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“Patrick, what the hell?” I screech. This all feels wrong: standing in this dark, deserted park, Patrick’s jitteriness, that walking-on-eggshells feeling in my gut, the fact that I haven’t even talked aboutmything, which is why we’re supposed to be out here in the first place. “I haven’t talked to Lynn. I’m sorry she found out. I’m sorry I wore the bracelet. But why would she recognize it?”
Patrick breathes out. He looks like he might shatter into pieces,but then he turns away and puts his head in his hands. I stare at him for a few beats, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. My thoughts zoom back to Lynn. God, she must have lost it when she put the pieces together. I can’t imagine the rage that whipped through her—or the revenge she has planned. I mean, if I got a sleeping pill in my cocktail just for stealing her clients, what does she have in store now that I’ve stolen her man?
But suddenly, I realize: Iknowwhat Lynn has in store. She’s already done it.Shewas the voice on the other end of that phone, insinuating I killed Greg. It’s brilliant, actually—she knows I have no memory because she’s the one who drugged me. She also knows that if I begin to believe what I’ve done, I’ll either lose my mind or confess. I’ll go either to a mental hospital or to prison. And then, Lynn will have Patrick back to herself.
It’s elegant, actually. Diabolical. The relief floods over me, too, because as soon as I let in this little crack, I realize how crazy the notion ever was. Of course I didn’t. Even in my wildest dreams, even in my drunkest state, I wouldn’t snap like that.
Except why is Patrick acting so strangely, then? Just because I accidentally wore the bracelet and Lynn figured it out? I guess thatiskind of a big deal. His marriage is crumbling. He probably didn’t expect it to happen. And he definitely didn’t expect us to get caught—especially by his scheming, conniving wife.
My phone buzzes once more. I wince when I see Lynn’s name once again on the screen. Instead of calling, this time she’s written a text. I don’t intend to read it, but my settings are such that the message appears on my locked screen, like it or not:
I know you’re with him right now. Get out of there. He has no alibi for the night your husband was killed. He isn’t safe.
Shivers zing through me. I press the phone to my chest to hideit. My heart is thudding. This is another one of Lynn’s tricks—it has to be. She’s just trying to drive Patrick and me apart, that’s all.
But then something strange occurs to me. After the funeral, Patrick found me and said,I knowyoudidn’t kill Greg.He’d seemed so certain. So resolute. At the time, I’d thought he was being chivalrous, even romantic... but how did he know for sure?
Don’t think that way. But all at once, I can’t help it. I consider what happened at the benefit, too. Patrick had been so shocked when he saw me, but later, he told me that he’d felt something change in him that night—and that he had to have me, no matter what. Patrick left the benefit so early that night. Ditched Lynn, actually. Where had he gone?
My heart goes still.
Patrick lifts his head. I don’t know what he sees in my expression, but whatever it is, it must give me away. He knows what I suspect. He knows I mightbelieveit. Hell, maybe he thought I knew this before I even got in the car—maybe he thoughtthiswas what I wanted to talk to him about.
Panic overtakes his features. He grabs the phone from my hands and tosses it into the woods. I see the glow of the screen disappear into darkness. “What the hell?” I shriek.
“She did get to you,” Patrick cries. “And you... believe her.”
“Patrick.” I have my hands clutched against my chest like armor. “I-I... I won’t say anything. I won’t tell anyone. I’m sure it was a mistake.”
He steps closer. He seems so tall, so imposing, and all of a sudden, I can’t breathe. “You really think I did it? You really think I’m that kind of person.” He looks so astonished. Then he points at me. “I was hoping you called me to talk about it and say youdidn’tbelieve. And I came to get you so we could run away. Be together. Escape all this...bullshit.” He shakes his head, his expression sharpening. “Forget that now. You’re just as judgmental and quick to accuse as the rest of them.”
Hot tears stream down my face. I don’t know what to think. But I don’t like being out here, all alone. I don’t like the fraught feeling between us. And also—I don’t like the doubt that’s now in my mind. I need to get out of here. I feel the need torun.
“Freeze!”
At first I think I’ve imagined the voices, but as I look across the parking lot, I see two dark shapes. The shadows scuttle out from the bushes, and as they come closer, I recognize a familiar woman’s shape. The man she’s with points a gun at Patrick.
I blink hard. “Willa?”
Willa shoots me a grateful look, but then steps forward. “Freeze,” she barks at Patrick, who’s backed away from me. “Don’t fucking move, asshole.” But then she stops. “Wait a minute. Who areyou?”
40
WILLA
SATURDAY, MAY 6, 2017
I stare at the man next to Kit. He’s got a full head of hair, narrow shoulders, and a square jaw—in other words, nothing like bald, hulking Ollie Apatrea. As he lifts his head, it all crystallizes. It’shim.The husband. Patrick Godfrey.
Kit runs to me, and I wrap my arms around her protectively. “What the hell is going on?” I ask.
“Don’t let him leave.” Kit points shakily to the shadows. “Call the police. He’s the killer!”
Patrick lowers his hands for a millisecond, but Paul straightens the gun, and he stiffens once more. I balked at Paul bringing a rifle tonight—his dad used to use it to hunt, he said, and though he never used it, he still knows how to fire it.
Patrick glares at all of us. “Look, will you put that thing down? I didn’t kill anyone!”
Kit is shaking her head. “Lynn just texted me. Patrick has no alibi for the night Greg was stabbed. He has motive.”
