“Courtney,” Russ said, getting her attention again. “I don’t think Anna necessarily wants to hear all this.”
“Nonsense, I’m sure she finds it fascinating—and very educational.” Courtney turned to Anna. “For example, did you know that every year in the United States, over four hundred doctors commit suicide?”
Russ gently took hold of his wife’s arm. “And if you don’t change the subject soon, as of tonight, it’s going to be four hundred and one.”
Laughing, Courtney took another hit of her drink, and then turned to Anna. “Do I sound like a disgruntled wife? If I do, let me assure you, I’m never going to leave my husband. You know, everyone thinks doctors make a ton of money. Well, not really, not when they’re starting out. Thanks to Russ’s parents, we’ve never been poor, but we also had his medical school student loans to pay off, which was like the national debt. With my movie deal, now I’m the real moneymaker between the two of us. And I’m not giving any of that up. As long as we’re living in Washington State—with its community property laws—we’re staying married.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” Russ said. He tapped Courtney’s shoulder, and then signed as he spoke. “You’re embarrassing me with all this romantic talk, sweetheart.”
Anna was silent. Courtney had just confirmed for her what Russ had said about his wife suddenly changing her mind about separating. The movie deal was recent. It made sense now. And it was reassuring to realize Russ hadn’t merely been stringing her along. At the same time, Courtney was spelling it out for her: the possibility of a divorce was next to nil.
“Let’s change the subject,” Russ announced. He looked at Anna. “So, have you put together the story on Courtney yet? Or are you doing that tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Anna answered. “I have a bunch of notes on how it’s going to be edited. We got some great material.” She reached for her glass and saw it was empty. Anna hadn’t realized how much she’d been drinking.
“Waitress!” Courtney called. It seemed like most everyone in the restaurant had heard her—including their young waitress, who hastened to their table. Courtney pointed to Anna’s empty glass—and then to her own, which was half-full.
“I’ll get those for you,” the waitress said with a cordial smile. “Meanwhile, would you like to hear about our dinner specials?”
“I can’t hear anything!” Courtney snapped, signing wildly. “I’m deaf! Just the drinks, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am, right away,” the young woman murmured. Then she withdrew.
“Jesus,” Russ grumbled. The way he signed—so close to his chest—it almost seemed like a visual whisper. “You know I can’t stand it when you’re rude to waitpeople.”
Courtney belted down the rest of her drink. “She knew I was kidding.”
“She wasn’t laughing. Anna’s not laughing, and neither am I.”
“Sorry,” Courtney muttered, glancing at Anna. Then she rolled her eyes at Russ. “I forget—you’re trying to impress your newslady crush. But I don’t have to. Anna and I have been hanging together for most of the week. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Anna nodded. “Of course.”
“Anna knows all about me. But she has no idea that I’ve done my research on her, too. When I found out a few tidbits about Anna’s past, it suddenly made sense to me why you have a thing for her, Russ. She and I are a lot alike. You must have a thing for successful women who come from trash—me with my trailer park slut mother and my sister dying of a drug overdose . . .” She turned toward Anna. “And you, your father ended up hanging himself in jail, and your mother killed someone and herself driving while drunk. I’ll bet you had no idea I knew about that.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Russ growled.
“My mother wasn’t drunk when she had that car accident,” Anna said. But Courtney’s head was turned slightly, so it was lost on her.
The waitress arrived with their drinks.
“Thank you!” Courtney said—and signed. “You know, earlier, I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. If I did, I’m so sorry.”
The young blonde smiled. “It’s perfectly fine.”
“By the way, you’ve been so great. It’s easy to read your lips, and you don’t talk down to me. You wouldn’t believe how many people speak to me like I’m a child just because I’m deaf. But you don’t do that at all. Could you tell us about the dinner specials? I think we’re ready to order.”
The waitress nodded. “Sure, I’d love to tell you about our specials. Tonight, we have a salmon . . .”
Anna saw how Courtney worked the waitress, getting her sympathy so quickly after being rude to her. It was how, in part, Courtney had been manipulating her, too. Anna had spent the better part of the week trying to please her. Now she was sorely tempted to get up and leave. She wanted to tell Courtney that Russ already knew about her family—and by bringing it up, she was only coming across as a first-class bitch.
But Anna continued to sit there while the waitress described the specials. Anna reached for her second Lemon Drop.
She still couldn’t remember how many of those lethal cocktails she’d had. But she recalled, once they’d ordered dinner, she’d felt trapped at that table with the two of them. And she’d been utterly miserable.
Courtney’s cattiness had come in waves. She’d be nice one minute, then nasty the next. Most of her snipes had been aimed at Russ. She’d never come out and accused the two of them of having an affair, but she’d sure as hell danced around the subject.
Looking back at it now, Anna figured Russ’s wife must have been very drunk. Sober, Courtney wouldn’t have allowed her to see that awful side of her, not the night before the promo spot was going to air.
Anna had never seen Russ so tense and exasperated. But he’d kept his cool. And from what she could remember, he’d had only the one beer.
Anna shivered.
