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Defense: Ganging up on you?
Anne Wilkes: There was an incident a while back that my husband can’t get over. I thought we’d moved on, but he still doesn’t trust me. I found texts on Mark’s phone from Olivia. He’d obviously asked her to report back about me. I hired a babysitter for the kids, not for myself.
Defense: Mrs. Wilkes, I’m sorry to be blunt, but I have to admit, your husband’s concern for you seems legitimate. After all, what sort of mother disappears for three days without a word?
ELEVEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
Hello, there. I’m looking for Mr. Hamilton.” Anne approached a young woman with curly dark hair seated behind a standard metal desk littered with file folders. “I’m sorry, I’m a little late for my eleven o’clock appointment. I had to pick up my son from daycare last minute. He wasn’t feeling well.”
“Mr. Hamilton is expecting you,” the woman announced cheerfully. “Feel free to take a seat. He’s just on a phone call now. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Luke Hamilton—Eliza’s private investigator—was headquartered in one of a million Los Angeles strip malls, the small suite flanked by a Zankou Chicken on one side and a Laundromat on the other. There was no indication whatsoever on the outside that Suite 101 would hold the answers to Anne’s biggest questions.
Anne sat, bouncing Harry on her lap. His face was flushed, and she put her cheek to his forehead to check his temperature. Her daycare provider had called an hour earlier and informed Anne that her son had been sick and needed to be picked up immediately.
Dragging Harry along to this meeting was the absolute last thing Anne wanted to do, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t reschedule—she’d never get the opportunity to be alone again. Plus, she couldn’t wait one more damn second.
Clutching her baby to her chest, Anne rocked him until he got bored of the sticky closeness and wiggled backward. He clapped his hands, and Anne reached for her purse and pulled out a baggie of Goldfish. She fed him one after another, continuously checking his forehead, until the curly haired receptionist announced that Mr. Hamilton would see her.
She really should have turned around and walked away then. She should’ve taken Harry home, measured his temperature, and cuddled him until he felt better. It was time for the madness to stop. If only Anne could confront her husband and get to the meaning of his evenings away, her life could return to normal. Or whatever the new normal would look like.
But she couldn’t risk it. What if Mark gave her an answer that she wasn’t ready to hear?
Anne stood, stretched her legs, and wobbled on low heels as she followed the young woman down a short hallway and into a private room. She’d dressed up for the occasion, a thought that struck her as quite sad. The last time she’d worn pantyhose and a black skirt had been before she’d gotten pregnant with Gretchen.
“Good afternoon.” Luke Hamilton greeted her once his receptionist had left the room. His eyes shifted toward Harry, though he didn’t offer commentary. “Thank you for taking the time to come see me.”
“I’m so sorry I was late. My son got sick at daycare this morning. He’s not sick sick, nothing contagious, just something he ate. My husband couldn’t pick him up because he’s a cop and, well, I’m sure you know that.” Anne stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit flustered.”
“That’s natural.” Luke gave a kind smile. “As you can imagine, I don’t have loads of happy clients considering my field. I’m used to a bit of nerves.”
“Of course,” Anne gushed. “Thank you.”
Luke cleared his throat and pulled a stack of papers toward himself. He appeared to be nearing his late fifties, a trim, dark-skinned man who was handsome in a stately sort of way. His hair was cut short, his clothes well fitted though casual. Wire-framed glasses covered his eyes.
“You said you had news for me?” Anne pressed when Luke didn’t look up from the pages on his desk. “I guess I should start by saying thank you for taking my…er, my case. Eliza speaks very highly of you.”
Luke gave a faint smile, his eyes flicking up for a brief second, then back down at the file before him.
“Right, I should probably keep my lips zipped about your other clients,” Anne said quickly. “Privacy, top-secret stuff, and all that.”
Luke glanced once more toward Harry. “I do have some updates for you. Are you sure now is a good time?”
“It’s best if I know sooner rather than later.”
Luke ran a hand over the top page of the report, seeming to consider his words carefully. “I was able to look into your husband’s Tuesday evening activities, and I believe I can shed some light on the situation.”
Anne’s heart pounded.
“The apartment where he spends his time…” Luke looked at Harry yet again, then finally brought his gaze to rest on Anne’s. “The lease is in his name.”
“What do you mean, in his name?”
