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Detective Palmer stares at me, the tension in the room so thick it feels suffocating.
“I bet there’s a record of it somewhere,” I say. “I’m sure Detective Velky took some sort of notes on what I told her.”
“There’s nothing. Nothing on record to connect all three women.”
I blink. “Really? But the reason I told her was so that she could investigate the families of the women. That’s what?—”
“Tell me everything about how and when you told her.”
“Well, I’d become concerned about what these clients had confided to me, but there wasn’t enough evidence to file an official complaint against them—and you know, client/patient confidentiality is very important in my line of work. But it still bothered me enough that I felt like it was my civic duty to report what I was hearing. They all involved children, and, as a mother, it just broke my heart. It ate at me for months while these women were my clients. So, one day, I invited Rowan—she was court-ordered to see me after an officer-involved shooting, as you know—out for coffee and I told her about the women. I told her I was giving her a heads up, and that perhaps she should look into the families, or call CPS, or do whatever a police officer is supposed to do with a tip. I reiterated to her that I didn’t have evidence of child abuse but I just wanted to get it off my chest. I felt like it was my civic duty to do so, you know?”
I scrub my hand over my forehead. “I regretted it the next morning—for so many reasons. One, my clients need to trust me; two, I could lose my job if it got out that I spilled client secrets; and three, I wasn’t certain about the accusations I was making in the first place. Anyway, that’s the story. That’s the whole story… and I felt like you should know.”
“So you think Detective Velky killed these three women?”
“I—well, I heard the gossip that they were killed by some vigilante killer who knew their dirty secrets. She’s the only person I told their dirty secrets to. She’s the only person who knew.”
“You also knew their secrets, Mrs. Bailey.”
I had expected this accusation, and after a quick inhale, recited the response I’d practiced in the car on the way over.
“True, but I’m sure I have an alibi, as I’m home every night with my husband and son, and work during the day.”
Detective Palmer turns his back, walks to the window, and stares into the parking lot. What feels like an eternity passes in silence. I get the feeling that I’m missing something, that there’s a lot more to the story than I realize.
That maybe Detective Palmer knew all along.
FORTY-SEVEN
ROWAN
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. Ignoring it, I continue packing clothes into the suitcase I’ve laid on the bed.
The text is from Kellan, I don’t need to check. This makes his twenty-seventh attempt to contact me. Twenty-seven unanswered calls and unopened texts after I told him that I needed a break and asked him to leave me alone. I have too much to deal with right now. In addition to the calls and texts, Kellan has driven by my house multiple times. One time, he even had the balls to pull into the driveway, park, and turn off the engine. There, he sat, his tall, thick silhouette staring into the front window of my home, while my cell phone rang.
Shepherd asked who it was. I told him I didn’t know and drew the curtains.
Honestly, it’s a bit disconcerting. I don’t know what’s so important or why he won’t respect my need for space. Regardless, I can’t deal with it. Not right now.
I’m reaching for the cup of coffee on the nightstand when Shepherd walks into the bedroom. My body tenses.
He joins me at the edge of the bed and scratches Banjo’s ears, who is curled next to the suitcase.
“What time are we leaving for Dallas?” he asks.
“Around ten tomorrow. Our appointment with the nursing home is at two in the afternoon. The drive is three hours. I figure we can stop midway and eat lunch. I’ve already packed up Jenny’s things. Oh, and I found a hotel that accepts dogs, so we’re good with Banjo.”
Shepherd slowly runs his fingers through my hair. Tingles, like fire ants, swell over my skin.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Ro?”
“Yes. Aunt Jenny deserves better care than what I can offer her here.”
“Okay.” Shepherd looks around the room. “Where is my suitcase? I guess I need to pack some stuff.”
“It’s in the garage.”
As my husband leaves the room, my cell phone lights up again. This time I grab it, turn it off, and hurl it across the room.
