Perched on the edge of the bathroom sink, a pregnancy test. I gripped my hands, rubbing them needlessly. I’d let a week pass since missing my period. My mind raced out of control. I could do that easily enough—speculate and dream up the worst of the worst. I needed to calm down. I checked my phone for the hundredth time.
Maybe a bath afterward, I thought aimlessly. And a glass of wine.
“Wait. I can’t do that,” I mumbled. “Not if I’m pregnant.”
The tub sat across from me, empty, barren, the drippings of a candle’s waxy remains stuck to the sides like a scab—left over from when Steve took care of me while I mourned Katie’s death.
“If only you were barren too,” I said, half joking. But then another flit of nervous energy sent sparks into my mind that pounded against the walls of my skull.
“I need to wash my hands,” I added, waiting for my pee to do whatever it was that pee was supposed to do in a situation like this.
I checked the pregnancy test, tilting it, wishing it had an alarm—a bright one with an obnoxious siren like a department store’s blue-light special.
The pharmacy shelves had held every possible type of pregnancy test imaginable, leaving me overwhelmed, undecided, and feeling like a scared teen whose first kiss had gone too far. I just needed a simple one—pee on it, and be done. When I was pregnant with Michael, there had only been a few to choose from. An easy decision. I had bought them all. And then with Snacks, we didn’t know I was pregnant until we knew. But today, I needed to know. I needed to know because being pregnant would change everything.
“Can I help you?” I’d heard in my ear, thinking it was some fantasy fairy godmother that had come to help. A small older woman wearing an oversize white lab coat had lifted a finger and pointed to the shelf.
“Oh, I don’t know which one,” I told her. She’d heard the emotion in my voice and patted my shoulder.
“Do you know what the funny thing is?” she asked, leaning forward and picking the simplest, most generic-looking box. “They all do exactly the same thing.”
“The same?”
“The same,” she answered. “Here. This one. This will tell you. And I wish you good luck.”
“Thank you,” I said again, but frowned, unsure how to feel about potentially being pregnant.
“Oh,” she responded, her penciled brow lifting. “Or maybe a different kind of luck, then. All the same, this one. You won’t need a second.” She handed me the box and disappeared around the corner of the aisle.
“This one,” I had said, repeating her words. But just to be sure, I grabbed a second box.
How could I have been too busy to notice? How could I have missed my period?
I’d counted the days a dozen times, but by now no creative counting could skew the facts.
“Come on, already . . .” The clock on my phone told me I had another minute, another sixty seconds to figure out what we were going to do with the rest of our lives.
Could I make any decision in one minute? Do I even know what questions to ask?
I started to cry, afraid of knowing the future the pee stick’s little window was going to show. I thought back to my Magic 8 Ball—a favorite toy when I was young. Its guide to the future had been so helpful.
“Outlook is good.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“As I see it, yes.”
“It is certain.”
With the last prediction, I let out a childish giggle. It was five years later when I finally learned the truth about the Magic 8 Ball. Another fight with my mother, another angry rush to leave my home. I’d been packing my things when the glossy black sphere had rolled out from beneath my bed. I plopped down on my pillow and sought an answer. After years of neglect, the ball was covered in dust and scratches, dulling the finish, but it still offered the liquid-blue advice. I shook the ball, desperately hoping to read some wisdom, but the answer told me that the outlook was not so good. I had tried again and again, wanting to change the prediction, wanting to string the triangle prophecies together until they worked in my favor. And that was when I realized there was no magic, that the answers were what I wanted them to be. And sadly, I realized that I was growing up. I dropped my old toy then, let it plop onto my bedroom floor with a soft thud.
I picked up the pregnancy test and uncapped the end. I noticed I had partially missed hitting the collection pad.
Was there enough pee?
I had a spare, just in case. I knew I was overly compulsive, but my hands trembled, and my breath shuddered from having had a cry. I couldn’t help but feel afraid. Magic 8 Ball or not, there was no spinning this in my favor.
