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Mark Wilkes: Look, I know what you’re getting at, and it’s not like that. Anne’s not the one on trial here. My wife is in a different place than she was three years ago.
Defense: She was diagnosed with postpartum depression after Samuel, yes? She started drinking to cope, according to medical records. Then she left the kids with the babysitter, without notice, and didn’t turn up for three days?
Mark Wilkes: I told you, she was going through a hard time. She wasn’t sleeping and was barely eating. She’d sometimes have a bit too much wine. She’d get a little paranoid, a little nervous that she wasn’t a good mother. When she left, she was trying to do what was best for the kids. She’s not the first woman to go through something like this.
Defense: I understand. Was your wife diagnosed with postpartum depression after the twins’ birth?
Mark Wilkes: Not yet. Er—no. I mean no.
Defense: But you said specifically “not yet.” Is it possible your wife’s symptoms are returning? Is that why you’ve been checking in with Ms. Sands? Is that why your wife fired Ms. Moore, because the babysitter saw too much?
Mark Wilkes: That’s none of your business.
Defense: Can you tell me where your wife was the night of February 13?
Mark Wilkes: Out with her girlfriends. I didn’t know where. I don’t track my wife’s movements, because I trust her.
Defense: Maybe you don’t track her movements…but did you find out that she was tracking yours? How did that make you feel, Detective Wilkes?
THIRTEEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
Headlights flashed through the window of the Wilkes residence, startling Penny from her perch on the couch. She scanned the baby monitor, saw the little monsters were peacefully sleeping, and hurried into the kitchen.
The adults were home thirty minutes earlier than expected, and Penny hadn’t cleaned up her mess. Hastily, she tossed a sandwich into some plastic wrap and shoved the whole thing into her purse, along with a few granola bars from the pantry and a bag of chips that were nearing their expiration date. They probably wouldn’t be missed.
Flicking on the faucet, Penny held the Wilkeses’ bottle of vodka underneath, letting water cascade over the lip until it refilled to where it was when she’d started. Not that anyone would notice the missing Grey Goose, either, seeing as Penny had found it tucked in a shoebox in the back of Anne’s closet.
Which was a bonus because there’d be no danger of the water substitute freezing and giving away her tried-and-true high-school trick. And even if it did, Penny didn’t think that Anne would be publicly wondering about her private stash. Most women didn’t keep their liquor in a shoebox.
If Penny had learned one thing from her little hobby, it was to steal from people with secrets. People with secrets rarely reported a thief. It was too dangerous.
Breathing heavily, Penny jogged downstairs after sliding the vodka back into its safe cardboard house. Oddly enough, the front door still hadn’t opened, and Mark and Anne were nowhere in sight. Penny let out a sigh of relief, then frowned. Had she imagined the whole thing? They couldn’t have gotten lost from their driveway to their front door.
Feeling annoyed that she’d rushed for no reason, Penny peeped through the curtains and found her answer. Mark and Anne were twined around one another in plain sight. The floodlights from their driveway illuminated the sickly sweet couple as Mark—handsome, handsome Mark—pressed Anne against the minivan and slid a hand over her ass.
Penny should have given them privacy, but she couldn’t stop watching. How could such an average, normal couple be so in love after all those years? Anne and Mark had kids, responsibilities, an average home. Anne wasn’t gorgeous. Mark wasn’t sexy, but he was a cop, and that gave him immediate attractive points. They sizzled together like teenagers. Why couldn’t Penny find someone to look at her like that?
Without warning, Mark suddenly turned his head, scrunching his face to peer against the light at the windows. Penny dropped the blinds, holding her breath and hoping desperately that he hadn’t seen the twitch of the curtains. Stupid, stupid. She knew better than to push her boundaries.
A minute later, the front door opened. Both Anne’s and Mark’s faces were flushed, and private smiles fluttered just beyond reach. Penny wondered if they’d really eaten dinner at all or if they’d just gone straight to a motel. Not that Penny cared. If the love of her life ever noticed her, she would be doing the same thing. All in time, she told herself as she pasted a smile on her face.
“Your angels are sleeping,” Penny said. “They were just dolls tonight.”
Penny rattled off a list of bogus activities they’d accomplished, along with a few snacks she thought they’d eaten. She left out the part about how she’d yelled at Gretchen when the little beast wouldn’t put on her pajamas or how she’d hidden Samuel’s tablet in her backpack when he refused to take his eyes from the screen. Penny wasn’t a saint.
“Wonderful,” Anne said, forking over a fistful of cash. “Thank you so much, again, for being here. We really appreciate you helping us out lately.”
“Anytime,” Penny said. “I hope you two had a nice night. Couple of cocktails, little bit of romance? Just what the doctor ordered. You’re both glowing.”
“Yes on the romance,” Mark agreed. “But we’re not big drinkers.”
Ah, Penny thought. Hence his wife’s vodka in the shoebox. She’d tuck that little nugget away in case she ever needed it. Penny liked to have a pocketful of surprises at the ready. One never knew when they’d come in handy.
“Can Mark give you a ride home?” Anne asked. “I’d offer to do it myself, but I have to check on the kids.”
