Two Widows: A totally gripping mystery and suspense novel

by Laura Wolfe

  The door to the guest room creaked open and Caroline peeked through, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “Seriously?” I said, wondering if she’d been asleep all day. “It’s after 5 p.m.”

  I’d been working since the crack of dawn, revising articles, conducting a phone interview with a casino owner in Windsor, and attending lengthy meetings with Gwen to discuss an upcoming article on the vegan restaurant scene in Detroit. Meanwhile, my sister had been trashing my house and napping. Our parents would be returning in five days to retrieve her, but I wasn’t sure I could make it.

  Caroline blinked. “Sorry. I must have dozed off.”

  “Can you clean up the dishes and take the garbage out?”

  “Relax. I’ll take care of it.” She rolled her eyes as I turned away.

  Closing myself into my bedroom, I kicked off my sandals and collapsed on the bed. At least Jason had cleaned up after himself. I’d need to get the house back to myself if I wanted a shot at repairing our marriage. I pulled a card from my pocket and turned it over—Isabelle Brennan, Licensed Psychologist. She’d come highly recommended from Lydia, who I’d finally called a few days ago. I’d underestimated my friend, who had not only talked me through my pain but had gone out of her way to get a babysitter for her daughter so she could meet me for lunch. I was still reeling from her revelation.

  We’d sat across the booth from each other at Panera eating our grilled paninis while she’d listened to my story. I recounted all the important points, how I’d discovered the pregnancy, found the stray earring, bought the booties at the boutique in Vermont, and arrived home a day early to the horrible surprise.

  She’d nodded along, asking all the right questions, a pained expression on her face. Her black hair hung past her shoulders, straight and shiny, and I wondered how she always stayed so put-together.

  “Jason keeps saying it was a mistake,” I said to her about halfway through our meal. “That it was just one time and she meant nothing to him. He showed up at my doorstep in the rain a couple of nights ago pleading for us to start over and saying that he’ll be a changed man. I want to believe him, but I just don’t know if he’s telling the truth.”

  Lydia shifted uncomfortably in her chair and set down the chip she’d been about to eat. “Everyone makes mistakes,” she said, nervously touching her unused silverware with her manicured fingers. “This was obviously a really big one, but I think it might be worth it to give him another chance.”

  I raised my eyebrow at her. It wasn’t the response I’d been expecting.

  “You know,” Lydia said, leaning toward me, “I cheated on Mike once.”

  Her words punched me in the stomach. The noise of the restaurant muted around me. “What? When?”

  “Just after we got married.” She shook her head, her mouth stuck in a grimace. “It’s not public knowledge, so…” She pressed her lips into a thin line and pretended to turn a key next to them.

  I nodded, but once again, the world I thought I’d lived in had been knocked off-kilter. My perfect friend had cheated on her perfect husband.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Lydia continued, “but there was this guy at the gym who was always flirting with me. He wasn’t even that good-looking, but I liked the attention. I started working out at times when I knew he’d be there.” She paused and glanced out the window. “One night, he asked me out for drinks afterward. I knew it was wrong, but I said yes. I guess you could say one thing led to another.”

  “But why? You and Mike always seemed so happy.”

  “There is no answer, except that I screwed up. I definitely didn’t love the guy. I never stopped loving Mike.”

  “Does Mike know?”

  “Yeah.” Lydia stared at her hands for a minute before looking up. “I felt so guilty that I ended up telling him everything a couple of weeks later. He was so pissed. He didn’t talk to me for three days. I thought he was going to leave me.” A deep crease formed in the center of Lydia’s forehead. “That’s when we started seeing a marriage counselor.”

  “And that helped?”

  “Yes.” She played with the ends of her hair and smiled. “I’m so grateful Mike gave me another chance. We wouldn’t have McKenzie now if he hadn’t.”

  McKenzie was their ridiculously cute one-year-old daughter. Tears gathered in the corners of Lydia’s eyes. “Our sessions with Dr. Brennan made our relationship so much stronger in the end.” Lydia dug a card out of her purse and slid it across the table to me. “This is the person who helped us. I think you and Jason should meet with her.”

