Page 31 of You Know Why

Trey is a money guy; that’s his job, his career, so of course I trusted him to manage our finances. Now I’m kicking myself for signing over control of things to his discretion. But who expects their kind, upstanding, homebody, double-mocha-latte, star-dancing husband to embezzle from their joint accounts?

None of this makes sense. It’s like something from a movie. From a nightmare. From a true crime podcast, something Margot listens to. This isn’t my life. This isn’t how things end up. I know it.

But here I am, in a stranger’s house, and my husband is completely missing.

As I step into the hall, my phone buzzes. I look down to see a text message from a number I don’t recognize.

I will fix this. Don’t trust anyone.

My heart takes off at a gallop. Trey.

Where are you? I type, saying the words aloud in a whispered prayer.

I’ll meet you in Venice. Go straight there when you land. Don’t stay in Milan, don’t check into the hotel.

But we’re in Atlanta. We got off the plane. Where. Are. You?

You’re not on the plane?

No. When you didn’t show up, we got off. All our money is gone, Trey. The cards are turned off. Can’t you just call me? Explain what the hell is going on?

Nothing. No dots. I wait. And wait, my fury rising with each heartbeat.

This is ridiculous. And unacceptable. We’re at Eden Barrow’s house. Please, Trey. Tell me what’s happening.

You are not safe there. Leave. As quickly as possible. Go now. Go home.

And as I watch, each message disappears before my very eyes. What in the world? It’s like there’s a self-destruct. Even the contact is gone. There’s no way to get in touch with him.

This is exactly what happened with the email. On text, I know the messages can be unsent. I didn’t know the contact could be erased, too.

The worst thought hits me. If that even was Trey. I have no idea if it was really him. He didn’t speak to me with love or use language I’m familiar with. But I don’t know my husband anymore. He’s a stranger, as much as Eden Barrow.

Damn it, now what do I do? Should I call the police back and tell them Trey texted me? Call Margot and tell her? Or are they watching me, watching my phone—whoever “they” are?

A part of me is relieved. At least he’s okay. Maybe. Not dead in a ditch somewhere. That doesn’t help my anger, though. I am incandescent.

Eden’s voice calls from downstairs.

“Time to eat!”

Don’t trust anyone, he said. You are not safe.

If I am so unsafe, why isn’t he by my side, protecting me? If I’m not safe, why the hell did he leave?

Screw this.

I close my phone. I already know what the police are going to say. “You need to come into the station, file this report in person.”

Margot’s going to say, “I’m coming, don’t move.”

I hazard a glance in the mirror above the sink, aghast at the change in me already. I’ve gone from carefree mom on holiday to haggard and desperate in what seems like a heartbeat. I wash my face, drag a brush through my hair, put it up in a ponytail, and grab my heavy sweater from my bag. Look again. No better.

No question about it now—I have to get home.

But before I leave, I want to talk to Eden and to the cop. Maybe her detective friend will have some answers for me.

My phone chimes again. Another text, from another number I don’t recognize.