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Before she even had a chance to process his words, her ex-husband moved in behind her, grabbing her phone so that he could hear the call as well. Her heart started thumping. “Missing?” was all she could manage. “How?” she finally added.
“We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“Did you have a chance to search it?”
“Not yet. Who’s good for it?”
“Good for what?” she asked.
“Who do you think has the car? Who stole it?”
With no idea what to say, she closed her eyes, feeling Dex’s hot breath on her fingers as he gripped them and the phone, listening in on the call. “Chad,” he whispered in her ear.
She pulled away, looking at him, confused.
He pointed to the phone, mouthing the name again.
“Chad . . . ?” she said aloud. Dex nodded.
“Who’s Chad?” the caller asked.
“The mechanic he hired. Supposed to be one of the foremost experts on those antique clunkers. The only one who knew he had the car to begin with. Oliver is on his way to see him tomorrow.” She heard the faint squeaking of the chair in the office. “I have to go. My son’s home.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.” The phone beeped when the call ended.
“Nicely done,” Dex said.
“What are you talking about? Who else would take the car?”
He turned toward the dining table, grabbed her arm, holding it tight. “Where’s the journal?”
Her heart skipped a beat at the anger in his eyes. “Trevor has it.”
“How’d that happen?”
Because you’re an idiot, she wanted to say. “It was sitting on the table. He saw it and picked it up.”
“And you didn’t think to take it from him?”
“I didn’t want to draw attention to it. I know my son,” she said, a subtle dig that Dex had never been there for them. “It’s bad enough that he’s questioning your presence here. He’ll grow tired of reading it and get back to his computer. We just have to wait.”
He squeezed harder, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked, refusing to cry out.
“For now.”
He pushed her arm away in disgust, stormed over to the armchair, sitting down with enough force to move the heavy piece of furniture back a few inches.
Long ago, she’d learned that it was better to remain on an even keel when dealing with him. Now that he was back, it was even more important. For Trevor’s sake.
She walked to the office, peeking in the door, her son barely noticing her, absorbed in reading the diary. Trevor had taken over the room after her divorce, somehow putting together a computer from the boxes of electrical equipment that her ex had left behind, then working a part-time job and buying a newer desktop. These days, he was perfectly happy staying in that room, glued to the monitor, doing, well, whatever it was he did on the computer. The only time he came out was when he had to go to school or to eat. In the past, his isolation worried her. Now, however, she was grateful.
It kept him out of Dex’s affairs.
She looked back toward her ex, his focus on the telly. Perfect. Quietly, she stepped into the office. According to Trevor’s teachers, his comprehension of the written word—unlike his father’s—was more than brilliant. He retained nearly everything he read. Moving closer, she peered over his shoulder to see what he was reading.
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