That wasn’t hard. He was still caved in on himself, speechless. He followed her through the doors and to the resource desk. The reference librarian behind the counter barely looked their way when Aubrey asked for The Tennessean archives from nine years ago. She was impressively businesslike. They were just a couple of kids doing an assignment.
A minute later, the librarian handed over the box and pointed them to the microfiche machine. Aubrey fed the film into the machine like she’d done it a hundred times.
Josh whispered, “What are we looking for?”
“The name Ed Hardsten connected with a crime.”
“That will take years.”
“No, it won’t. What month did this all happen?”
“April.”
“Easy. Trust me.”
The first story they found wasn’t front-page news, but it was the lead on the local section. The headline read Local Man Indicted on Fraud and Conspiracy to Murder: Ed Hardsten to Serve Ten Years.
Aubrey read the story to Josh, stumbling a little over some of the Latin terms, but they got the gist of it. As her foster brother, Tyler, would say, Ed Hardsten was a bad dude.
Aubrey could understand why Daisy had said he was dead. She was rather fascinated, actually. Perfect Daisy, who looked down her nose at Aubrey, had been married to a tattooed, clearly naughty almost-murderer.
Aubrey expertly printed out the story, then searched some more. She found one more reference to Hardsten, in another murder investigation a few years later, but couldn’t find anything else. It was enough, though. Josh was satisfied.
They returned the microfiche to the librarian. Aubrey folded the page into a small square and put it in the back pocket of her jeans. She could tell Josh didn’t want it. That would be too much to ask.
“It’s two o’clock. We can go home now.”
Josh nodded, and they headed toward his house. His neighborhood bordered the back edge of Dragon Park, Craftsman-style houses in dark wood with short driveways and green lawns, sheltered by tall leafy trees. An upstanding area. Near where Aubrey used to live. Before death and Sandy and Tyler—her uncomfortable new life. She hated coming here. Hated remembering.
The huge mosaic-covered cement dragon cast shadows on them as they walked by. Community art, it was called, this massive plaything that gave the park its name. Every once in a while, Metro would sponsor a picnic, and the neighbors would come to glue fresh tiles to the dragon’s side.
Aubrey briefly touched the small square tips of cracked tiles that made up her favorite mosaic, the girl in red, as they passed by. A delighted scream sounded near her head. She watched a small girl slide off the dragon’s nose and fly into a heap at her laughing mother’s feet. Bitterness swelled inside her.
That should be me. I should have a red dress like that, and live on the edge of the park, and spend the afternoon playing with my mother.
She picked up a rock. Took a step toward the girl. Josh slowed, looked at her queerly.
Aubrey swallowed, pocketed the rock, stowed her anger. It was Josh’s turn to be upset now. Josh, who had all the things Aubrey wanted but threw them away at every turn. For her.
They timed it so they’d arrive at 2:30 p.m. on the dot. School was normally dismissed at 2:25 and the walk was short, only five minutes. He couldn’t wait anymore, practically pulled her along in his haste to get home.
When they arrived, legs sore from the walk, Aubrey hung back outside the house.
“I should probably go.”
“No, Aubrey, please. Please stay with me.” His face was still crumpled, and he was pale. Even so, he was the most handsome boy she’d ever seen. How could she abandon him now, when he needed her the most?
Against her better judgment, she agreed. He gave her a brief, hard hug, and they went into the house.
Daisy was in the kitchen, making cookies. There were always fresh cookies at Josh’s house. Aubrey’s stomach rumbled. She’d really like to live in a world where she could come home to fresh cookies instead of the unwashed, snaggletoothed glory that was Sandy.
But then she’d have to have someone like Daisy to tell her what to do.
Aubrey was sure her mother was never like Daisy. She was sure of it. The memories she had of her mother and father were beginning to fade a bit. She couldn’t remember the exact color of her mother’s eyes, or her father’s voice. But she remembered real warmth, real love. Daisy’s smiles and cookies and hugs, they just didn’t feel genuine.
