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He frowned. “You can’t believe Josh did something to Abby.”
Elisa couldn’t think about anything else.
Words rushed up her throat but she tamped them down. She had to tread carefully. They’d built a life based on trust, love, and respect. To her, those weren’t empty words read during their vows. Taking a shot at Josh, someone so important to Harris, invited the kind of turbulence she strained to keep out of her marriage.
She settled on a shadow of the truth. “I don’t know what to believe when it comes to Abby.”
That was the problem. Her heart ached at the thought of Josh being someone other than the man she’d loved as a brother for years. But her brain screamed with the need to know the truth. Harris and Josh were so close. They talked about everything, but she wouldn’t let her mind wander to the possibility that Harris might know more than he pretended about Abby’s disappearance.
“You brought up Candace’s death,” Harris pointed out. “That was a low blow.”
Candace, Josh’s first wife. They’d been married for five and a half years when she died. After a few rounds of whispering and creative gossiping, everyone in town deemed her death a tragic accident. Everyone, including Elisa.
“Not many men have a history that includes two dead women,” she said, trying to be delicate but clear.
Elisa was thirty-seven. She’d lost her mom to cancer and grieved that loss. She never knew her dad, but she had a husband and she couldn’t imagine a life without him. Josh lost two great loves and... nothing. He moved on, never looking back.
“Abby isn’t dead.” Harris exhaled as if struggling to gain his composure before settling in for a long speech. “And Candace’s death was an accident. A tragic mix of too much white wine, wet feet from the pool, and a narrow staircase.”
“Right.” She knew the details. Josh’s wife, Candace, fell and hit her head. One of those horrible things that never happen... except if Josh was involved.
“Then why bring up Candace’s death at all?”
“I don’t know.” But she did. The coincidence of two women Josh loved disappearing from his life proved too strong to ignore.
Harris continued his list as if it absolved Josh. “Candace’s family loved Josh and believed him. The police called it a terrible tragedy. The medical examiner said it was an accident.”
She didn’t need the play-by-play and, honestly, hearing it now from Harris it sounded a bit forced. She’d been there for all of it. A few reporters doubted and tried to change the story, but the claims fizzled and the case was closed. Some portion of Candace’s estate went to Josh. He sold the house almost immediately, insisting he could never live in a place he now associated with such a devastating loss, and pocketed a large sum of cash.
“Yes, the Packards were very supportive.” Elisa remembered Candace’s parents and brother and how hard they grieved for the only daughter of the family.
Candace descended from local royalty. A gift from her grandfather, Al Packard, allowed her to buy them the house Josh always dreamed of. It sat nestled in the trees in covetedNorthside Bryn Mawr, about twenty minutes from Philadelphia on the Main Line. A large Nantucket-style home with blue shingles and a massive in-ground heated pool.
“Everyone was, Elisa. Including you.”
The story of Candace’s shocking death had been splashed all over the news, but Elisa heard it directly from Josh the night it happened. She sat in a plastic waiting room chair and held his hand as he broke down at the hospital. A detective, now retired and the father of Josh’s closest friend, walked Harris through procedures and questions while Josh rotated through bouts of crying and stoicism. She tried to remember the detective’s name. Barnes or Burroughs. Something like that.
Through all the chaos and the in-and-out of law enforcement and medical workers, the story never wavered. Josh had heard a cry from the kitchen and ran into the house to find Candace at the bottom of the back stairs in a pool of blood. He tried to revive her as he waited for the ambulance, but she never woke up.
He made the decision to take her off life support four days later. Dead at thirty-two.
Elisa never doubted it. Not a single piece... until two days ago. “Some people wouldn’t believe one guy could be that unlucky.”
“Do you?” Harris shifted to face her head-on. “Elisa?”
Not anymore. “I don’t know.”
“Josh wouldn’t hurt a woman. Or anyone.” Harris scoffed. “You know that.”
Did she? Desperation clawed at her. The need to believe him swamped her, but her brain kept shoutingno.
Harris shifted on the bed, moving closer. “Hey, what’s going on with you?”
Pain burst inside her head. She’d tried so hard to keep her questions locked inside, not give a hint of her doubts to Harris. Not yet.
“Abby wouldn’t leave without telling me.” That was only part of the story, but it was a big part. They were close, like sisters. They talked every day, and Abby never gave a hint about leaving.
But that last month... something had changed. Abby had stopped talking about wedding preparations. Their conversations over coffee turned shallower. They centered on Nathan or nonsense things. Nothing about Josh or about Abby’s concerns about getting married.