  By the end of the meal, I felt guilty for not confiding in Lydia sooner. Her married life hadn’t been as ideal as I’d believed. Lydia had made a mistake, but she was a good person. Hearing her story reassured me that I might be doing the right thing by giving Jason another chance. Maybe we could work through our issues just like Lydia and Mike had. Maybe Jason could finally deal with his mom’s death, too.

  Now, a week later, I stared at my closet, wondering what to wear for dinner. At Lydia’s urging, Jason and I had already attended a session with Dr. Brennan, who had allowed us to open up to each other in ways we never had before. Jason had sat next to me, holding my hand and listening to me describe the pain he’d caused as my tears hardened into anger and back into tears again. He apologized, again and again, his watery eyes showing remorse for his actions. He’d admitted he’d been selfish. He was insecure, he said, afraid I’d leave him, just like his mother had disappeared from his life without warning. It had taken a horrible mistake to make him see how lucky he already was.

  After we’d bared our souls to each other inside the safety of the psychologist’s office, I’d finally accepted Jason’s dinner invitation. He’d planned a date at our favorite French bistro. It was meant to be our first attempt at reconciliation, a time to reconnect on neutral ground before I considered whether he could move back into our house. I rifled through the hanging clothes and selected a low-cut black dress with white trim. He loved this one. It would show off my enhanced cleavage and it was made of stretchy material to accommodate my thickening midsection.

  After freshening up, I slipped on the dress, smoothed back my hair into a low ponytail and reapplied my eyeshadow, liner, and lipstick. I tried to remember the last time I’d attempted to make myself look sexy but couldn’t recall. Maybe I needed to put in more effort, too.

  Wearing my three-inch heels, I stepped down the stairs to check out the progress in the kitchen.

  Caroline was pulling the overflowing garbage bag out of the bin but stopped when she saw me. “Ooh la la!” Caroline whistled. “Hot mama. Who’s your date with?”

  “Jason.” I glanced away, feeling guilty I hadn’t shared more of the events of the past week with her.

  “Are you serious?” Caroline loosened her grip on the bag, her mouth turning down. “That asshole doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “But we’ve been talking. We had a session with a marriage counselor. I think he’s truly sorry. I have to try and move past it.” I patted my stomach. “For the baby.”

  Caroline bit her lip, studying me. At last she nodded, her face softening. “I hope you guys can figure it out.”

  She dragged the garbage bag out the door. I watched in awe, my feet cemented to the ground. How was Caroline so accepting of me? Suddenly, I felt like the bad sister, the ungrateful one. She reappeared a moment later and washed her hands.

  Two short beeps jolted me from my thoughts.

  Caroline grabbed her purse from the counter. “See ya!” she said. “I’m gonna go hang out with Josh. Be back later.”

  My muscles constricted, but I held back my impulse to object. She wasn’t giving me a hard time about Jason. I could let her get away with this. Plus, maybe it was healthy for her to hang out with someone who’d gone through the same experiences.

  The sink still teemed with dirty dishes, but at least she’d taken out the garbage. I held my tongue. “Bye. Don’t s
tay out too late.”

  She looked back at me and raised an eyebrow. “Right back at ya. Make him earn your trust.”

  I gave her a slight nod and locked the door behind her, noticing my bare fingers. I’d pulled off my wedding band and engagement ring after discovering Jason’s lies. Maybe it was time to start wearing them again. It would show him I hadn’t given up.

  Back in my bedroom, I opened the jewelry box where I’d stashed the rings. I’d been so desperate to get them out of my sight that I’d shoved them into one compartment or another. I dug through the piles of bracelets and earrings, searching. They weren’t there.