“Hey, Joshie. Home early today. How was school?” Smile, smile, toothy crocodile smile, until she saw Aubrey lingering by the garage door, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “Oh. You brought her along.”
Josh lost his composure the minute the tone of his mother’s voice changed.
“You said he was dead.”
“Said who was dead, Josh?”
“My father!”
Aubrey was reminded of a rabbit she’d once seen caught in a trap. Daisy’s eyes went wild and wide; her mouth opened in shock. After a moment, she recovered and whispered in a harsh, nasty voice, “What did you just say?”
“Ed Hardsten. That’s my dad’s name, right?”
“Josh—”
“He’s not dead. He was in jail. For being hired to murder someone. But you knew that. You’ve been lying to me for years.” He gestured to Aubrey, who realized at once that handing over the incriminating paper was going to make it look like she was the culprit here. She cursed herself for not thinking of that sooner.
“Aubrey, give it.”
She took a deep breath and pulled the paper from her back pocket. Josh ripped it from her hand and unfolded it, practically threw it at Daisy. She glanced at the headline, then looked up, assuming the worst, as she always did.
“You little bitch. How dare you egg my son into looking for his father? Leave, now. You are not welcome in this house,” Daisy said to Aubrey.
“She had nothing to do with it, and she’s staying,” Josh proclaimed.
Daisy’s stare was malevolent; Aubrey started backing away.
“He just got out,” Josh said, poison in his voice.
Daisy broke the hateful gaze, looked at her son. “What?”
“You heard me. He isn’t dead. He’s been alive this whole time, and you’ve been keeping it from me. When were you planning to tell me the truth, Mother?”
It was too overwhelming. Aubrey felt tears well up in her eyes. She’d never heard hatred in Josh’s voice before. He and his mother were in some sort of glaring standoff, and she wasn’t exactly sure what was happening.
Daisy crumpled the paper into a little ball. “He’s dead to me,” she said. “He should be dead to you. After what he did. All the people he hurt. He was supposed to stay away from you, from us. It’s part of the agreement. How did you find out?”
“I’ve known this whole time that he was alive. He came to see me today.”
Daisy sucked in her breath. She and Josh circled each other like rabid dogs, staring, neither one saying anything. Aubrey hated this. She hated to see Josh in pain, and she hated Daisy for putting him through this. A little voice registered what he’d said. He’d known all along his father was alive.
He’d lied to her, and that stung. But the lie suddenly felt bigger, meaner, and she looked at Josh with new respect. This was important to him. Important enough to create a fiction for her sake. She should be angry, but instead, she was flooded with love.
Daisy finally stopped moving and turned to Aubrey, her voice ringing with authority. She pointed toward the door, enunciated every word.
“This is a family matter. You are not a part of this family. Leave now.”
This time, Josh didn’t argue with his mother, so Aubrey did the only thing she knew to do. She ran.
She didn’t see Josh again for a week, and when she did, he was reserved
. Still sweet and loving, but there was a new shadow hiding behind his eyes. She hated to see it. He was supposed to be pure and clean; she was the one with the secrets and shadows.
Knowing his dad was the worst kind of criminal changed Josh. He vowed to never be that kind of person. He was so adamant about it that Aubrey felt kind of bad because Tyler was “that kind of person.” Tyler, who stole sweets from the Walgreens for her, who brought her water when she had nightmares. Who, at thirteen, had already spent a night in jail. Who was teaching Aubrey all his little tricks, how to palm a pack of gum, slide a magazine down the back of her pants, how to inhale on a cigarette.
Josh would be furious with her if he knew. She’d accepted that she’d have to deal with Josh’s straight-arrow ways, that it was part of loving him. The price of doing business. A price she was more than willing to pay. Josh didn’t need to know everything.