She realized she’d been standing in the rain for several minutes now. Russ and Courtney’s living room was still unoccupied. No one was home.
Opening her umbrella, she retreated down the dock and took out her phone. She called Russ.
“Hey,” he answered.
“The car’s still here, and the house is empty,” she told him.
“Thanks for checking, honey. I’ll call the police and report her missing. Listen, I’m not going to tell them about us. But if they ask, I won’t lie. So—keep that in mind if they end up talking to you before we get a chance to connect again.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Now that the police are getting involved, I guess it’s official.”
“Looks that way,” he murmured.
Anna shut the dock gate behind her. Then she glanced back at the rain on the silver-gray water. She knew nothing was going to be the same again.
“I love you,” Russ said. It sounded so final.
“I love you, too,” she said.
Then Anna hung up.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday, July 11—5:07 P.M.
Heading down the tree-lined road at the lake’s edge, Anna glanced over her shoulder.
The black Jetta was still behind her. It had been following her since she’d left her dock—four blocks back.
Anna had been going stir-crazy, waiting around the house for a call from Russ—or from the police. She’d thought Russ would have at least texted to update her on what was happening. He should have returned home two hours ago. Had he been talking with the police all this time?
She’d kept busy cleaning up the mess she’d created earlier looking for her sneakers and jeans. Then she’d noticed a break in the rain and decided to walk down to Pete’s Supermarket for some groceries. She’d been so stressed, she’d figured, fight or flight, the exercise would do her some good—even if it was just five blocks each way.
Anna had brought along her phone, of course. She also had her umbrella, figuring it might start raining again.
What she hadn’t cou
nted on was someone tailing her. For the last ten minutes, the black Jetta had been crawling behind her. With the treetops and the overcast sky reflecting on the dark windshield, Anna couldn’t see the driver. And she couldn’t tell if anyone was in the passenger seat. So far, the Jetta had pulled over and stopped three times to let other cars pass. Then, each time, after a few moments, it would resume creeping behind her. At first, Anna had figured someone was merely looking for a parking spot. But she’d already walked past three open spots. The ever-lurking vehicle passed them, too.
She glanced over her shoulder again. Right now, she was more annoyed than scared. If it were nighttime, she’d be freaking out.
She told herself it could be a tourist. Maybe they were looking for the Sleepless in Seattle houseboat. She got that on occasion while walking to Pete’s. Someone would pull over and ask where Tom Hanks’s floating home was. They didn’t realize it was on the other side of the lake. But wouldn’t the driver of the black Jetta have pulled up and asked her by now?
It was driving her crazy. She couldn’t help thinking this person following her might be Courtney. Or maybe it was someone involved in Courtney’s disappearance.
She finally reached Pete’s. The supermarket was in a ’70s-era tan brick structure with big windows. It had a wood-sided, two-story apartment building tacked on above it—one of those places that look like they were put up in a hurry. There was a pay phone on the wall by the market entrance. The shell around the pay phone was kind of beat-up and marred with graffiti, but the phone was intact. Despite a new illuminated sign above the entry, the store—like that relic of a phone—seemed happily stuck in the ’70s.
Anna wondered if the Jetta might pull into one of the diagonal parking spaces beside the market. What then? Would someone get out of the car and follow her into the store?
With uncertainty, Anna headed toward the entrance. But then she stopped and swiveled around. She glared at the black Jetta. The pay phone had given her an idea.
Eyes still glued on that darkened windshield, she reached into her purse and took out her phone. She was about to take a photo of the car—and its license plate.
The Jetta suddenly lurched forward.
For a horrible moment, Anna thought the car was going to plow into her. But, with tires screeching, the vehicle spun into a right turn and sped up a side road.
Her heart beating wildly, Anna stood there for a moment, paralyzed.
When she could move again, she ducked into the store. It took a few moments for Anna to catch her breath. She wished she’d gotten a photo of the car’s license plate.
Grabbing a grocery basket, she started down the first aisle. She felt a little shaky. She had a weird thought: What if the driver of that car had been a cop? Now that Russ had called them, maybe the police had assigned someone to follow her around.
She quickly dismissed the notion. It was ridiculous. It just showed how paranoid she’d become. She already had herself pegged as a suspect in Courtney’s disappearance—and the police hadn’t even talked to her yet.
Still, they would almost automatically have their doubts about Russ. Wasn’t the husband always the first suspect? Plus he had an awfully weak alibi for his whereabouts when Courtney had vanished: aimlessly driving around from midnight until two in the morning. Maybe the police had already figured out he was hiding something—specifically, something about the other woman who had dined with him and Courtney on Thursday night.
But it made no sense that the cops were following her already. And the crazy way that black Jetta had peeled up the side street, no cop would drive that way—not unless they were chasing somebody.
Now that Courtney’s disappearance was an official police matter, Anna couldn’t help feeling nervous—doomed even. Russ’s and her past would be held under public scrutiny. And any hopes for a future together were impossible.
Despite accumulating evidence to the contrary, Anna still hoped that Courtney’s vanishing act was just that—an act to screw with Russ’s head. Anna didn’t even want to think that Courtney might be dead.
