“Stop. I don’t blame you.”
“Where did you end up?” she asks.
I pause. “It’s better if you don’t know. Plausible deniability.”
Maribel doesn’t need to know I’m over a hundred miles north, in New Jersey. Especially because I told her I was headed south somewhere. I want this as far away from her as possible.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll do the other part this week. Probably Monday, if it all works out.”
“Great. I won’t bother looking online for news yet. Let me know when my disappearance is official.”
“I will. Take care of yourself, Tessa. Start over. Meet someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated.” She sighs. “I’ll try to do the same.”
We say goodbye and I hang up.
Find someone who treats me the way I deserve to be treated. I don’t even know what I deserve anymore.
On the dresser, his business card calls to me. James Montgomery. It says he’s the assistant manager at the bank in town, and I want to thank him again for last night, but I don’t. Not yet.
But I will. Even if I have to hide who I am.
18
James
James felt like a rat in a cage at home. He didn’t want to leave again, so it was just him and Candy, flitting around from one room to the next. Flipping between watching television and reading the paper. And staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring, waiting for Detective Solomon to call and say that they found her.
Or worse, that they found her body. James pushed it away. He didn’t like to spend time with negative thoughts like that—Tessa was a survivor, if anything. He wished he could do something. He would not be planning his wife’s funeral. What also gave him anxiety was the constant threat that Solomon would show up with a warrant. Even though they wouldn’t find anything, he didn’t need to be that person in the neighborhood. The one with the missing wife, the suspected murderer with cops showing up to ransack his residence.
And yes, he also spent time looking at the now three hundred-plus comments on the article. He tried not to, but it was futile.
Some were downright vicious. And the girl who was going nuts on the page earlier in the day didn’t relent.
shellyDGTS214: don’t know why they haven’t dragged that ape out of his house in cuffs yet! People don’t go missing like that, this isn’t the city! He totally killed her.
HelenCarrera: I know right!
TheBoo800: I’ve seen him in the bank. Always had that creepy look to him
shellyDGTS214: @TheBoo800 A murderer had a creepy look? I’m shocked!
JohnKlein6969: You people need to get a grip. I thought in this country it was innocent until proven guilty?
shellyDGTS214: Then why was he at the police station again @JohnKlein6969? I heard they brought him in for questioning again! Yeah sounds totally innocent. Fucking murderer!
JohnKlein6969: YOU HEARD @shellyDGTS214? Stalk much? Jesus maybe you did it
shellyDGTS214: Fuck you and your patriarchy @JohnKlein6969. Wouldn’t surprise me if the murderer is your friend!
SweetVictoriaXO: I don’t know him but I’m not necessarily convicting him yet either
shellyDGTS214: I’m sure dead Tessa would love to know that even women turned on her. Fuck you too @SweetVictoriaXO!
Dead Tessa. His chest squeezed at those words.
That Shelly woman was the ringleader and attacked anyone else who didn’t share her already made-up mind. The hits just kept coming, and James didn’t know what to do.
Then it hit him. He needed to speak to Gwen.
Outside, the street was buzzing more than it had been earlier in the day, when he went for his run. Now there were couples weeding, kids riding bikes, people walking dogs. He put on his New York Rangers hat to hide, thinking that would suddenly turn him into a hockey player, maybe power left winger Artemi Panarin, and no one would know that he was James Montgomery. The friendly Lovett Road killer.
James went out the back door. He could cut diagonally through the woods and end up near Nick and Gwen’s shed, then go around the side of it to the front door. He didn’t want to walk in plain sight on his street under prying eyes right up their driveway like he was stopping in for coffee, even though going around this way made him look like a cat burglar. As he turned the corner and approached their stucco house with the yellow door, he had to calm his shaking hands. He took a deep breath and rang the bell. Footsteps approached and Nick’s face appeared at the window. The locks clanked and he opened the door a sliver.
“Hey James,” Nick said, hiding behind the door. His shifting eyes said go away. “What’s up?”
“I was hoping to talk to Gwen.”
Nick looked behind him, where James’s superman powers let him see through the big door to Gwen’s disapproving face. The urgent whispers began.
“Gwen, it’s important,” James said, louder, making sure she heard. “You know I wouldn’t come here otherwise.”
More whispers. Then the door swung open and Gwen appeared.
“Make it fast, James. Caleb is still sick.”
She stood in the frame, Nick now behind her. She wore black yoga pants and what probably used to be a white V-neck T-shirt but it was now gray in the armpits. Her blond hair was pulled into a bun, but the stray hairs around her face had escaped her hair band and made her look wild-eyed and fierce. The mama bear, shielding her family from the murderer.
James’s eyes pleaded. “Can I please come in, Gwen? I’m worried sick. I need to talk to you about Tessa.”
Gwen’s face scrunched, but she took two steps backward. “Fine.”
James stepped into the front hallway, and Nick shut the door behind them. Gwen nodded her head toward the kitchen and walked in. James followed. Caleb sat in a highchair, and James thought again that he looked too big to be treated like a baby. There was a pile of colorful, crunchy cereal spread out on the tray in front of him and a bottle full of milk to his left.