“I can’t be pregnant,” I told myself, squeezing my bladder to try and pee just a little more, thinking it would help. But I was empty. “I can’t be pregnant. Not now.”
I decided I’d waited long enough. I didn’t shake the stick like I would have my Magic 8 Ball, but there I was, staring at a tiny window again to try and read my future. The image of the blue plus sign blurred behind my watery eyes.
I was pregnant.
I instantly fell in love with the life inside of me. A million questions sprang to mind like a weedy garden days after a hard rain, but only one of them mattered.
“How am I going to tell Steve?”
ELEVEN
THE SOUND OF MORNING birds stirred me awake. I slipped deeper beneath the bed sheets, covering my face to hide from the day. I had to get up and get the household started, but desperately wanted to steal a few more minutes. I ran my foot to the other side of the bed, nudging the blankets, expecting to reach Steve’s warm leg, but found only the cold instead.
Has he left already?
If he’d been here, I think I would have told him the news, told him we were pregnant. I wanted him to know. I’d wanted him to know from the moment I saw the plus sign in the pregnancy test’s popsicle-stick window. But with everything he had going on, I had thought maybe it would be best to wait.
“For a little while,” I mumbled into my pillow. “Just wait until he’s settled into his new job.”
An image of the new detective taking over for Steve came to mind. Hazel eyes. I’d wait until Steve found his groove, his day-to-day, when all of his cases were transferred and he was more like his old self. But something about the new detective bothered me. He wasn’t what he seemed. I couldn’t put my finger on why, though, and was tempted to chalk it up to pregnancy hormones. Maybe it was his expensive suit or the pretty-boy, manicured look. He certainly wasn’t Steve’s old partner, and maybe that’s what was bothering me. Trust. Or lack thereof. I trusted John with Steve’s life. But this new detective? Call it intuition, but I’d tell Steve to quit the force altogether if they ever had to work together.
As if agreeing with me, a jay or crow cawed outside our bedroom window. I eased my eyes open, letting a sliver of morning light slip in. The house was asleep too, silent. But that wouldn’t last. It was Saturday and Michael wouldn’t stir until nearly noon—he’d been up late playing video games, though he didn’t think I’d noticed. With a new baby on my mind, my night had been sleepless anyway. I gave the house another hour before the barefooted rumble from Snacks would swallow the quiet.
Pancakes.
The smell and taste came to me and stayed.
A craving? Too soon.
I was up and out of bed, sleepy but hungry. As I took to the steps leading down, I noticed Steve had been in his office—had left the door slightly ajar. I found papers shuffled on his desk, the computer still on. Curious, I hit the keyboard, waking the computer from our family photo screen saver. On the screen, I saw Nerd’s software program. Or what looked a lot like it.
Steve’s browsing the Deep Web?
I read through the listings, the links whose names and handles I’d come to recognize.
How?
“What is this?” I asked, my voice sounding like a sigh.
“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice exploded in my ear and
his hands wrapped around my middle in a pinch. I flinched and swung around, slapping his chest as he laughed at having scared me.
“You’re a slob,” I declared, hoping to cover up my snooping with a swipe at the stray pages. “Came in here looking for you and found a mess.”
His eyes darted to the desk. “Damn cat. I shouldn’t have left those out,” he answered and let out a comical mew. I felt the sting of a tear, felt emotional at the thought of telling him he was going to be a father again. Steve saw my face and shook his head, confused. He kissed my lips and cheek. “Babe?”
“Just got sad for a minute thinking what I would have done if I’d lost you,” I told him. Then I surprised myself by moving his hand to my belly. “Steve, I couldn’t imagine raising a family with anyone else in the world.”
His eyes dropped to his hand. “Babe, what are you saying?”
I leaned into him, returning his kisses as I whispered into his ear, “We’re going to have a baby.” He said nothing. Instead, he delivered a flurry of kisses, his eyes watering with mine.
