Page 82 of You Know Why

I roll my eyes at him. It hurts. My head is throbbing.

“This is a fantasy you’ve concocted. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and that’s not because of my faulty memory.”

“Facts don’t lie, ma’am.” Sheehan is getting frustrated, and the detective puts a hand on his arm to calm him. They put off a vibe together. They’re involved. I wonder if that matters.

“And what is Detective Lee’s role in all of this?” Margot asks. She’s pale as milk, two spots of hectic red on her cheeks. It happens to both of us when we’re upset; I assume I’m the mirror image at the moment. “If the FBI has taken over the case, why are you still involved?”

“She worked the case of Chloe Locke’s murder,” he replies simply. “Andrew’s first wife.”

That bizarre echo sounds in my head. Eden. “I suppose he didn’t tell you he murdered his first wife?”

“I was not aware that my husband was married before.” But this sounds weak and unconvincing. I am losing faith. In the onslaught from these people, it’s impossible to keep up any sort of pretense. What I remember, what I don’t, what is real, what is imagined . . . Tears choke my throat. I stare at the screen, at the face of the stranger behind the wheel of the vehicle that nearly took my life. The one they say is my husband. But it’s not Trey. I know that isn’t him. It can’t be. He would never try to kill me. He came to tell me he wasn’t guilty, and for me to remember—

“And I will do anything for you, Brooklyn. Anything.”

Oh, Trey. My darling. What have you done?

I can’t hold them back anymore; the tears spill over onto my cheeks. I don’t bother to wipe them away. They need to see how damaging they’re being with this line of questioning. Sheehan takes pity on me and closes the iPad.

“I understand how difficult this is, Mrs. Locke. To learn your husband is part of an active investigation of this magnitude has to be overwhelming. You were clearly upset by the news of his first wife’s demise. You fled into the street and were hit by this car. It was lying in wait, by the way. Waiting for you to leave the house, parked around the corner, with a view of Eden Barrow’s front porch. It was a crime of opportunity, but one that was clearly planned.”

“Now my own husband didn’t just try to kill me, he stalked me, too, after flying me to another state, and somehow managed to pull all this together without knowing where we were heading after we were bumped from a flight? Do you hear yourselves?”

A frustrated sob escapes my chest. I glance at Theresa Lee again. Her face is soft, blurry, gentle. I remember that same look when she handed me something, something that made me so upset I ran from the house.

The file. The file on the murdered girl.

Trey tried to kill me.

No, he didn’t. I don’t believe that for a second. I would have had an inkling of the kind of darkness that was needed to be capable of taking a life, sharing his bed all these years.

Sheehan is speaking again, pulling me from my thoughts. “To find out he tried to kill you—twice—has to hurt. I understand you’ll need some time to come to terms with this. But your husband is a wanted man. I have to find him before he tries to hurt you again. That he’s trying to eliminate you tells us you know something that can impact this investigation. All I ask is that you continue to keep an open mind, and if you remember anything—anything—that feels out of place, you get in touch.”

He sets down two cards. “The felonies your husband has committed are going to mean a long jail sentence—maybe even the death penalty. We’ll put him away where he can’t hurt you again. I promise you that.”

“What about Eden Barrow? Is she in danger?”

“Everyone connected to your husband is in danger. We have people watching over Ms. Barrow, your sister, your kids, and you, of course.”

I hear the words he’s speaking but can’t comprehend them. I blame my bruised brain, but maybe I just don’t want to allow the thought that my sweet, silly, adorable husband is some kind of criminal mastermind. The idea of Trey committing any of these crimes feels ridiculous, like a play being staged, something I absolutely wouldn’t enjoy because the actors were too over the top, too on the nose, not disappearing into their roles but becoming caricatures of the characters they were supposed to portray.

But he is not kidding. The gleam in Sheehan’s eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way Lee watches me like I’m a bomb that might go off at any second . . . My husband is in trouble. Serious trouble.

And so am I.

Try, Try Again

Theresa

Theresa and Drake take a booth at the deserted Waffle House down the street from the hospital. This time of day, the place should be hopping, but for some odd reason, it’s just them, a waitress, and a line cook. After sweet teas are dropped on the table and their orders taken, Drake speaks.

“Do you believe her?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell if she’s legitimately scrambled or lying through her teeth.”

“There’s an awful lot at stake for her. If she knows where he is—”

“If she knows where the money is. That’s the important part.”