Page 76 of You Know Why

I close my eyes. What I remember feels wrong, fantastical, like I dreamed it.

“Brook? You okay?”

I stare deep into my sister’s eyes. So like my own. But guileless. Innocent. Margot always was the best of us. The kindest. The most responsible.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but do you know anything about Trey murdering his first wife?”

Can We Ever Really Know Someone?

Margot eyes me carefully. “Are you sure you want to go there right now? Maybe we should just focus on getting you out of bed.”

“No, this is real. I’m sure of it. I can’t remember exactly, but there’s something there.” I try not to force it, and Eden’s wavering face appears. “It has something to do with Eden.”

Margot launches from her seat and gets busy straightening the bed, the tray, and I have to grab her hand to make her stop.

“Margot. Tell me. Please.”

“I think we should wait.”

“I have to know. I feel like I might crawl out of my skin if I don’t figure out what’s going on.”

She watches me carefully, then shakes her head. “Okay. And by the way, I’ve already told you this once, so it might trigger a memory or two. Yes, Trey was married before, and his wife was murdered. He was a suspect and was arrested, but no official charges were ever filed.”

“And his wife . . . was Eden’s sister?”

“Yes. Chloe. They all grew up together. He went by Andrew then. Andrew Locke the third.”

A flash. The woman from the plane, ponytailed and pantsuited. “Andrew? Andrew Locke? Is that really you?” Eden.

Trey freaking out at the airport is making more sense now.

“How could he have hidden this from me? Did I know? I don’t remember.”

“Eden says you seemed very shocked when they told you. And that, in your surprise, you ran out of the house and were hit by the SUV. It’s possible he didn’t tell you. Honestly, I think if he did, you would have mentioned it to me. I know you don’t tell me everything . . .”

“Yes, I do.” A sense of panic pervades me, and though it’s not clear why, the feeling is recognizable. Another puzzle piece clicks into place. “Can you look him up online and show me the original case? Maybe it will jog my memory.”

“Have you never googled your husband?”

“Why would I? He’s never given me a reason to doubt him before. I mean, as far as I know.”

Margot gives me the look—a combination headshake and eye roll that tells me she’s humoring me—but dutifully pulls out her phone.

“T-R-E-Y L-O-C-K-E,” she says as she types.

“I haven’t forgotten how to spell,” I snap back.

Margot darts me a humorous gaze. “Just in case. Let’s see here.” She types again. “Not seeing anything.”

“Of course not. Trey isn’t capable of such a thing. Plus, he would have told me if he’d been married before.” Well . . . maybe he did. Maybe he’s confessed everything. Maybe this is all bullshit. I can’t freaking remember correctly. I might know exactly where he is, or what he’s doing. Why he left.

“True. But he did leave, Brook. Right after Eden appeared. And there is money missing from Bob’s and Pat’s accounts. There has to be a reason.” She’s still frowning at her phone. “There’s, like . . . nothing about Trey here. At least, nothing from before the accident. The media’s been going nuts about you and his parents—it’s all over the place. I know he doesn’t have social media, but shouldn’t there be something? It’s hard not to leave at least a small footprint these days.”

“Trey is one of the least online people I’ve ever known. He hates it. Thinks it’s ruining society.”

Margot leans back in her chair. “Well, the only thing that’s online in his name—either one of them—is his work bio on LinkedIn. It’s short, and he has very few connections. ‘Trey Locke is the vice president of business development for the Gussin Group. A graduate of the Wharton School of business, he specializes in arbitrage, VC funding, and emerging markets in cryptocurrency, capitalizing on opportunities for high-risk returns and exploiting market inefficiencies.’” She looks up. “That’s gobbledygook to me.”

“Finance. He’s in finance. That’s as much as I understand about what he does. He’s a genius with money. Bob sent him to Wharton, and he breezed through their MBA program in fifteen months. Remember? He was up in Pennsylvania, driving home on weekends?”