  My breath quickened as I recalled my frenzied trips to the garbage dumpster on the horrible night I’d returned from Vermont. Was it possible I’d thrown them out? Closing my eyes, I struggled to think back to that night. The rage and despair that had driven me to clear out the bedroom had also dulled my memory. While my body retrieved the agonizing emotions I’d experienced a little too easily, my mind had responded to the trauma in the opposite way, by blacking out my words and actions. I’d lost entire minutes and hours from that night.

  I stepped back and glanced around the room, choosing to believe I hadn’t thrown away the rings. That would have been too extreme, too final, even for me in my damaged state. If for nothing else, I would have held onto them for the resale value. My eyes landed on the clock. It was 6:30 p.m. There were still thirty minutes until my date with Jason. Where were they?

  Maybe, in my haste, I’d tossed the rings into the top drawer of my dresser instead of into the jewelry box. My fingers sifted through my underwear and bras, reaching back into the far corners of the shallow drawer, but came up empty.

  My jaw stiffened as an indescribable coldness leeched into my body, the sickening realization setting in. My rings weren’t here. What if Caroline had taken them? I hated myself for having the thought, but her past behavior had trained me to think this way. What if she’d swiped them to buy heroin for herself and her new friend? She’d done the same with Dad’s treasured class ring a couple of years earlier. I steadied myself against the dresser and breathed deliberately in and out, in and out. No. Caroline wouldn’t have done that. I couldn’t believe it. Not after all we’d been through in the last couple of weeks.

  Despite her less-than-desirable new friend and her laziness, she hadn’t shown most of the common indicators of drug use. At least, not that I could tell. I straightened my shoulders and shook my head. The rings would turn up. My imagination had been spiraling out of control lately. I smoothed down my dress and went downstairs.

  As I reached into the cupboard for a glass, something moved in my peripheral vision, a dark shape passing outside the window. The neighbors’ dog barked. Electricity bristled through me as I replaced the glass and slunk toward the window, pressing myself against the wall. It wasn’t Jason. We’d agreed to meet at the restaurant. I peeked outside but didn’t see any movement.

  Ducking down, I tiptoed to the front of the house and peered through a tiny gap in the curtain. A black Escalade idled next to the curb. A stream of exhaust floated from its tailpipe and vanished into the air. I held my breath as a broad-shouldered man paced across our yard directly in front of me. His thinning hair was slicked back and a gold chain hung around his neck. The leather coat he wore couldn’t conceal the gut that hung over his belt. Despite the evening hour, tinted sunglasses covered his eyes. Everything about the man was greasy. Three loud knocks pounded on the door. My heart pounded just as violently.

  “I know you’re in there!”

  I crouched down lower, my hands shaking.

  “Yo! Give me my money!” More pounding.

  I waited, staring at the wall and trying not to breathe. My eyes darted around, searching for my phone. I’d left it in the kitchen. I could make a run for it if it came to that. At last, a car door slammed and an engine revved. I released a breath as I straightened up. My heart raced. I peeked through the curtain. He was gone.

  I’d never seen the guy before, but he wasn’t someone to mess with. He looked like he could have been connected to the mafia. I thought of Caroline and her new friend. Her unusual sleep patterns and irregular pupils. My missing rings. Not again. I pressed my hands to my forehead as I imagined the call I’d have to make to my parents. What had she done?

  Twenty-Three

  Gloria

  Now

  It was a lazy summer morning, the kind that normally encouraged lounging on the couch and basking in the melody of birds chirping through an open window. But I was finding it more difficult to relax the longer Amanda remained missing. Ethan was sleeping upstairs. I closed the Thirty-Day Life Coach workbook, proud of myself for how much I’d accomplished.

  I’d hoped to find another book by the same author at the bookstore yesterday, but it had been difficult to browse while holding a full cup of coffee. Beth’s odd behavior had left me flustered, even after she apologized for leaving the café in such a hurry. The crowd in the enclosed space had made her feel claustrophobic and had caused her to panic. I’d patted her shoulder and told her it was fine, but I worried about what kind of review she must be planning for the little shop.