“Hi Caleb. I hope you’re feeling better,” James said.
“He’s fine,” Gwen said curtly, then unhooked the tray and the belt from around his waist and picked him up. She stood there, holding him, staring daggers at James.
This was not to be a family discussion, and he didn’t want to talk in front of their son. “Can we have some privacy?” His eyes drifted to Caleb.
Gwen huffed, then handed Caleb over to Nick. “Can you set him up with his blocks in the family room?”
James had seen Caleb walk before, so he knew that he could, but Gwen seemed to think that the kid was made of Swarovski crystal and barely let his feet touch the floor. Do four-year-olds still play with blocks? And drink from bottles? James really didn’t know, but again, Gwen always seemed intent on smothering the poor kid and keeping him a baby forever.
Nick took Caleb from her arms. “Come on, buddy. Let’s see if we can match the circle to the hole this time.”
Caleb’s round face smiled at James, and he waved as his father carried him to the next room.
“Like I said, make it quick.” Gwen all but tapped her foot.
“Can we sit?” James asked.
Another huff, but she sat at the table and motioned for James to do the same.
“Look, Gwen. I know what Tessa told you. I know that you told the cops about the gun.”
“Good.” Her eyebrows rose, showing the lines of overbearing motherhood on her forehead.
“It’s not what you think.” James paused. “Do you know anything about her past?”
“I know that she’s had enough violence in her life, and I don’t know why you seem intent on continuing the pattern.”
“Jesus, Gwen. I’d never hurt Tessa. I got that gun to protect her.”
“From some bum in a side alley? She doesn’t need her husband going gangster on her.”
“Well, it’s gone. I got rid of it. Just like she asked me to. I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. Unsafe.” He knew his admission was a direct conflict to
what he had told the cops earlier. “I wish you hadn’t said anything to the cops. This is a private matter.”
She shrugged. “She came to me, James. Upset. And to be honest, I don’t know how to feel right now. I’m not convinced you didn’t hurt her.”
“I’m trying to find her. Please, Gwen. Just tell me if you know something about her past.”
Gwen’s face gave it all away. She knew what Tessa wanted her to know, no more, no less. “She had a pattern with men. Bad men.”
“I know.”
One eyebrow rose. Accusatory. “How do I know you weren’t part of the problem? Of the cycle?”
“Because I wasn’t.” His voice deepened, but he quickly reverted. “Did she ever tell you about the night we met?”
Gwen shook her head. “Just that she met you through your old roommate.”
“Let me fill you in on a few details.”
James took a deep breath and began the story from the beginning. Gwen gasped when James told her about finding Tessa being beaten and almost raped by Damon. He even told her about seeing Damon the night Tessa went missing. He left out the part about threatening him with the gun, but said he’d gotten his point across with his fist. Gwen sunk her face into her hands, and when she looked up, her eyes were misty.
“She never told me any of that.”
James could barely hear her voice.
“She didn’t tell me a lot of things either,” James said. “That’s why I can’t piece together what’s going on. Did she ever tell you her ex-husband’s name?”
“No. She didn’t tell you?”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I think I’m in some real trouble because of what you said about the gun. You made it sound like I threatened Tessa. I’d never do that. I just wanted to protect her.” James felt like if he said it enough, he’d drill it into her head. She needed to know the truth. “It’s gone. I told the cops I never had a gun,” he said, speaking to her now like a neighbor. A friend. “Is there any way you can tell them you misunderstood what Tessa said to you?”
Her eyes went wide. “You want me to lie?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” James’s eyes closed tightly and he pinched the top of his nose. “I just wish I knew something. Anything. I want to find her, Gwen.”
She put her hand on top of his, a gesture that went further than she knew. It comforted him and showed that she was back on his side.
“There’s one thing she complained about.”
James opened his eyes and looked at her. “What?”
“That girl in your office. Rosalita?”
“Rosita. What about her?”
“Yeah. Rosita. She thought there was something going on. At least that Rosita was after you.”
This wasn’t the time or the place to go into what had happened between him and Rosita and he wouldn’t offer any information. This was now a fact-finding mission on his part. “Why would she think that?”
“Because Rosita threatened her.”
“Threatened her?” His face flushed, and he balled his hands into fists. How dare she?
“Yeah. It was in the beginning. Right after you got married.”
“What did she say? Tessa never told me this.”
“Something about you and her and your job.”
“Gwen, please. I need to know exactly what was said. It’s important. Think.”
Gwen’s eyes went up and she bit her bottom lip in thought.
“Right. It was after you got promoted to manager. At the celebration party. She told Tessa that the job should’ve been hers, and that she better watch her back.”
James was incredulous. “Are you kidding? Right before that is when Rosita—”
Stop.
Nope. He couldn’t tell Gwen what he knew about Rosita and how hard she tried to get that job.
But he was certainly going to confront Rosita.
