Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(78)

“She already told me your damn name!”

The woman regards me evenly. “It doesn’t ring any bells for you?”

“Why would it? I’ve never met you before in my life. Now, what the hell is this all about—” I break off. My eyes widen. The sense of déjà vu, that I’d seen this woman before. Flora Dane. Six years ago.

Oh my God, I know who she is. And I no longer feel a tinge of unease. I want to vomit. Hurl my mother’s good-for-the-baby stew all over this fine silk-covered furniture, because I’m sure I don’t want to hear what she’s going to say next.

“Sit,” D.D. is murmuring in my ear, her hands on my shoulders. “Just like that. Head between your knees. Deep breaths. In, out, exhale all the way. Now deep in, hold, hold, hold, exhale. Two more times. You got this.”

When I finally stop hyperventilating, I’m collapsed in the wingback chair with the coats. Both D.D. and Flora are now kneeling on the floor in front of me.

“What did he do? Those fake IDs, all his secrets. What did Conrad do?” I stare straight at Flora Dane.

“Don’t you know?” D.D. asks me. “You’re the one who shot up the computer.”

“I had to.”

“Why?”

“Protect the legacy.” I’m not crying. I sound like a rote imitation of my mother, which is worse.

“You wanted to protect Conrad.” D.D. eyes me. “The father of your child. From what, Evie. From what?”

“I don’t know.” That’s the truth. He had secrets, I knew. And at least in my family, secrets can only cause pain. But that doesn’t mean I know what his secret was.

Both women are eyeing me. I take a deep, shuddering breath, soldier on: “Have either of you been in a relationship with someone who travels a lot?”

They shake their heads.

“I loved Conrad. When we bought our house together, of course we each had to adapt. He snored. Left his shoes in the middle of the floor. Would enter a room chattering away, even when it was clear I was grading papers and needed to think. But you get used to those things.

“Except then he’d leave again. And I would sleep better without him. Appreciate being able to walk down the hall, get my work done faster. Then he’d return, and I’d have to reorient. You can’t help yourself—inevitably, you’re only in the relationship halfway, because it’s only a marriage half the time.”

D.D. and Flora wait patiently.

“It makes you look at your spouse more objectively than maybe the average married person. Analyzing things, noticing things. Like the way Conrad asked so many questions about my life, but never answered any of mine. The way he’d shut down sometimes, and I could tell something was bothering him, but he wouldn’t say what. The hours he logged in his office. A window salesman? Still working at midnight? Then locking up the door to his own study when he left?

“I … I began to wonder. So I started snooping, which then gave him doubts. One day I found a page of a financial statement for a Carter Conner in Conrad’s printer. At first I thought it was a mistake. But the account was from a bank in Florida, and I just … knew. He had a secret life. That’s why he was always on the business trips. Why he never wanted to talk about them afterward. Why he was always locking up after himself. It’s bad, isn’t it?” I stare at Flora. “Is he … a predator, too?”

“I met Conrad,” Flora says at last. “In a bar in the South. He was using the name Conner when he approached my kidnapper, Jacob Ness. It was clear they were expecting one another.”

“Oh.” I can’t think of anything else to say. Instead, I clutch my stomach, as if covering my unborn child’s ears, trying to block him or her from this terrible information. I’d known. Especially in the past year or so, I’d looked at my husband with a growing sense of dread.

“Conrad’s a predator?” I whisper. “But he was so excited for our baby. He seemed genuinely happy.” I don’t know what it is I’m trying to say. “Do evil people love their children, too?”

“Did you know about the lockbox of IDs?” D.D. asks.

“No. And I tore that office apart trying to figure out what he was hiding. I never saw it.”

“Conrad never talked about his trips?”

“No.”

“How often was he gone? How long did he go?”

“One or two trips a month, usually three to five days. But not just to Florida. He traveled all over New England. I saw some of his tickets. He flew to Philadelphia, Virginia, Georgia. Some of his business travel was real. But I don’t think all of it was.”

“Did Conrad watch the news a lot?” Flora spoke up. “Say, follow national cases, maybe even watch a lot of true-crime shows on TV.”

“He liked Forensic Detectives.” That sinking feeling again, except how could this get any worse?

“Why did you shoot the computer?” D.D. asks again.

“I had to.”

“Where did you find the gun?”

“On his lap. I took it. From … him.”

“He was holding the gun when you found him?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think, Evie, when you walked into the study and found your husband’s dead body? What was the first thought that crossed your mind?”