed.

I fight back the urge to text Trey this plan. I haven’t made a move in ten years without him knowing exactly where I am. This is insane. He would be able to track me—and vice versa—if he had his phone. But he does have his backpack, with his laptop, and that means he still has access to the accounts.

And at least one hundred grand in cash, apparently, as well. That spark of fury lights again. What the hell is he up to?