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My memorization skills? The room begins to spin, and I worry I might faint. The detective knows I’m hiding something. If I don’t appear calm, I’ll give myself away. Inhaling a deep breath, I sit up straighter in my chair. “My husband is a sore subject for me. I was married to Ralph Becker. He became abusive and we divorced. The judge granted me full custody, and I moved to South Carolina to start a new life. End of story.”
“The funny thing is, we couldn’t find any evidence of a Ralph Becker in Denver. At least not a Ralph Becker married to a Julia Becker with a son Conrad. Now tell me the real truth. Who are you?”
I ignore his question. “What does my background have to do with Will Darby anyway?”
He closes the cover on his tablet. “Because I think you’re lying. I believe you were living in Water’s Edge this summer. And I believe you were having an affair with Will, and you two conspired to kill his wife.”
Conrad looks up from his truck, concern etched on his young face.
“Shh! Lower your voice,” I hiss at the detective, and call out to Conrad, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Detective Rourke is helping Mommy with research for her book.”
“I’m impressed, Miss Becker. You think fast on your feet.”
Truth be told, I invented that excuse days ago in anticipation of another visit from him. “Are you going to arrest me, Detective?”
“Not today,” he says in a tone that indicates an arrest is forthcoming.
“Then I’ll have to ask you to please leave.” Pushing back from the table, I stride across the porch and open the screen door.
Rourke stops in front of me on his way out, his face close to mine. “This isn’t over, Miss Becker. I suggest you hire yourself a lawyer.”
I’m tempted to tell him the truth, to clear my name and end this nightmare. But I don’t trust Rourke to keep my secret. I certainly don’t expect him to help me.
I wait until Rourke and Porter disappear around the side of the house before stumbling back to my chair. But as my butt hits the seat, I notice movement in the row of shrubbery separating our yard from the neighbor’s. I’m back on my feet, hurrying inside for my handgun. I sprint out the front door just as the now-familiar silver Honda Accord is speeding away.
How long had Ethan Striker been hiding in the bushes? Was he close enough to hear our conversation? Why is he stalking me? What does he want?
My questions are answered two hours later when I turn on the television to the evening news. Ethan leads the news with his story about me. He’s standing at the end of my driveway, the cottage visible in the background. I peek out the kitchen window, but there’s no sign of a news crew. He must’ve recorded the footage earlier this morning before we got home at noon.
“Julia Becker is the subject on everyone’s minds and lips these days,” Striker says to his audience. “Just who is Will Darby’s mystery woman? Our investigation suggests she’s hiding something. We have more questions than answers. We’ll tell you what we’ve found out so far when we return from this commercial break.”
Ethan’s image fades to black, and a commercial for a nutritional supplement comes on.
Conrad is working on a puzzle at the dining table, seemingly oblivious to the news. But I can’t take any chances of him hearing Ethan talking about me. Turning off the television, I leave the living room and go into my room to continue watching. I lower the volume and stand close to the small TV.
Footage of Rourke and Porter getting out of their patrol car and walking down the side of my house fills the screen. “Police interrogated Miss Becker for over an hour today,” Ethan tells his viewers.
“Learn how to tell time, you jerk,” I say to the television. “They were here less than fifteen minutes.”
As Ethan talks, he shows photographs and footage of me driving Conrad to school and shopping for groceries at Fancy Pantry. “On the surface, Julia Becker seems like your ordinary stay-at-home mom, who spends her days making up fairytale romances. But her story doesn’t check out. The police background check reveals gaping holes.” An image of Conrad on the playground at school appears. “Is this boy her biological child? If so, who and where is his father?” The last clip is of me entering the shooting range. “And why, if Miss Becker has nothing to hide, does she spend her mornings target practicing at the local shooting range?” The camera pans to Ethan. “Stay tuned. We’ll have these and more answers for you soon.”
Anger consumes me, pumping through my veins and stealing my breath. As I grip the remote, powering off the television, I yearn to wrap my hands around Striker’s throat and choke the life out of him. Then Rourke would have a legitimate reason to arrest me.
I sit down on the bed while I wait for my anger to subside. I’m tempted to pack up our belongings and leave Water’s Edge under the cover of darkness. But sneaking out of town would make me look all the more guilty. Rourke would undoubtedly come after me. We wouldn’t get far with the police and the boogeymen on our tails. I have no choice but to wait it out.
THIRTY
WILL
Caroline enters the kitchen before I can power off the television.
“Was that Buddy’s mommy?” she asks as the screen goes black.
I feign ignorance. “What, sweetheart?”
Her little arm shoots out, finger pointed at the television. “Buddy’s mom was on the television just now. Did you not see her?”
“Sorry. No. I wasn’t paying attention. They were probably interviewing her about the book she’s writing.”
