The House Across the Lake(35)

“Because whatever’s going on is none of your business,” Marnie says. “You said yourself that Katherine seemed unhappy. Maybe she is. And so she left him. For all you know, there’s a Dear John letter sitting on the kitchen counter right now.”

“It still doesn’t add up. I did what you suggested and looked at her Instagram. She just posted a picture from inside her apartment.”

Marnie chews on that a minute. “How do you know it’s her apartment?”

“I don’t,” I say. I only assumed it was because Katherine said so in the caption and because it had a view of Central Park and looked to be roughly where the Royces’ apartment is located.

“See?” Marnie says. “Maybe Katherine told Tom she was going to the apartment but really went to stay with a friend or a family member. He might not have any clue where she is and was too embarrassed to admit that.”

It would be a sound theory if I hadn’t seen Tom’s comment on the picture.

Keep the home fires burning, babe!

“That means it really is their apartment,” I tell Marnie after explaining what I saw.

“Fine,” Marnie says. “Let’s say it is their apartment. That either means Katherine’s there and the doorman lied, or it means she posted a photo that was saved on her phone to hide the fact from her husband that she’s not really at their apartment. Either way, none of this points to Katherine being in danger.”

“But I heard Katherine scream early this morning,” I say.

“Are you certain that’s what you heard?”

“It wasn’t an animal.”

“I’m not suggesting it was,” Marnie says. “I’m merely saying that maybe you didn’t hear it at all.”

“You think I imagined it?”

The delicate pause I get in return warns me that Marnie’s about to drop a truth bomb.

A big one.

Atomic.

“How much did you have to drink last night?” she says.

My gaze is drawn to the mostly empty whiskey bottle still overturned on the porch floor. “A lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

I think it through, counting the drinks on my fingers. The ones I can remember, at least.

“Seven. Maybe eight.”

Marnie lets out a small cough to hide her surprise. “And you don’t think that’s too much?”

I bristle at her too-earnest tone. She sounds like my mother.

“This isn’t about my drinking. You have to believe me. Something about this situation isn’t right.”

“That might be true.” Marnie’s voice remains annoyingly calm. Like someone talking to a kindergartener throwing a tantrum. “It still doesn’t mean Tom Royce murdered his wife.”

“I didn’t say he did.”

“But that’s what you think, isn’t it?”

Not quite, but close enough. While it’s absolutely crossed my mind that Tom did something to hurt Katherine, I’m not yet ready to make the mental leap to murder.

“Be honest,” Marnie says. “What do you think happened to her?”

“I’m not sure anything happened,” I say. “But something’s not right about the situation. Katherine was here, and suddenly she’s not. And I’m not sure her husband is telling the truth.”

“Or he told you what he believes to be the truth.”

“I don’t buy that. When I talked to him, he gave me a very simple explanation to something that, at least from what I saw, looked like a complex situation.”

“What you saw?” Marnie repeats, my words sounding undeniably stalker-y. “Is this how you spend all your time? Watching them?”

“Only because I sensed trouble the minute I started watching.”

“I wish you could hear yourself right now,” Marnie says, her calm tone replaced by something even worse. Sadness. “Admitting that you’re spying on your neighbors and talking about Tom Royce hiding something—”

“You’d think it, too, if you saw the things I have.”

“That’s the point. You shouldn’t be seeing it. None of what’s going on in that house is any of your business.”

I can’t argue with Marnie on that point. It’s true that I had no right watching them the way I have been. Yet, in doing so, if I stumbled upon a potentially dangerous situation, isn’t it my responsibility to try to do something about it?

“I just want to help Katherine,” I say.

“I know you do. But if Katherine Royce wanted your help, she would have asked for it,” Marnie says.

“I think she did. Late last night, when I saw them fighting.”

Marnie lets slip a sad little sigh. I ignore it.

“Our eyes met. Just for a second. She was looking at me and I was looking at her. And I think, in that moment, she was trying to tell me something.”

Marnie sighs again, this one louder and sadder. “I know you’re going through a hard time right now. I know you’re struggling. But please don’t drag other people into it.”

“Like you?” I shoot back.

“Yes, like me. And Tom and Katherine Royce. And anyone else at the lake right now.”

Although Marnie sounds nothing but sympathetic, I know the deal. She, too, has officially grown tired of my bullshit. The only surprise, really, is that it took her this long. Unless I want to lose her completely—which I don’t—I can’t push any further.