“I haven’t figured out why, but my wife took the box on the day she died, and left the house. I was tracking her movements today but haven’t found the box yet. With the police, and all of this”—he gestures to Jacob and the other men—“I’ve been distracted.”
“Distracted from Colorado?” The man chuckles, but there is no amusement behind the sound. “How do you get distracted from Colorado?”
I don’t understand what Colorado is and why it needs a key, but it appears that I may be the one to blame for Jacob being kidnapped, and for Mike bleeding sweat in front of this computer.
“Your wife has been dead for almost two days, Mike.” The man slowly stands and moves the chair away from the table. “When did you discover that this key was gone?”
“This morning.”
“This morning?” He doesn’t like that answer, and I’m feeling faint and slightly nauseated myself. I’m not sure if it’s because whatever connection I have is fading, or if I’m just ordinary-living-person nervous, but all this is bad. Really bad.
I strain to remember what I did with the box of bourbon. I walked to the cemetery and started to drink it there. I remember sitting on the hard concrete bench and watching two mockingbirds go at it and wondering whether Mike and I would be divorced by the time our twentieth anniversary rolled around. And then ...
“This morning ...,” the man repeats. “Before or after you met with Sam Knight?”
“Uh, before.” Mike sounds unsure, as if he’s testing the temperature of the water with his toe before stepping in.
“You know, Sam’s an interesting cat.”
“Luis ...,” Mike pleads, putting his palms together.
“You have done many deals with him, with our money. Some good deals.” The man tilts his head. “Some bad.”
“Everything washes the cash,” Mike says quietly. “Even the losses.”
“Yes, but we have to wonder ... Is Sam really the best person for this task?” The man—Luis—sits back down in the chair and it creaks, metal against metal hinges. “Which makes us wonder if you are really the best person for this task.”
I’m mentally torn between my attempt to chase down the memory and the information that is unfolding before me. I glance at Jacob and he’s also listening closely, the both of us trying to put together pieces of a puzzle that we didn’t know existed.
I’m proud of him. I’m proud of him for keeping quiet, for not crying, for waiting and watching and staying in control of his emotions. Part of that is the Mike in him, but part of it is me. I am half of him. I raised him, more than Mike ever did. I move behind him and try to wrap my arms around him, but I don’t have arms and legs anymore. I am just here, waiting for the moment I will be gone.
“You see ...” Luis pulls at the leg of his shorts, straightening the material. “We did not know the nature of your relationship when you brought him to us. Specifically, while we knew his sexual proclivities”—he shrugs in acknowledgment—“they are fairly obvious, but we were not aware of yours.”
Yours?I am lost and stare at Mike, trying to understand why he has gone even paler.
“Romance doesn’t mix well with our business. Neither do secrets.”
Romance? He’s alluding to the idea that Sam and Mike are involved, but that can’t be right. Jacob makes a soft sound, like a cat crying, and then more footsteps come down the stairs.
“Let’s share all of our secrets, Mike,” Luis says. “Shall we?”
My mind skitters, like a flickering film frame, and suddenly, I remember.
CHAPTER 69
LILLIAN
The day of the death
The thing about Mike and his girlfriend, thinking back on it, is that this wasn’t an isolated affair. I suspected he’d been unfaithful at multiple intervals over our eighteen years of marriage. And I was happy with David. I felt different, and I liked different, and maybe ... if Mike wasn’t being faithful and I was happier with someone else, maybe this whole marriage thing had no point.
I tipped back the bourbon bottle. The flavor was beginning to grow on me, the bite less stiff as I took smaller and more frequent sips. I used to love bourbon. That drink that I used to have every Christmas ... the cinnamon maple bourbon sour. That was it. Sam would make it, along with his famous eggnog, and serve them both with chocolate biscotti.I should save some of this for that.
I would definitely get Sam in a potential divorce, despite his fondness for Mike. I took another sip and smiled at the thought of going out with him and letting his matchmaker tendencies go wild. Maybe I could move in with him. He had enough room. That giant house? Granted, he was a bit of a nag about organization and neatness. He’d probablykick me out the first time I tracked in dirt, or didn’t use a coaster, or left hair in the shower.
I glanced at my watch and sighed. I should head home. We had the meeting with the attorney in two hours, and I needed to change and freshen up. I could put the bourbon back in the box and in the liquor cabinet. Mike wouldn’t even notice until after our divorce was filed or the anniversary occurred, and by then—if we made it that long—who would care about a few missing sips?
I eyed the bottle. Maybe I had taken more than a few sips. Had I really drunk that much? I stood, and the gravestone closest to me swayed. Okay, yeah. Maybe alcohol, on an empty stomach, with medicine, wasn’t a great combo.