He stood back and held my hands out, “Love the shirt, by the way,” he said.
“The shirt?” I realized I’d crept down the steps wearing nothing but one of his shirts. It wasn’t until the low slant of sunlight came into the room that I saw how sheer the fabric was. His face lit up, telling me exactly how he wanted to celebrate the news.
“Kids are still asleep,” he said, taking to his knees and encouraging me to join him on the floor.
“So persuasive,” I joked and joined him, my hands quickly finding the buttons to his pants.
Coffee and pancakes could wait, at least for a little while.
Even while he was perched above me, though, I couldn’t help but gaze over at the computer’s monitor and to the Deep Web links.
If Steve has Nerd’s software, how much do the police know?
***
Later, in the deepest of the night, when the house had been asleep for a while, I crept back to the office, to the Deep Web links I’d seen earlier. I needed confirmation, so I took screen shots and texted them to Nerd. He’d have something to explain tomorrow, but for now, I’d done my part.
Steve’s office was still a mess. My mother’s case file was strewn over the desk in what I thought might be his attempt at producing a timeline. I sipped my herbal tea, wincing at the bitterness and wishing it were wine. I knew better, though.
Among the photos, I saw a map. I pulled it out to find a penned drawing with Steve’s handwriting. It showed long roads, and the city and the town where I’d grown up. It wasn’t just my hometown on the map, though—he’d also marked where the men’s bodies were found.
“You’re investigating the case, aren’t you?” I asked, blowing the steam from my cup. “Garrett has homicide now, so you’ve picked this case up.”
Beneath Steve’s map there were notes and timelines and photographs. Some of the pictures were of truck stops while others showed pale tire tracks etched in dirt like footprints in sand. A dozen more showed the same tire tracks, the dirt and gravel changing slightly from grave site to grave site. And beneath each photo, I found a list in Steve’s handwriting, adding a tire’s model and the cars’ make and year that could have used them.
I texted Nerd, sending him what I’d found and asking for his help. My phone buzzed with a response, but I dropped it to my lap when I saw the corner of my mom’s station wagon on a photo—I lifted a page, revealing a xeroxed photograph. Images flew into my mind like a storm of blackbirds screaming at my memories. I covered the photograph to hide my secret, pretending I could made it disappear. My chest tightened anyway. What terrified me even more was learning how far Steve had progressed in his investigation.
“You’ve got the car?” I mumbled, realizing my husband might know more than I could remember. “And you’re looking for the registrations?”
I needed to bring out as many memories as I could from the past, so I used the computer to open a map website, and zoomed in until I was over my mother’s home.
“Dad’s tree,” I mumbled, my heart rising in my throat. I zoomed in some more, clicking the mouse until I could make out the gnomes my parents had carefully placed along the edge of their garden. The details were lost in the pixels, but my mind filled in what wasn’t on the screen.
“Enough of that,” I said impatiently, zooming out until my mother’s house looked like a dead spider at the center of an asphalt web. I traced the road leading east to the ocean, running my finger a hundred miles before pitching it up toward the city. I slowed, trying to fill in details like the missing pixels. I was trying to find where my mother had taken me to pick up the men.
Nothing looked familiar. Frustrated, I did a quick search on truck stops, which produced a dozen icons on the map like breadcrumbs for a lost child to follow. I clicked on one, and the screen opened up to show me a truck stop with gas pumps and a market and a place to park for the night. I’m sure the smell in real life would have been what I remembered: tires and diesel fuel. I could almost hear the bell chime out as trucks ran over the air-hose indicator. And there had been the smell of the sea too. But that came later—much later. I followed the thickest line on the map, the widest road. It led away from the truck stop and toward the ocean. When my finger hit the beginning of a long bridge, a memory bubble popped, spilling the sights and sounds of crossing a bridge with a dead man sitting next to me. I pulled my finger back from the screen and jabbed the mouse, closing the window. Too much was coming back to me. Too much for one night. Especially with only a cup of tea to soothe the intake.
