Crash & Burn (Tessa Leoni, #3)(81)

“As far as I know.”

“Just . . . you seem”—he wasn’t sure how to term it—“preoccupied.”

“D. D. Warren told me something interesting at lunch,” she said at last, gaze on the sketch pad. “I’m still processing it.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

“I’m still processing it. Wyatt, you know I’m not perfect, right?”

“I would never say such a thing.”

“Three years ago . . . some things went down. I can’t say I regret them.”

“Having met Sophie, I don’t regret them either.” He paused. “Are you in trouble, Tessa? Because you know I’m here for you, right? Whatever you need . . .”

She smiled again, that smile that didn’t dispel the shadows from her eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. So far, I’ve heard some interesting news—”

He stopped her, took her hand because it seemed the least he could do. She startled at the contact but didn’t pull away. “I’m here for you, Tessa. As in solidly, absolutely, one hundred percent. I know you have a past, but personally, I’m vested in our future.”

It might have been his imagination, but he thought for a moment, her eyes glistened with tears.

“D.D. says I’m a lone wolf,” she whispered.

“I think Sophie and Mrs. Ennis would argue otherwise.”

She nodded, didn’t speak right away. “Nicky wants to be free,” she said abruptly. “I know you have doubts about the dollhouse story, but having spent the afternoon with her, I think she also has a past, and a pretty horrible one at that. Where not only things happened, but I have a feeling . . . You don’t survive in that kind of environment without doing some things yourself.”

Wyatt’s turn to nod.

“Maybe twenty-two years seems like a long time. She should’ve come forward sooner, contacted her mother sooner, but she’s trying now. Isn’t that what matters?”

“She says she drew some pictures this afternoon?”

“My own attempt at memory therapy. Here.” Tessa lifted the cover of the sketch pad, withdrew half a dozen oversize sheets. “As you can tell, she’s a good artist, with a great eye for detail.”

At first, Wyatt wasn’t sure what he was looking at. A rounded room with a rose mural and gauze-enshrouded bed. A marble fireplace in a formal parlor. But the third sketch presented the big picture: a vast, wood-shingled Victorian, the kind built by wealthy families in the nineteenth century as summer homes for their families away from the heat and stench of cities. The house included a gorgeous wraparound front porch, a three-story turret, and an expansive right wing dotted with multiple dormers. Impressive house. Expensive house. And indeed, given the diamond-paned windows and gingerbread trim, a dollhouse.

He looked up from the sketch, eyed Tessa thoughtfully. “You think it’s real?”

“I think she thinks it’s real.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

He flipped a page, coming to a portrait of an older woman, hair up in a bun, face stern, eyes cold. He couldn’t help himself. He shivered.

“Madame Sade,” Tessa provided.

“Looks like a woman who could kidnap small children,” he agreed.

“I asked D.D. to examine past missing-kids cases,” Tessa mentioned. “I’m curious. Given the databases we have now, maybe we can determine if thirty years ago there was a spike in missing-girl cases in the greater New England area. It would give Nicky’s story some weight.”

“It would.”

“And as long as we’re entertaining the notion this house exists, look at the background. The view through the window of the tower bedroom.”

He had to flip back. He hadn’t noticed it at first, still getting his bearings and all, but sure enough, the round room included several impressive windows. Nicky had meticulously drawn in each diamond pane of the glass. Then, behind that . . . the mountains. A view so familiar he felt that if he studied it just a minute more, it would come to him.

“The White Mountains. You think this is New Hampshire.” He glanced at Tessa.

“She asked to move here, not Thomas.”

“Because Marlene Bilek is here.”

“Maybe. But you heard her talk. She’s looking for answers. I think instinct brought her here. Closer to the truth.”

“Sheriff asked me a good question this morning,” Wyatt said abruptly. “If Thomas is the one responsible for the accidents against his wife, why? Only a few reasons a husband tries to kill his spouse. Revenge, money, power. After twenty-two years, what changed in their marriage?”

He knew the answer, but Tessa did the honors: “Nicky decided it was time to move forward. She was tired of being sad.”

“A move toward independence can be threatening to any man, but especially to a husband who likes to tend as much as Thomas wants to tend,” Wyatt agreed.

“I don’t buy the story of them meeting in New Orleans,” Tessa stated.

“Me neither. Always sounded rehearsed.”

“I tried to get her to talk more about Thomas while she was sketching. It sounds to me like there is part of her that loves him. But more than that, she believes she needs him. He takes care of her. I’m guessing for his own reasons. Think of their pattern: always on the move. That seems less like a couple who’s living happily ever after, more like a pair on the run.”