Page 26

NINETEEN

SAMANTHA

I couldn’t hear all of Patrick’s conversation with the sheriff’s deputy, but his posture and glimpses of his expression told me he wasn’t happy.

I’d stayed on the porch instead of going inside the house. Emily had told me to watch over him, and even though he’d said he wouldn’t mention our terrible, life-altering secret, I wasn’t sure he could stop himself from blurting it out if she asked any open-ended questions. He was too honest, too straightforward. It was one of the things I adored about my husband. But now, that honesty felt like a liability.

I needed to listen. I closed the front door softly so he wouldn’t turn and see me eavesdropping. I sat on the top porch step and watched him wait. He looked so eager and hopeful, so sure of himself, so ready to make sure we received justice for this assault on our sense of security. The vandalism was so minor compared to the first threat, it felt like Patrick was magnifying it because he had to do something to make things right, and this had been presented to him.

It made my heart ache, thinking about how badly he wanted to do the right thing. I was preventing that. Emily and Keith were preventing that, even more than I was. At the same time, the disappearance of the body… I couldn’t think about that. I hated thinking about it.

Keith was right. It did appear as if the decision had been taken out of our hands when we saw the crumpled, discarded tarp.

When I heard Patrick tell the deputy—One other thing—I froze. I literally felt as if my insides turned into a block of ice. I couldn’t move my hands. I couldn’t stand. My face felt stiff and it seemed, for half a second, that my heart stopped beating.

At first, it looked like the deputy hadn’t heard Patrick because she continued walking toward the street. Then, as if the words had been slow to penetrate her thoughts, she stopped and turned. “What’s that?” she called.

“I have a question.” Patrick walked to where she stood.

It was more difficult to hear them now. I forced my legs into a standing position, as if the added height might make the sound waves travel the shorter distance. I could hear him speaking, but the only words I picked up were—other crimes in the area. I absolutely had to hear what she said in response.

Patrick was walking on thin ice, asking her about other crimes. The next step might be a question about people recently reported missing. My heart was unfrozen now; it began beating so hard and so fast I thought I was having a panic attack.

I walked down the stairs and moved toward our SUV. If I stood near it, Patrick wouldn’t see me. I stood near the front of the car. Because of the slope of the driveway, and the deputy’s height—shorter than me by several inches—I was fairly sure she couldn’t see me. Now their voices were clear.

“… makes me worry about other crimes,” Patrick said.

“Why? Because of the smashed window?” She laughed, then placed her fingers over her mouth in a thoughtful way, trying to cover her initial response. It was probably considered inappropriate for a deputy to laugh at anything said by a member of the public. Especially when they were reporting a crime. “This isn’t Chicago or LA. You’re my second call today. And it was an unusually busy day.”

“What about the casinos?” Patrick asked.

“What about them?”

“There might be criminal activity. I just wondered.”

“I’m not following you.”

It seemed as if the deputy wanted him to say something ridiculous. She knew exactly what he meant. Was she trying to make him look foolish?

“I wondered if there’s a fair amount of criminal activity because of the casinos.”

“What would that have to do with smashing your car window? Are you worried about something else you aren’t telling me? Do you and your wife have some kind of business associated with the casinos?”

She’d fired a lot of questions at once. I was curious which one Patrick would answer first. I was also impressed, but scared, by her instinct. She knew there was more on his mind than a broken window, more than a casual question about other crimes. Maybe she wasn’t particularly intuitive. Maybe it would be obvious to anyone.

“Nothing’s going on except I have a smashed window, and I don’t know if I should be concerned about, or expect more, vandalism on our property.”

It made me feel warm, hearing how he’d adopted my concern. Maybe we weren’t as far apart as I’d felt. He was concerned for me, for our safety. He was just coming at it from a different angle. I wanted to run down the driveway and throw myself into his arms.

“We can’t protect your property for you, if that’s what you’re hinting at,” the deputy said.

“I wasn’t,” Patrick said. “But I want my wife to feel safe. And after this”—he gestured toward the SUV—“none of us do.”

“This a low crime area,” the deputy said. “Most vandalism is impulsive and random. The chance of the perpetrator coming back is almost zero.” She folded her arms across her ribs. “Don’t take that as a guarantee of any kind. I’m just trying to reassure you. Still, things do happen. You know that. Especially as a firefighter.” She grinned.

Her grin seemed out of place, but she kept smiling.

She took several steps away from him, then glanced at her phone. “Is that all?”