  My head sank into the cushion behind me, the morning sun casting a gentle light across the living room floor. Weeding the garden had been on my agenda, but Rascal had me trapped on the couch. He groaned and shifted position in his sleep, his warm head resting on my thigh.

  Lifting the remote, I clicked on the TV. The familiar white-haired newscaster spoke in his usual dire tone:

  Breaking news. Another murdered woman has been found in Petoskey. The victim has been identified as Amanda Jenkins, a local woman who has been missing since last week.

  I leaned forward, my stomach lurching. I couldn’t breathe.

  A farmer discovered the body early this morning in an irrigation ditch outside of town. The cause of death is cited as a single gunshot to the head. Police haven’t commented on whether the murder might be related to the recent death of local hairdresser, Ella Burkholter, the twenty-six-year-old woman who was discovered strangled to death last month on the public beach. No suspects have been named in either case.

  I gasped for air, my throat constricting.

  “Ethan,” I said. He was upstairs in his room. “Ethan!” Rascal sprang from the couch and ran to the window.

  My son’s figure appeared in the stairway. “What’s wrong?”

  I pointed to the TV where Amanda’s photo hung on the screen with the words Body of Missing Woman Found. It was the same photo they’d displayed when she’d first gone missing. She wore a black V-neck sweater, and a delicate silver necklace hung from her neck. Her lips held a mischievous smile.

  “Oh, my God.” Ethan stepped toward the TV. His eyes bulged as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Is that her?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Ethan pulled on his shoes and craned his neck toward the window again. “We should go over and see if Beth is okay.”

  I followed him, stumbling toward the tiny house with Rascal trailing behind. Beth would be devastated when we told her, but it was better if she heard it from us. We ducked through the trees, discovering her truck was gone.

  “She’s not home,” I said.

  Ethan ignored me and pounded on the door. “Beth!”

  “Her truck’s gone.” My voice was calm, even though my chest heaved. I’d gone out for coffee with Beth yesterday, so I knew she hadn’t disappeared. Still, I hoped she was somewhere safe. “Maybe she’s gone back to the police station.”

  Ethan stepped away from the door, placing his hands on his hips and breathing heavily. We trudged back through the trees, the garage apartment rising before us. Joe’s truck was missing, too.

  Ethan motioned toward the apartment. “Where’s this guy running off to all the time?”

  “Art fairs, he says.” My stomach flipped as I remembered his peculiar emergence from the woods and his sudden departure, both in the middle of the night, pl
us the mysterious scratches on his face. Was it possible he was hiding something in the middle of the forest?

  Ethan shook his head, disgusted. “This is all my fault.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I should have done the background check on Joe, but I put it off. I forgot.” He marched toward the farmhouse. “I’m doing it right now.”

  He barged through the front door and took the steps two at a time up to his room. As he left, I pulled out my phone and wrote a text to Beth.

  Are you okay?

  I hit send and waited, but there was no response. A moment later, Ethan clomped down the stairs, set up his laptop on the kitchen counter and began typing.

  “Joe Miles, right?” he asked.

  “That’s the name he gave me.”

  Ethan pulled out a credit card and entered the numbers. He leaned back.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, a vision of Joe forcing my window open flashed in my mind. I tried not to let my imagination wander down a dark path. “Did you find anything?” I asked.

  “It’s searching.” He crouched in front of the screen, tapping a key. “Nothing on Joseph Miles. He lives in Detroit. No aliases. Forty-three years old. Got a speeding ticket four years ago. That’s it.” Ethan started typing again. “Is Beth’s real name Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. Elizabeth Ramsay. But I really don’t think…”

  Ethan held up his hand and continued typing. He leaned back and waited. He studied the screen. “She lived in Royal Oak.”

  I nodded. “I know that.”

  “She used to go by a different name—Liz McCormack.”

  “Yes. That was probably her married name. Her husband died in an accident. She told me all about it.”

  Ethan ignored me. “No criminal record for her either.”

  “Well, of course there’s not.” I shook my head at the thought.

  The keys continued clicking.