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“Yes, ma’am. Right here.” He seemed to be the man on the phone. She hoped that he didn’t suspect what she had really been up to on the other end of the line. “There’s two,” he said, bending down and putting two parcels on the counter. “These are them.”
“Do I need to pay for them or—?”
“Nope. You’re good. Your husband pays—er, paid—for his box quarterly. The new payment wouldn’t be needed until late-November. Would you like us to call the house when it’s time to renew or would you like to go ahead and cancel now?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said distractedly. “You can call.”
What if he has more parcels coming?
She scooped up the two packages and left, feeling the burn of his eyes following her out.
Sitting in her Honda, Donni looked at them. There was a tiny one in a white bubble mailer and a slightly larger one in a tan envelope that felt like it contained several things.
What clues would they reveal of Marco’s final living moments?
Unable to help herself, she opened the smaller one first, tearing it along the seam. A flashdrive fell into her lap. It was one of the simple USB sticks with a slider and a keychain. They sold them in individual packs during back-to-school shopping. What did Marco need one for?
She looked at the return address and was a little disconcerted to see that it appeared to be coming from the very same address as the sender. Another PO box. Creepy.
Frowning now, she set the flashdrive aside and opened up the other parcel. A passport and driver’s license fell out, both bearing her husband’s picture. The name was different, though. Which meant they were fakes.Goodfakes. What the fuck?
She flipped through the passport book with trembling hands. It was empty. Marco’s real passport was only half-filled, stamped with the usual getaways of the rich—Italy, Greece, France. Had he been planning on running? His final trial date would have been next week if he hadn’t died. Plenty of time to grab his shit and run, even though he hadn’t been judged a flight risk at the time.
He was going to leave me, she thought sickly.It really looks like he was.
She set everything aside on the passenger seat and drew in a deep, sobbing breath. Sometimes she felt so guilty, like a rotten fruit gone black and crumbling inward. But then, to find out that he’d gone and done something likethis.
Just like she’d suspected.
He was everything I thought he was, after all.
And then—of course—her phone rang.
It was Rafe. Because why wouldn’t it be? The man had a penchant for catching her with her head down. She stared at her mobile as if it had sprouted fangs and was about to bite. Beneath her clothes, the rashy patches of tenderness on her body that had been inflicted by his beard tingled.
For years, Marco had tried to bend her to his will with the same blunt handling that he used to manage his portfolios and his grapes. As if she were a number that needed to be noted down, or a vine that needed to be tied to a stake. So why was it that Rafe succeeded so wildly where his father had failed?
She picked up the phone and composed herself, trying to squeeze every drop of self-pity from her voice. “What is it?” she asked. “I’m a little busy right now.”
He didn’t respond. There were strange noises in the background—a clattering, the sound of heavy breathing. Unease curled through her. “Rafe?”
Rafe didn’t respond. She thought she heard him grunt and then there was a loud crash that made her jump, followed by what sounded like the tinkle of breaking glass.
Instantly, she thought of the wolf, her anxiety spiking as those strange scuffling noises continued a moment longer before the phone went dead. When she tried calling again, her call was sent right to voicemail.As if someone turned the phone off, she thought.
Maybe it was Rafe having her on. Maybe he’d called her by accident to fuck with her, before turning off his phone. But as cruel as he was, she didn’t think he wasthatcruel.
Donni hesitated for a moment before dialing the police.
She hoped that it was all just a stupid mistake.
???????
When Rafe opened his eyes, the room didn’t look immediately familiar. He hadn’t been in the master bedroom for years. The sheets smelled stale and unslept in, but he recognized his father’s ugly stuffed shark leering at him from the entryway. His skull gave a warning throb.
The last thing he remembered was drinking in the kitchen, laughing at his father’s shitty painting and poorly-concealed safe. And then—someone had come in and bashed him over the head like a motherfucker. Fuck. No wonder he had a headache.
Was the stickiness at his temple blood or sweat?