19
Tessa
I called James at work a few days after the incident, once my face healed enough where I could cover up the really bad parts. He seemed delighted, and there was additional pep in his voice when I told him it was me, as if I could even see him sitting up straighter. Extra caring, he asked me how I was doing and again told me he’d go to the cops with me to file a complaint. Said he moved all his furniture into storage the night before and was officially staying at the hotel until he could find another place, as quickly as possible.
I’m meeting him for a drink after work today, and he said he’ll help me around town trying to get a job. When I told him I was an “interior designer” he said he’ll let people coming in for business loans know to contact me if they need a push in the right direction. So I should go online and get some business cards. I hear they’re pretty cheap nowadays.
First, I google Drew, and for the first time, his name pops up with a headline:
LOCAL HEDGE FUND PROFESSIONAL UNDER SUSPICION FOR MISSING WIFE
A-ha!
I click the link and read the blurb.
Local citizen Drew Grant, of Homer & Foster Financial, has recently come under suspicion in the disappearance of his wife, Tessa Smith. Married for four years, she went missing almost a week ago, yet Drew never reported it to the police.
“She’d run off for spa weekends without telling me. I thought it was the same thing,” Drew said when asked by reporters camped out in front of Homer & Foster in Wilmington, Del.
He said when she didn’t return home by Monday night, Drew tried her cell phone and found it disconnected. He then called the local station and asked to open up a missing persons case. When questioned about the delay, Drew waved us off with “no comment.”
Initial reports say blood was found at the scene. All inquiries should be directed to his lawyer, Kristina McMahon of McMahon, Stern, and Torelli.
Detective Mason Grenning is leading the case. Please call with any tips or email the police department.
I’m sorry? Running off for spa weekends? This Asshole has got to be kidding me. I call Maribel’s fake cell from the burner phone. I wonder why she didn’t let me know about this breakthrough. When I get the automated voicemail, I hang up. She’s probably with him, like we planned. Either they’re in his office playing footsie, or he’s got her at some extravagant lunch at that place he likes by the river.
Waiting for Maribel to call back, I go online and order business cards, impressed with the selection on the website. They have my name, one of my burner cell numbers, and a website I called TS5Designs.com, which I’ll have to do next. The title Interior Designer is in fancy script and I like the way it looks. I opted for the thicker stock with a swanky border, in yellow and gray—a combination I now love. When I approve the layout, it makes me feel accomplished. Grounded. Whole.
I already sense things taking a turn for the better. Even a slight taste of the good life with Drew makes me want to do better. He made sure I was invested and felt taken care of before he put his fists on me. One year of seeing what life could be like has set me up for my future.
I guess I should thank him for that.
Next, I buy the website name, having checked the availability before getting the cards printed. It’s from one of those free website hosting places, but for seven bucks a month I can name it whatever I want without having a dot-blogspot that makes it look unprofessional.
For now, I keep the page clean, with my contact info and a few obscure close-up pictures of photos from my old house. A chic but heavy crystal vase filled with orange tulips. A gray wing chair on a fluffy red carpet with a three-foot-tall gold globe next to it. Brass lion head bookends on a white marble mantel stuffed with the classics. All things I put together when I decorated my old home. I also rip off a few images from Pinterest of lofted rooms and modern walk-in wine lockers, but really, who’s going to ask if those are actually my designs? I just want a few images on a slideshow for anyone who looks.
By the time Maribel calls me back, I’m giddy with achievement.
“Hey Mar,” I say w
hen I answer. “I saw the news article.”
“Oh good.” Her voice is flush with relief. “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I was too busy comforting him. It made my skin crawl.”
“So, how did he tell you?” My curiosity has the best of me.
“Well,” she starts, “I was with him every day since Thursday, the whole weekend including Monday night at your house. I asked why you weren’t complaining that he was gone all weekend, you know, like he always said you did, and asked if you were still visiting family. Then he told me he didn’t know where you were, but he was sure it wasn’t serious. I made him call and report you missing.”
“Good. The article mentioned blood. So, you took care of that too?” I ask, hopeful but relieved because I know she got it done.
“Yes, I emptied part of the vial you gave me on the floor by the back door, then quickly wiped it away with a dry paper towel when he was on a work call with China in the home office on Monday night. I was able to scatter the rest in the trunk yesterday when I borrowed his car to grab his lunch.”
He was treating her like a damn slave too. Why should she be running out to get his lunch? My stomach lurches.
“Then yesterday I called the cops from a new burner, just like you asked. Disguised my voice, said I was a friend of yours and I knew for a fact that he beat you and they should get forensics in there because I thought he killed you. Once he’s under more pressure, I’ll go to the cops about the affair.”
“Good. I read online that he told the police I was at a spa weekend.”
“Yes. So it’ll make him look even worse when I tell them that he told me you were visiting family. Like he can’t keep his stories straight.”
“He can’t. Liars lie. That’s what they do.”
Drew was digging his own grave, and he didn’t know it. Covering for an affair and for abusing me was going to immediately make him a suspect for murder.
“Keep me posted, Mar. If you need me to do anything else, to help you nail him, let me know. We’re in this together.”
Finding Tessa Page 12
