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Lavi follows like a dog as I carry Nina down the staircase, pretending that I don’t feel like I am going to die before I reach the final step.
I practically drop my wife into the wheelchair.
Lavi shoots me a sharp look.
“Okay.” I suck in a breath. “The driveway is paved, so that might be the easiest route, but you could also take her to the bench that overlooks the cliff.”
Lavi nods and positions herself behind the chair.
“Okay then.” I smile widely. “Have fun.”
I stride across the foyer and into the kitchen. The moment I hear the front door close, I sprint back upstairs.
Something isn’t right with Lavi. I feel it in my gut. And lately, I’ve realized that I’ve felt that way ever since I first laid eyes on the woman. But I pushed aside the little red flags because my only concern was getting Nina out of my hair.
After a quick peek down the hall, I slip into Lavi’s room, next to the master bedroom, and close the door behind me.
Okay, what first?
Bathroom. All women’s secrets are concealed in the bathroom. Everyone knows that.
I go through vanity drawers first.
Makeup, toothbrush, toothpaste, cheap face lotion, a brush, about a million hair ties, some gum, a bottle of Tylenol. Spectacle cleaner, a small screwdriver set—that’s weird. Tucked in the back of the drawer is a box of brown hair dye. Probably to cover the beginning of gray hairs, I imagine.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for, exactly, but I can’t resist the urge to understand more about this mysterious woman. I have to investigate the gut feeling I have that something isn’t right.
The shower contains a bottle of two-in-one shampoo and a single bar of soap. Irish Spring. The smell takes me back to childhood. My father used the same brand.
The remaining drawers and cabinets in the bathroom are empty. No feminine products, I note.
Huh.
I return to the bedroom.
A small duffel bag sits on a chair next to the bed. I hurry over, unzip it, and almost gag from the scent that wafts out. A stinky pair of running shoes are tucked inside, next to an open pack of beef jerky. Candy wrappers and empty bags of chips fill the rest of the bag. I quickly zip it back up.
I check the nightstand drawers—empty.
Under the bed—empty.
The dresser—empty.
I hurry to the closet and turn on the light.
A total of six shirts fill the clothes rod. Three short-sleeve, all Hanes—the kind you buy in a pack—and three long-sleeve. Two pairs of jeans are folded on a shelf, next to a half dozen mismatched socks and underwear.
I frown. Step closer.
Using the tips of my fingers, I pick up a pair of red underwear.Underwear, as in boxer briefs—not panties.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles.
I replace the underwear and search for a bra or a sports bra.
I find none.
My heart begins to pound.
