Page 29 of You Know Why

The incredulity. Of course I’d spoken to him. What kind of human would allow the man who killed their sister to walk away fully unscathed? Maybe I hadn’t handled it as well as I could have, but I was sure I’d had quite an effect on him. I decide to let it pass for now.

“I did. And guess what happened? He pretended not to know me, then bailed. Left the airport and disappeared somewhere, leaving his family behind. I ended up helping Brooklyn. I babysat while TSA took her and the plane apart. Someone called it in, thought he might be a security risk to the flight.”

“Someone being you, I assume?” There is a hint of amusement now and something else, awe, maybe, in Theresa’s voice.

“Okay, yes, I might have sounded the alarm. Wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Listen, he saw me, and he bolted. I needed to stop him from disappearing again, and I didn’t think his wife was safe at all. I thought security would catch up to him, but he managed to leave the terminal entirely before they even thought to look at the cameras. I wasn’t surprised that he ran when he saw me. I just didn’t expect him to leave his family behind.” I pause a moment. “Though how stupid of me. Loyalty never was his strong suit. Of course he bailed on them. Of course he ran. That’s his MO.”

And now I’m fighting the urge to slap myself again because I drove him away. I pinch my arm, hard, hard enough to leave a bruise. It helps me focus.

“Some things never change,” Theresa says. I’m not sure if she is referring to Andrew or if she’s somehow able to peer through the phone and see me damaging my fragile skin. I put my hand flat on the table. My nails are bitten to the quick; blood is oozing from my cuticles. When did I do that? I broke that bad habit years ago. Hadn’t even realized.

I grab a tissue and wind it around my fingers. “Theresa. He’s in the area. I have all his details. I want you to reopen the file, and we can start looking for him. His wife wants to know where he is—she’ll help us. He lives in Tennessee now, and—”

My phone beeps. I glance at the screen. A text. From Brooklyn Locke.

Holy. Shit.

Are you still up?

“Hold on, Theresa—actually, I’ll call you right back.”

I click off without waiting and dial Brooklyn’s number. She answers, distressed. Her credit card is not working, her sister is coming . . . I barely listen, joy coursing through my veins. This was meant to happen. This was meant to be.

I reissue the invitation to stay with me, which Brooklyn accepts. I hang up, stupefied, and call Theresa again.

“Change of plans. Brooklyn is coming here to stay tonight, with the kids. Something is wrong with her credit cards. How quickly can you be here?”

“You want me to come to Atlanta? Now?”

“Damn straight. Bring the file. We have to tell her what Andrew did to Chloe, and you are the only one she’ll believe. She’s starry eyed over the creep.”

“Women always are,” Theresa murmurs. “All right. I’m on my way. It will be a couple of hours. I have to wrap up a few things here.”

“Thank you.” I mean this sincerely. Without Theresa as my foil, I fear there is no way Brooklyn will hear me out when I share the truth. That her husband murdered my sister. My sweet, stupid, also starry-eyed sister.

I have to warn Brooklyn. If Andrew is acting erratically, his new wife will no doubt be next. I can’t have another dead girl on my conscience.

“Eden? Good job.” And Theresa is gone, leaving me staring at the phone in wonder. She’s never taken the kind route before.

This day just keeps getting better.

Welcome to My Nightmare

Brooklyn

I’m grateful to find that Eden is true to her word: Her place really is only ten minutes from the airport. The taxi drives under the signs to Hartsfield, then dives off the next exit. We pass an impossibly green golf course and do a few more turns before pulling up in front of a stone-and-siding two-story Craftsman with a cute dormer jutting out of what was probably once an attic. There is a wraparound porch with triangular pillars, and the neighbors to the west are in their yard, decorating for the holidays.

Eden comes out onto the porch, and they wave at her. My blood pressure drops a notch. I’ve been berating myself for agreeing to this, but Eden is clearly a part of the neighborhood and is a trusted member of the airline. There’s no way Matheson would have let her be involved if she weren’t.

Eden comes down the stairs into the driveway. I shove my last bit of cash into the cabbie’s hand, and Eden helps with the bags. The kids spill out of the car with whoops, and I shush them, but Eden laughs. “Let them hoot and holler. They’ve been cooped up all day.”

“You’re very good with kids.”

She simply nods. “They’re good kids. I’m so glad you called me.”