Either way, she had to brace herself for a scandal. She’d probably lose her job. Her likability quotient was bound to plunge once it got out that she’d been sleeping with someone’s husband—and not just someone, but the popular author of young adult books, a deaf woman who had overcome her deafness to inspire others.
What was wrong with her? Here she was, worrying about her job when Courtney could be dead.
Anna was leaving the checkout stand with a bag of groceries when her phone rang.
Russ, at last, she thought, thank God. She almost dropped the bag as she frantically dug into her purse for the phone. She stepped over to one side, by an ATM, and set down her groceries. She didn’t even glance at the caller ID before answering: “Yes? Hello?”
“You bitch,” someone whispered in a raspy voice.
Anna couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. And she wasn’t sure if she’d correctly heard what the caller had said. “What?” she asked. “Who is this?”
“I saw you fucking kill her. I saw it.”
There was a click on the other end—then a clatter, as if the phone had been dropped.
Anna stood there. Once again, she couldn’t get a breath.
What the hell?
She checked her phone screen: Caller Unknown. She immediately thought about her unknown caller last night: “You’re . . . not . . . fooling . . . anyone.” And she also thought about the black Jetta that had been tailing her ten minutes ago.
The phone still clutched in her hand, she grabbed the grocery bag and hurried outside. She glanced up and down the narrow street. There was no sign of the black car anywhere. Hurrying to the corner, Anna looked up the side street: nothing. She turned toward the market entrance.
The pay phone dangled in the air, gently swaying at the end of the cord—like a corpse at the end of a hangman’s noose.
Anna’s phone rang in her hand, and she almost jumped. This time, she immediately checked the caller ID: Russell Knoll, MD.
“Russ?” she said anxiously.
“I’m so sorry I haven’t called,” he whispered, sounding hurried. “My phone battery died twenty minutes into my conversation with the police. And I didn’t have my charger with me—”
“That’s okay,” she interrupted. “Listen, somebody just called me—”
“The police were waiting for me here when I got home,” he said, talking over her. “They’ve been grilling me for the last two hours. It’s been a nightmare. While they were waiting for me, this detective and her assistant, they spoke to some of my neighbors. The neighbors heard arguing on Thursday night, Courtney yelling. As you know, she has a very distinctive voice. One of the neighbors reported hearing a loud splash shortly after midnight.”
“My God,” Anna murmured.
“While this detective was going through the living room, she found a drop of blood at the bottom of the bookcase. Now they want to go over the whole house for evidence. I have to move into a hotel tonight. Anyway, I’m packing right now. They sent for this cop, and he’s here, waiting for me on the back deck. The detective in charge of the investigation is on her way over to see you. I didn’t tell her about us. She didn’t ask. But I think she might have put two and two together. Anyway, I just wanted to warn you.”
Trying to take it all in, Anna hadn’t moved from the corner in front of the store. She stared at the pay phone. The dangling handset had stopped swaying.
“Anna? Are you still there? The police should be at your place any minute now.”
“I—I’m not home,” she said. She started down the road—toward her dock. “But I’m headed there now. I was at Pete’s Market. You—you said they found blood?”
“Yeah, they tagged it with a yellow Post-it. They tagged a bunch of other things. There must be a dozen of those yellow tags around the place.”
Picking up the pace, Anna kept the phone close to her ear. From what Russ was saying, it sounded like
the police were treating this more like a murder investigation than a runaway or missing person case.
“Another thing,” Russ said. “I suddenly realized that Courtney’s Best Debut Novel Award—or something like that—it’s this heavy glass object, anyway, it’s missing. It’s usually on the bookcase where they found the drop of blood. I’m praying that the blood is old and that Courtney took the award with her. She was so proud of that stupid thing.”
“Listen, Russ,” Anna said—a bit breathless. She continued to walk at a brisk clip—and the grocery bag wasn’t light. “On my way to the store, this car—a black Jetta—followed me. When I tried to take a picture of it, the car tore up the street like a bat out of hell. Then ten minutes later—it was right before you phoned—I got the strangest call. In this bizarre, creepy voice, he—or she, I couldn’t tell—whoever it was called me a bitch and said, ‘I saw you fucking kill her.’ ”
“What?” he murmured. “Did they say anything else?”
“No, after that, they hung up.” Anna glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. She didn’t see anyone. “I think they may have even called from the pay phone outside the store. It must be the same creep who called me last night. But I don’t know for sure. The voice seemed different. Russ, does anyone else know besides the two of us that Courtney’s missing?”
“Well, yeah, as of four hours ago, I told the police—”
“No, I mean, have you mentioned it to anyone else?” Anna pressed.
“No one,” Russ said. “But—well, before the phone battery ran out, I told the police pretty much everything that happened on Thursday night. Do you think it’s possible someone got it off a police scanner or the news went out on some kind of wire service? You’re in the news business. Does it work like that?”
“Sometimes,” Anna murmured.
“Do you suppose some nut got the news and decided to harass you?”
Anna wasn’t listening. She was thinking about her stalker from last October—and last night’s bizarre call, which had been before the police knew about Courtney.
The Night She Disappeared Page 9