Before leaving, I cleared the computer’s browsing history, deleting the map site’s cache and any searches I performed. Nerd had taught me a lot, and with Steve working in the cyber division, I couldn’t take any chances. Of course I peeked at what terms Steve had been searching, and noted links to show Nerd, hoping he’d figure out how or why my husband was using his software.
TWELVE
WITH A HALF-CAF LATTE in one hand and a caramel-whipped something in the other, I went to the office early. I went knowing Nerd would be working, knowing we’d need to discuss the software I had seen on my home computer. I also hoped he might have found the station wagon and the registrations Steve had listed. Nerd was often up late into the night, so I texted a mess of messages, filling him in on the vehicle registrations I wanted him to research.
It’ll take time, he’d texted as a reply. Nothing moves fast at the DMV.
The bigger question for today was whether or not we were safe. Could we continue to pick up new cases? After all, a girl’s got to play, and we had to get paid. I had another reason for going into town as well. Steve had to work the weekend and would be at the station later. With my news to him that morning—along with the little something extra—I wanted to surprise him with a gift. I hadn’t done that in a long time and it felt like we were finally making a turn and getting back to normal.
He felt it too, I told myself. I know he did.
“Extra caramel!” Nerd beamed, sucking up the sugary mess like a fly on honey. “Thank you. I’m on to something and need the jolt.” I glanced over to his desk, finding a half dozen empty energy drink cans—lined up like shiny bowling pins.
“Really?” I asked as I motioned to his mess. “Come again about needing more?”
He shrugged, adding, “Oh, those? Those are so last night—ripping code. I didn’t want to stop.”
“You really should eat better.” His face slowly lifted with a roll of his eyes. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them—he wasn’t Michael or Snacks, but still, I felt the urge to tell him to take care of himself. “I mean, if you’re going to work through the night. I can’t have my business partner falling over sick.”
“I’m fine. But thank you for asking,” he answered, slurping his caramel sweet. “Plus I had a Hot Pocket. I filled the freezer if you get hungry.” It was my turn to roll my eyes, but I resisted and changed the subject.
; “Speaking of ripping code . . . listen, I have some concerns about the picture I sent you,” I said, lightly rapping my knuckles against the top of my desk—a habit I’d gotten into when I wanted to discuss business. Nerd went back to his computer, tapped his keyboard, and waited. “I mean, it looks just like your software—even had some handles I recognize. How is that possible?”
My question was met with straw-sucking sounds and a rattle of keystrokes. His face lit up, reflecting his screen’s colors. “I want to say it’s impossible,” he answered, and continued sucking the remains of his drink. I wasn’t convinced, though—I knew what I’d seen. “Might look like mine, but can’t be the one we’re using. That said, there’s a hack floating around. My guess? This is what you saw.”
I joined him at his desk, needing to be convinced about our security. On his monitor, I saw the familiar Deep Web listings—the links to our potential cases and to storefronts where we’d shopped for what I liked to call “ingredients.” But next to the software and listings, Nerd had opened another window—that was what I’d seen on our home computer.
“That’s it!” I exclaimed, tapping his screen. “That’s what I saw this morning. Isn’t that the same application we’re using?”
“Is it?” he asked, sucking on the straw.
I yanked the caramel drink from his hand and plunked it on the desk.
His face glowed with slight amusement before he added, “So ignore the structure of the application—the column headers, the query fields. Just look at the content and compare the two.”
I did as he said and read through the listings. While a few were the same, the majority were different. Completely different. And the cases surfacing near the top, the ones we’d pick up? Those were all different too.
“So what does this mean?”
“It means that some shit-hack probably traded up for less time after getting pinched while playing amateur hour.”
Affair with Murder The Complete Box Set Page 31
