Page 33 of You Know Why

Eden dishes out the ice cream, and the kids eat politely but not with the enthusiasm I’d expect. Four pushes his away after only finishing half. “Mom, I’m tired.”

Neve seconds this, and I’m not about to nag them about being wasteful.

“I’ll just get them settled.” I take the two upstairs, grateful they aren’t fighting me. They brush their teeth in silence, eyes drooping. Neve is yawning broadly and is quick to hop into her pj’s and slide under the covers in the big queen bed.

Four is more watchful. He allows me to tuck him in, then whispers, “Mom, something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I don’t want to lie anymore. Four is a precocious nine anyway.

“Daddy left the airport and didn’t tell me where he was going. I don’t know why. I’m trying to find out. Miss Eden has a friend who is a detective coming over, and I’m going to talk to her and see what she thinks.”

“Why would Daddy leave us?”

I will fix this. Don’t trust anyone.

Bring us the money he stole, every dime of it, or he dies.

The wobble in Four’s voice makes me want to scream. “I don’t think he would unless there was something very important he had to do. I’m trying to figure it out, okay? Think you can sleep? You’re tired, baby.”

I gently push his hair back from his forehead. Those eyes of his, so like Trey’s, are haunted, and I want to kiss him and hug him and tell him everything is going to be okay. But that would be a lie. I’m starting to think it won’t be okay. Things are going to get worse. It’s a premonition of sorts, a feeling that something is lurking, that the closet isn’t empty and there is a monster under the bed, waiting for the lights to go out. I certainly can’t tell my son that, though.

Luckily, he’s too worn out to push anymore. His eyes drift closed, and I kiss Neve on the forehead and wait for a few minutes to make sure they’re both asleep before I finish straightening up and repacking their bags. I just want to get out of here, get home, regroup. I won’t be able to relax until I figure out what Trey is up to, but this, sleeping in a stranger’s home, feels like not the best idea now.

A doorbell rings. I sidle to the window and look out. There is an SUV in the driveway.

This must be the detective.

Voices below, too muffled to hear properly. I take a deep breath, glance back at the kids, who are officially zonked out, both of them. I pull the covers up snugly and leave the door cracked.

Time to start digging.

Stick to the Facts

Downstairs, the air is charged. Something has changed. Something is happening.

Two faces stare up at me, and my feet drag on the staircase. I don’t want whatever is about to happen. I want to leave. Want to gather up my children and run.

You’ve made that impossible, though, haven’t you, Trey? You’ve put me in the crosshairs.

“Oh, there she is,” Eden says, overly buoyant in her greeting. “Kids okay?”

“They’re asleep. We should keep it down.”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” she stage-whispers. “This is Theresa Lee, my detective friend. She works for the Malogen Police Department—it’s a bit northeast of here. It’s where we grew up.”

The woman is petite, with a nimbus of curly silver hair and lively blue eyes. She puts out her hand. It is freezing. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. You’ve had quite a day, I hear.” Her voice is gentle, her manner sincere, and my smile is genuine.

“It’s been . . . eventful.” I retrieve my glass of wine, topped up by the ever-helpful Eden, and join them in the living room. Eden has turned on the fire. The gas smells particularly strong, and I immediately search for a carbon monoxide alarm. It’s mounted on the ceiling by the fire alarm at the arched entrance to the kitchen, its green light blinking dutifully.

I take a sip for courage, then address the cop. “I’m not sure what Eden has told you about what happened today?”

“You tell me. Everything you remember. In your own words.” Detective Lee leans forward on the couch. No notebook or pen, just a very keen attitude.

A voice in the back of my mind warns me off. Stick to the facts for now, just what they know. Don’t implicate yourself, or him, yet.

I replay the day, moment by moment. She listens attentively.

“Before we go any further, can I see a photo of your husband?”