Crash & Burn (Tessa Leoni, #3)(39)

“Last I saw you,” he said quietly, “you were on the couch, wearing jeans, a black turtleneck and a gray fleece pullover.”

Which was consistent with what the ER nurse had remembered. She’d also offered the tidbit that Thomas had been very insistent on getting his wife’s bloody clothes back, regardless of the fact they were considered biohazardous waste.

“Shoes?” Wyatt asked.

Thomas shook his head. “When I saw her, she was wearing her slippers. Like now.”

Kevin and Wyatt glanced at Nicky’s shoes. Sure enough, she was wearing a sturdy pair of fleece-lined slippers with black rubber soles. Most likely L.L. Bean, and owned by most households in the North Country.

Now Kevin and Wyatt turned their attention to the line of shoes in the closet. Once again, Kevin drew out the smaller, female models, while Wyatt noted the male equivalents.

“Sneakers are missing,” Thomas said at last. “Your running shoes.”

Beside him, Nicky nodded. “My old pair. New Balance, silver with blue markings.”

“You wore your sneakers out into the rain?” Wyatt asked. He hadn’t thought to ask the ER nurse about Nicky’s shoes. Now he wished he had.

Nicky frowned, shook her head slightly. “I wouldn’t . . . My first instinct is that I’d grab my Danskos. The black clogs, right there. Sneakers soak through, and I wouldn’t want to get them muddy. Whereas the Danskos . . .”

One of the most popular clogs in the wintry North, Wyatt thought. And yeah, that’s what he’d figure someone would grab on a mucky night as well.

“Picture your sneakers,” Kevin spoke up. “Silvery, old, maybe well-worn . . .”

Nicky closed her eyes; she seemed to understand what he wanted from her. “I should throw them away. They’re old, starting to smell. But for gardening, household chores, they still come in handy.”

“It’s Wednesday night,” Kevin intoned. “It’s dark, raining. Can you hear it?”

“The wind against the windows,” she whispers.

Wyatt kept his attention on Thomas, who he noticed made no move to interrupt the trip down memory lane. Because he honestly had nothing to fear from his wife’s memories? Or because he was curious for the answers himself?

“I’m tired. My head hurts.”

“You’re resting.”

“On the sofa. Thomas has gone back to work. I think I should just go upstairs, go to bed. But I don’t feel like moving.”

“What do you hear? The wind, the rain?”

“The phone,” Nicky murmured. “It’s ringing.”

Kevin and Wyatt exchanged a glance. This was new information. Apparently Thomas hadn’t known either, as he straightened slightly, muscles tensing.

“Did you pick up the phone? How does the receiver feel in your hand?”

“I have to go,” Nicky whispered.

“You answer the phone, pick it up,” Kevin tried again. “And you hear . . .”

But Nicky won’t go there. “I have to leave,” she said again. “Quick. Before Thomas returns. My tennis shoes. I spot them still out in the hall from earlier in the day. I grab them. They’ll have to do.”

“You put on your shoes, find a coat—”

“No. No time. I have to go. Now. I need a drink.”

Standing beside Wyatt, Thomas flinched but still said nothing.

“You take your car keys,” Kevin intoned. “You reach into the basket, feel them with your fingers . . .”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Nicky said abruptly. Her eyes opened. She stared at all three men. “I didn’t have to go out into a storm to find scotch. All I had to do was head upstairs.”


* * *



THOMAS WAS CLEARLY not a happy man. About his wife’s confession that she had a secret stash of alcohol elsewhere in the house. That she’d received some mysterious phone call she’d never told him about. But he gamely led Wyatt and Kevin to the handheld receiver in the family room, to check caller history. The phone, however, didn’t have any record of a call on Wednesday night.

“Could it have been on your cell phone?” Wyatt asked after a moment.

Nicky hesitated, reflexively patted her pockets. Since her scotch confession, she was studiously avoiding her husband’s eyes.

“We recovered your cell phone in your vehicle,” Kevin spoke up. “It’s currently at the state police lab for processing.”

“Oh. I guess so, that the call could’ve been on my cell phone.”

Wyatt made a note. Cell phone records were easy to retrieve, a simple matter of a phone call to the service provider. Which beat trying to trace down the mangled phone from the state police.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Thomas spoke up abruptly.

Nicky didn’t reply. She stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“You said you wouldn’t,” Thomas persisted. “Dammit! I’ve been bending over backward, trying to take care of you, ridding the house of any trace of temptation. Where the hell did you even hide it—”

“I don’t know. Maybe not far from where you hide your little secrets.” Nicky’s voice was cool. Thomas shut up, glared at her instead.

Interesting and more interesting, Wyatt thought. Now, as long as both members of the Frank family were fighting among themselves . . .