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“Did everything seem okay with her?”
“Yes, fine, though we didn’t speak for long.”
He takes one sip of his drink and slides his phone out of his pants pocket. “I think I’ll make the calls from the screened room—I could use the air.”
Emma’s own phone pings as soon as he leaves the room,and she checks it nervously, wondering if it has something to do with Taylor’s death. But it’s only Addison, following up.
Is everything okay, Emma?
She’s so not in the mood to engage but wants to seem polite.
Thanks for asking. Tom’s fine but someone was actually killed tonight in the parking lot. We don’t know much at this point.
Goodness. Glad he’s all right, but that must be quite a shock. Would you like to grab coffee this week and talk?
Maybe this weekend. I’ll have to let you know.
For a minute or two Emma stands in the room, unsure of what to do next. Finally she boils the water in the kettle, drops a chamomile teabag in a mug, and carries it along with her to the den, where she collapses on the sofa. In the silence of the room, she finally absorbs how shaken she is by Taylor’s death. Though she didn’t know her intimately, she respected how loyal she was to Tom and how tenacious she was on his behalf. Wincing, she remembers what Taylor shared a week or so ago, her hope to meet a guy “in real life” this summer, and not from a dating app.
Adating app. Taylor seemed put off by them, which suggests she’d tried at least one in the past. Had she met someone dangerous who came after her tonight? If shehasbeen murdered, the police will surely be able to find and interview everyone she’s been in phone contact with in recent days and weeks.
With a start she realizes this means the police will want to talk toher. In general, the only time she and Taylor engaged was when Emma gave her quarterly talks at Halliday, but lately there’d been a burst of contact—the call today, of course, and the one on Saturday, in addition to their meeting yesterday.
She can be honest about Taylor’s inquiry regarding the bracelet, but what can she say about today’s conversation, just hours before Taylor’s murder? She’ll have to come up with a lie. Maybe something about her presentation.
The room suddenly seems strangely cool for a summer night, and she grabs the light throw on the arm of the couch and pulls it up to her waist. It feels as if the world is turning faster than she can bear, and yet she has to keep up, and most of all, she can’t take her eye off the ball: learning more about Tom’s whereabouts the night of Derrick’s murder, even if it means the end of her marriage.
There’s a sudden movement by the entrance to the room, and Emma looks up to find Tom standing on the threshold. She realizes she’s been sitting in here alone for at least a half an hour.
“How are you doing, Em?” he asks.
“Hanging in there.” As awful as the thought is, at leastTaylor’s death is providing her with an excuse for acting anxious and aloof. “Did you hear anything else?”
Tom nods solemnly. “It’s been confirmed it’s a homicide, though as of yet, the police haven’t given any details or issued a warning to the community.”
Emma swallows hard, absorbing the news.
“I’m sure the cops don’t want me doing their job for them,” Tom adds, “but I talked to Janice—who’s devastated, needless to say—and according to her, Taylor left work at around six. Like you said earlier, it’s hard to believe she could have died before dark without someone noticing the body, so I’m thinking she returned to the office later. Maybe she forgot something and was headed back to get it.”
“Or maybe she left her car there while she had a drink or dinner in town, and then came back for it.”
“Right, that would also make sense.... You ready to go up?”
She’s about to nod, but her body feels frozen in place. “Um, not quite yet.”
“Oh?” he says, clearly surprised.
“I’m just so wound up,” she explains. “I want to try to sit here for a little while longer and see if I can calm down before trying to sleep.”
“Okay, see you in a bit then.”
But he won’t, Emma decides, as she hears him ascend the front stairs. She doesn’t want to go up there. The idea of being next to Tom tonight frankly scares her. What if he really did murder Derrick, or paid someone to do his dirty work?
Regardless of whether or not he’s caught and sent toprison, it would mean the life she’s loved so much, her life with a man she adored, will be over. The thought is crushing.
For a couple of minutes, she attempts to read on her iPad, but her eyes refuse to latch on to the words. So she flicks off the standing lamp at the end of the couch, tugs the throw up to her chin, and finds a spot for her head on one of the decorative pillows.
It couldn’t be quieter in the house, though every so often the silence is broken by the faint sound of a car driving along their street.
And then there’s another sound—footsteps in the front hall? Holding her breath, she waits, but the sound doesn’t come again.
Her thoughts drift back to Taylor, and what the poor girl’s parents must be going through at this exact moment. How awful it must be for them, knowing that they’ll never see their daughter again and that she’d exited the world so violently.
Could the killer be someone Taylor knew? Or was she murdered by a predator, as Tom wondered? Against her will, Emma imagines the horrible scene in the parking lot—Taylor struggling for her life as someone viciously attacked her.
Emma’s eyes suddenly spring open. She’s been reminded again of the expression she heard the man behind the caution tape use: “paired wounds.” After fumbling across the coffee table for her phone, she googles the phrase and quickly finds an explanation: “Paired wounds are made with scissors,” it reads, “with varying distances between the pairs.”
Scissors.Not a weapon you tend to associate with predators. But they’re in abundance in office buildings, and there’sprobably a pair in every desk drawer at Halliday. Is it possible Taylor was killed by someone who worked in the building, maybe even a coworker?
Emma closes her eyes again. She can’t believe there’s another murder in her life, another nightmare playing out in front of her. A thought grips her, like a python trying to squeeze all the air from her lungs. What if it’s all connected? What if somehow everything leads back to Tom?
