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17
THROUGHOUT THE NEXT DAY, EMMA CHECKS HER PHONErepeatedly, making sure she hasn’t missed a call or email from Peter Dunne when she’s been brainstorming with Eric, paying bills with Dario, or being interviewed for a podcast later in the afternoon.
But no such call comes in. Maybe, she tells herself, her gut was right, that it’s a good sign the police have been incommunicado. Wouldn’t it be nice if the lull in workload that allowed Detective Webster to turn her attention to the Derrick Rand case has abruptly ended, and she’s been forced to focus onthisweek’s big Manhattan murder, whatever that might be? It seems heartless to want the case to remain unsolved—there’s a brutal killer at large, and beyond that, Derrick’s siblings need closure, and she does, too—but Emma can’t have her life with Tom become collateral damage.
He’d seemed less distracted this morning, chatting as they polished off breakfast at the kitchen table, but once ortwice she’d caught him looking into the middle distance, his mind elsewhere.
“What time do you expect to be back from the library tonight?” he’d asked as he slipped on his blazer to leave.
“Eight thirty or so, I’d say.”
“Great. Since you’ll be out, I think I’ll take Brittany someplace fun for dinner.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Tom. I’m sure she’d love time alone with you.”
Emma’s preparing to leave for the library that evening when Dunne phones her at last. Since Eric and Dario have already departed, she answers at her desk.
“I finally heard from Detective Webster, but unfortunately, I don’t have much to report. I explained that though you were eager to assist in the investigation, it was essential she go through me. I then delicately probed about any developments in the case, but she didn’t have the slightest inclination to share.”
“Is it possible there’s not much to say? That she might be suddenly busy with something else?”
“Oh, she’s busy—she was in a car headed somewhere—but I don’t have any reason to believe she’s moved on. There was a caginess to her tone, and—though this is merely a guess on my part—I think she’s got something up her sleeve.”
Oh, fabulous.
“Like what, do you think?
“No idea, I’m afraid. I take it she hasn’t surprised Tom with a visit?”
“No.”
“Hmm. If he doesn’t hear from her in the next few days, let me know and we’ll revisit our strategy regarding the dinner in Boca.”
“Miami.”
“Miami. Of course. Have a good evening, Emma.”
She’s running late by the time she hangs up, but that’s fine with her because the scramble to lock the studio and the dash to the garage are welcome diversions.
The library is situated in an old brick building overlooking the Saugatuck River with several modern additions, and when she pulls into the parking lot at ten of seven, Emma discovers that she’s not the only one curious to hear from the author ofLiars in Our Midst. She assumes some of the attendees have been burned by dishonest spouses, lovers, or friends and want to learn how to do a better job of separating fact from fiction.
The event room is less full than the parking lot suggested, but there’s a decent-size crowd. Emma takes a seat toward the front and saves the chair next to her for Eric. Since he’s superpunctual, she’s surprised he’s not already here, and even more surprised when the introduction starts and there’s still no sign of him. She was in the middle of the podcast interview when he left for the day, which meant she hadn’t had the chance to call out, “See you at the library,” but Eric isn’t the type who ever needs reminding. She shoots him a text asking if everything is okay, but ten minutes later, when she glances down at her phone, he hasn’t written back.
Emma tells herself not to worry, that something important clearly came up and he’ll explain tomorrow, andfor a while, she’s able to lose herself in the presentation. The bearded, fortysomething author never does touch on why people lie on surveys, and since he doesn’t call on her during the Q&A, she isn’t able to ask a question on the subject. She briefly considers trying to chat with him while he’s signing books but decides to bag it. At this point, all she wants is to be home.
There are two texts waiting when she digs her phone out from her purse. The first from Eric:
Omg Emma, sry!!! Fell asleep on my couch and just woke up.
No problem. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.
Thanks, feeling a tad under the weather but I’m sure I’ll be fine in the a.m.
And one from Tom:
Something came up so wont be back frm dinner till after 9. Sry. Will explain later. xo
She tells him no problem, too, and says she’s headed home.
