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30
EMMA WAKES IN THE MORNING WITH HER HEART IN HERthroat. She has no clue where she is or why there’s an awful crick in her neck. But when her brain defogs, she realizes she’s in the den, that she really did spend the entire night here.
And then everything rushes back—Taylor’s death, Lilly’s revelation, her lack of any new information that would clear Tom—and she groans, hit by a fresh wave of sadness and dread.
From the light coming in the window, it seems to be around seven thirty or eight already. As she props herself up on her elbows, trying to organize her thoughts, Tom appears in the doorway.
“Emma,” he says, his voice tinged with alarm. “Is everything all right?”
“Um, yeah.”
“I checked on you earlier but didn’t want to disturb you. What’s going on, why did you sleep down here?”
“I... I dozed off reading,” she lies, “and... I guess Inever woke up.” She kicks off the throw and slides up into a sitting position. Her neck feels like it’s being pinched hard and her eyes are crusty with the mascara she never got around to removing. “Have you found out anything more? About Taylor?”
“Only from what’s in the local news this morning. She was definitely stabbed, though there’s no mention of the term you heard. According to one report, it probably happened between nine and nine thirty.”
“So it was long after she left the office.”
“Yup. I had someone from HR check her key card, and it turns out she never reentered the building after leaving at six, but it still seems like she must have been on her way back there. To pick something up, maybe.”
Or to meet someone, Emma thinks.A colleague?
And yet if the person she met is the person who killed her, Emma can’t begin to fathom what the motive might be. Taylor could be tenacious, “a dog with a bone” as Tom once described her, but how could that have led to her murder?
Tom takes a few steps over the threshold, and she notices he’s already in slim gray pants and one of his crisp, cobalt-blue shirts, his hair still damp from the shower. He’s dressed to take on the day, and yet even with his early summer tan, his face is pale, and his eyelids are hooded from fatigue.
“Any idea when they’re allowing you back in the building?” she asks.
“Around eleven thirty, as soon as they’ve finished processing the parking lot and examining Taylor’s workstation and her computer. They’re going to start interviewing the staff once we all come in.”
“By the way, the police are probably going to want to speak to me,” she says. She has to get that on the table.
“You? How come?”
“Uh, Taylor and I had a quick meeting on Monday morning when you were in Chicago. It was nothing important, I just wanted her thoughts on my last presentation, but I assume the cops will inquire about it.”
“Okay,” he says, eyes narrowed, as if the explanation falls a little flat for him.
“Will you try to work from home for a while?” she asks, quickly changing the subject.
“I’m actually going to meet with some of my team this morning so we can get all our ducks in a row.”
“Here?”
“Dan offered his place since it’s more conveniently located. I left a note under Brittany’s door, saying I’ll be back for her at around eleven fifteen.”
Emma nods. “I’d better jump in the shower myself,” she says. As she rises and starts to gather her things from the coffee table, Tom hesitates, and she wonders if he’s expecting her to offer him a comforting hug, even a kiss. But she can’t fake itthatmuch. Because though Tom desperately needs her now, she’s unable to let go of what she’s learned about him. Beyond that, there’s still a pit in her stomach asking her whether Taylor’s death is intertwined with everything else.
“I’ll let you get out of here,” she says, sidestepping him on her way out of the den and heading upstairs.
The shower gets rid of Emma’s grungy feeling and soothes her aching neck a little, but it does nothing to dispel her dread. Afterward, drying off, she glances around her prettybedroom and wonders if soon she won’t be sleeping here any longer. Even if Tom had nothing to do with Derrick’s death, it’s possible her marriage was based on a series of lies and she’ll have no choice but to move on.
Somewhere, somehow, shehasto figure out the truth about Tom. Yesterday she’d decided that since Justine was in Stowe for the client weekend, talking to her might be a way to learn Tom’s whereabouts Saturday night, but it would be crass to do that in light of the latest development. So she’s stuck in a horrible holding pattern for now.
Emma’s pulling on a summer dress when the sound of quiet footsteps carries into the room from the upstairs corridor. She’s left the door slightly ajar to be able to hear if Brittany emerges from her bedroom in need of help or comfort, but when she steps toward the door and peeks outside, she sees Tom instead. His back is to her as he makes his way down the hall to his office, now wearing a navy blazer and with a small green shopping bag tucked under one arm, visible enough that Emma can see the logo of Terrain, the plant nursery, café, and gift shop where she’d met Scott Munroe for coffee.
Something about the sight of Tom makes her heart skip. She thought he was heading straight out of the house, but he’s still here, practically walking on tiptoe. She quickly slides on a pair of sandals and hovers a foot away from the threshold of the door to give herself a view into the hall. He must have gone into his office.
