Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(58)

Sadie hesitates, still looking at Chauncey. “Are you sure he’s all right?”

“Positive. Now go. Your lips are turning blue.”

Lauren waits until her daughter is safely out of earshot. Then she picks up the receiver and hears the beeping dial tone that indicates a message is waiting.

But it’s from Rosa, one of the managers at Magic Maids.

“Hello, Mrs. Lauren, we have three ladies for you this week and they will see you tomorrow at around ten.”

Every week, without fail, she calls to confirm the standing appointment and let Lauren know how many cleaners she’s sending. It varies from two to four, and the staff turns over constantly. Lauren always leaves a few dollars for each cleaner as a tip, for which they thank her so profusely she wishes she could afford to leave more.

She erases the message and hangs up the phone.

Okay—so, no message from Nick.

No message about Nick.

Should she leave another one for Nick?

What’s the use? If he’s checking his phone, he knows she and the kids are worried about him.

If he’s not checking his phone…

Why would he not check his phone?

Again, Lauren forces frightening thoughts from her head. Turning away from the phone, she finds herself looking again at Chauncey. It really is unlike him not to stir when someone comes home.

Frowning, Lauren stares at him…then turns abruptly away.

Pulling open a drawer, she finds the dog-eared address book where she keeps all the contact info for everyone involved in the Walsh household, from her OB-GYN to the trash collection service.

The kids tease her about not using an electronic organizer to store it all, but she’s glad she didn’t listen. It takes her about two seconds to flip to the Ds and locate the number for Dog Days…

But a full minute, at least, to bring herself to dial it.

Is there really any need to check up on John? He did the job he was supposed to do, and he was perfectly pleasant about it.

Yes, but Chauncey is acting strange, and Nick is missing, and this morning she thought she saw someone lurking in the shadows…

Yes, because you’re losing your mind.

And even if you’re not—what makes you think John has anything to do with any of those things…especially Nick?

Then again…the guy shows up here out of the blue, a stranger with her house keys, at the same time her ex-husband disappears…

Not that he disappeared from this house, or even lives here anymore…

But he’s gone and John’s around and Chauncey’s out of it and there was a shadow in the yard and it’s all either oddly coincidental…

Or ominous.

Call. You have nothing to lose.

Mind made up, Lauren dials the number. She can’t remember ever having called it before. Nick has always dealt with the service.

“Hello, Dog Days, Jeannie speaking, can I help you?”

“Hi, Jeannie. My name is Lauren Walsh and I’m over on Elm Street in Glenhaven Park.”

“Chauncey’s mom!”

Lauren hesitates. She’s not one of those overly enthusiastic dog people who signs Chauncey’s name to their family Christmas card, but now is not the time to quibble about the validity of canine offspring.

“Er…right. Chauncey’s mom,” she agrees. “Our regular dog walkers seem to be away and we had someone new—”

“John. I hope everything is going all right with him?”

Relieved that at least he’s officially employed there, she says, “Everything is going fine, but I just wanted to…you know…confirm that he works for you. I was a little taken aback to have a total stranger show up with my house keys, so…”

“I’m sorry…didn’t you get the notification?”

“Excuse me?”

“We always send an e-mail to let you know when there will be a change of staff, to make sure it’s okay with the homeowner. We sent it out last week to the address we have on file…”

Which would be Nick’s. And he either didn’t get it, or neglected to tell Lauren.

“If you didn’t receive it, Mrs. Walsh, I’m so sorry…”

“You know what? My husband must have gotten the e-mail, and forgot to mention it.” No need to tell Jeannie of Dog Days about the divorce, or that she won’t be signing Nick’s name, either, on the family Christmas card.

Lauren hangs up the phone and looks again at Chauncey.

Maybe she should go over and give him a poke—just to make sure he’s okay.

Nah—let sleeping dogs lie.

She can see him breathing from here. He’s fine. Just tired.

Who isn’t? she thinks with a yawn—just before a bloodcurdling “Mom!” pierces the air.



The photo albums were among the first items Elsa unpacked when they moved into the house. They always are.

There are no built-in living room bookshelves here, like there were in Tampa, so Elsa made a home for the row of albums on the raised brick fireplace hearth beside her favorite chair.

Every day, she brews herself a cup of strong tea and she sits down to leaf through the pages. Some might view the ritual as self-torture. Others, as therapeutic.

For Elsa, it is both. She looks at the pictures daily because she has to. Because she can’t—won’t—let go.