CHAPTER 23
Aubrey
Today
The sun broke through the windows, spilling onto their shoulders. They’d never made it off the couch, and Aubrey’s eyes opened to the happy pale blues of Winston standing nearby, tail wagging, ready to go out.
She tried to wriggle out from underneath Chase’s still sleeping form, but he had her pinned. No help for it, she’d have to wake him.
She shifted her arm, realized it was wedged between them, resting against his cock. Without opening his eyes, Chase gave a small groan and smiled. “Do that again.” She giggled, she downright giggled, and moved her hand gently.
“Mmm. I like waking up like this.”
“Well, if you don’t stop liking it so much, Winston will pee on the rug. Give me a minute, all right?”
Reluctantly, she rolled away, whipped a shirt over her head, opened the back door, and let Winston run into the yard.
When she turned back, Chase was propped up on one elbow, sunlight glowing on his skin, an eyebrow cocked.
“Nice view,” he said.
Her stomach flipped. Amazing how he could do that with two words. She let her eyes sweep over his body. “Agreed. Want some coffee?”
“Tea. And only if you promise we can drink it in bed.”
“That I can do.”
She went into the kitchen, acutely aware of the breeze between her legs. This felt so normal, so right. Parading around half naked in front of a man she hardly knew, and it didn’t faze her. He made her feel safe. She was glad he’d come.
They had the tea, made love again, took a shower together. Hungry, they went down to make breakfast. It was a nice day, so after they’d eaten, she suggested they sit outside and get some vitamin D.
They settled on her tiny front porch. Chase threw a stick for Winston, who went mad with the game, making them both laugh.
Chase held her hand. “The other night, you were telling me about the trial. Were you ever afraid you would be found guilty, even though you weren’t?”
“That’s a serious topic for such a lovely day.”
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I was just curious, what it must have been like. I can’t even imagine being falsely accused.”
“It was hell,” she said, remembering. “They didn’t believe me at all, at the beginning.”
Five Years Ago
The cop—his name was Parks—spoke with a southern accent, slow and smooth, trying to keep her calm while getting at the truth. He didn’t believe her. She could tell he didn’t believe her, and the panic welled in her chest once again.
“Mrs. Hamilton, please describe what your husband was wearing to me again.”
“White button-down, khakis, Topsiders with a white sole. I’ve told you this already.”
Aubrey’s voice shifted into monotone. It had been five hours since Josh’s disappearance. Five of the longest hours she’d ever experienced.
“How long has he been gone?”
You know how long. Five motherfucking hours, and you’re just sitting here smirking at me instead of helping me find him.
Aubrey tried to say the words aloud and found them stuck in her throat. Instead, she took a sip of the water the cop placed in front of her and tried again.
“There’s blood all over my house. We need to be looking for him, not sitting here talking. Please, why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you help?”
The cop looked at her with something that could be interpreted as humor, or could just be a tic that he had, a quirk that made his mouth sneak into a smile when he listened to Aubrey talk. Like he didn’t believe a word of what Aubrey was saying. Like he knew something he wasn’t sharing. Like he thought . . .
“Mrs. Hamilton. Where could he have gone? You say you came to the hotel with him, and he left to join the bachelor party. But no one at the hotel can confirm that you arrived with your husband.”
“This is insane. You’re acting like I have a clue where Josh might be. I don’t. Not at all. I kissed him good-bye at the front desk, in front of the concierge, for God’s sake. Surely he remembers that.”
“The concierge doesn’t remember seeing either one of you.”
Aubrey smacked her hand onto the table, the slap against the wood reverberating in the tiny room. The emotions from the past five hours were sneaking up on her. Never good at pretending she was fine when she wasn’t, Aubrey felt the tears begin to prick at the corners of her eyes. She fought them, knowing it would be a losing battle.
“I do not know where he is. Please. You have to help me.”
Hold it together, Aubrey. Don’t cry in front of this man. He won’t understand.
She couldn’t help it. A tear slipped down her cheek, another. Suddenly she was gushing so hard the cop had the decency to look embarrassed.
“I don’t know where he is,” she managed between sobs. “He would never just leave. He sent me a drink, at the bar, after I texted him that I was bored. I expected him to show up, but he didn’t. That’s all I know. Something has happened to him. Please. You have to help me find him.”
• • •
The tears dried up. She hired a lawyer. Told him the story without inflection, or losing control the way she had with the cop.
About the accident. She’d been in the bar. She’d texted Josh. He sent her a drink. He’d never shown.
After an hour of waiting, she’d gone looking for him, ran across Arlo, one of the groomsmen, getting sick in the bushes. She’d helped him, and he told her how upset Sulman was that Josh hadn’t shown for the bachelor party.
She’d panicked. Known instantly something was wrong. It took two hours to convince everyone else.
By then it was too late.
Josh was gone. Without a trace.
The police hadn’t believed her story. Oh, they’d been solicitous, but she could feel the eyes on the back of her neck, the sly whispers. When the investigation into Josh’s disappearance began in earnest, they’d pull Aubrey in to the CJC to “talk,” stop by her house at all hours. Metro homicide interviewed the waitstaff at the hotel, and none would admit to delivering a gin and tonic to a lone woman in the Jack Daniel’s Lounge. Aubrey had gone through photos of the staff herself and hadn’t seen the waiter either, but she really hadn’t been paying attention.
That particular instance became one of great interest to the detective assigned to Josh’s case. There was nothing to corroborate her story about the drink. Which meant, in the detective’s mind, there were nearly three lost hours in her story, after the accident and before she connected with Arlo Tonturian.
Nothing physical tied Aubrey to the blood-soaked scene at their house, but that didn’t matter. They always look at the spouse first, and those three hours of doubt were enough for the police to tear apart her life. Once they unsealed her juvenile record and realized Aubrey wasn’t a plain-Jane suburban housewife, they went at her doubly hard. When they found out about the insurance policy, t
he $5 million Aubrey would get in the event of Josh’s death, put into place a week before, the district attorney decided to go forward with the case. There wasn’t enough evidence from the start, but that didn’t stop him. He bandied around the possibility of a murder for hire, and the grand jury bought it. His performance must have been masterful because she was bound over for trial and arrested for first-degree murder. The DA went on the news that night, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, bragging that they’d gotten murder convictions without bodies before.
The Nashville media joined in and did quite a job on her, turning her into a devious liar with a sordid past. A black widow nestled in their midst. They posited she’d snuck away from the party, murdered her husband, planted herself in the bar for an alibi, and, after the appropriate amount of time had passed, made a show of looking for him. After all, $5 million was a lot of money.
In the middle of all of this, as hours grew to days grew to weeks, Josh was simply gone. During the long, cold, hard days after he disappeared, as Aubrey was buffeted by the hurricane-force winds of the investigation and arrest and trial, she became the queen of vacillation.
Maybe he was dead. Maybe she’d imagined the drink. Maybe the media was right, she had some sort of Jekyll-and-Hyde split personality, one side a mild-mannered Montessori teacher, the other a scheming Mata Hari who, with malice aforethought, murdered her husband and successfully discarded his body where no one could find it.
The reports became more salacious by the day. Her lawyer always brought her the papers when he came to discuss the next day’s testimony; the headlines screamed at her.
She could almost believe she was as wicked as they claimed.
Daisy had not helped things. She’d volunteered to be a witness for the prosecution. Aubrey had to sit in the stifling courtroom looking at the face of the woman she’d known for so many years as she spun truth into lies, making Aubrey’s entire life look like one long episode of Law & Order.
After a week of listening to people cast aspersions on her character, it was her turn. Her attorney did a wonderful job, setting everything perfectly. She told her story without crying, stayed strong, resolute, humble.
No One Knows Page 12
