Trespassing(29)

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but they knew my name, and they told me to listen to my daughter.”

“Listen to her about what?”

“I don’t—”

“You didn’t recognize the voice?”

“It was a whisper.”

“Man or woman?”

“I don’t know. A whisper.”

“I’ll check your phone records for incoming calls. It might be a good idea to put a wiretap on.”

“A wiretap?” An ache in my chest practically consumes me, as if I’m caving in. Despite the fact that the call rattled me to no end, Guidry is calm and cool. Aloof. As if he’s immune to my unraveling. As if he thinks I’m putting on an act. “You want to listen to my conversations?”

“In order to filter—”

“You think I know something.” My fingertips pulsate with my heartbeat during the space of silence that follows.

Guidry coughs. Finally: “Do you?”

“You think I know what happened to him. Where he is. You think I know.”

“Veronica.”

I swallow a sob.

Guidry asks, “Is there a chance Claudette Winters could be right?”

“Claudette?”

“Hello-o!” I hear her voice through the door.

“Is there a chance there’s another woman?”

Gabrielle.

The door squeaks a little as Bella disobeys me and opens it.

“No!” I say to both the detective and my daughter. I charge to the foyer, still on trembling stems.

“I—” Claudette shuts up the moment our eyes meet.

“What?” I ask her.

“I came for my casserole dish.” She thrusts a handful of envelopes at me. “And I brought your mail.”

I scoop up my errant kid and allow my neighbor access.

“Have you followed up on Plum Lake?” I ask Guidry.

“I put the word out. Haven’t heard back yet if anyone’s been to the house or seen your husband. Things move a little more slowly up north than they do here. But I’ve personally called the lake house phone dozens of times.”

So have I.

“If he’s there,” Guidry continues, “he’s ignoring the calls.”

Bella squirms in my arms. “Want to play with Crew and Fendi.”

I tighten my grip on her. “I’m going to look into it myself. If it’s too much for you to do your job, too much for you to protect my daughter and me while you do it, I guess I’ll have to do it for you.”

“We’re on top of it. The best thing for you to do is stay home and wait—”

“Down,” Bella whispers and plants a sweet kiss on my cheek.

I acquiesce and lower her to the floor. “And if I don’t?”

“Mrs. Cavanaugh.” The detective sighs.

“Let’s have a snack, shall we?” Claudette’s bustling in my semiclean kitchen.

I glance over my shoulder to see she’s managed to seat all three children at the table. Crew is doling out napkins.

“I’m going up north to the lake house. And if he isn’t there, I’ll come right back. It’ll help, right? Please. I can’t just sit here anymore.”

Silence fills the other end of the line for a second or two. Finally: “Veronica.”

“Hmm?”

“Who is Natasha Markham?”

I let out a little gasp the moment I hear her name. Instantly, her image appears in my mind. Auburn hair, dark-green eyes. Even in my memory, she’s looking right through me. “She’s . . . an old friend of Micah’s.”

“A girlfriend?”

“She was Micah’s girlfriend,” I admit. “She was my college roommate.” For a brief moment, I relive a montage of memories: the day Micah leaned in and kissed me for the first time in our tiny dorm room while Natasha was at class, Natasha’s interrupting a study session at the library we hadn’t told her about, the look of realization on her face when she figured out her boyfriend had fallen for her best friend. “But we haven’t seen her in years. What does Natasha have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing. We’re just following up on any possible lead. And Micah? You have no reason to believe he’s been in contact with Natasha?”

“No.” My mother had been dead less than a year when I started college, but being with Natasha made it feel like I still had family. “We just talked about her. The night before he left. I mentioned her. Micah gave no indication he even knew where she was.”

But just speaking her name aloud brings back memories.

Thursdays were movie night. We rented old eighties flicks and ate microwave popcorn and shared blankets. We ate ice cream out of the same tub, passing it back and forth. We shared toothpaste and laundry detergent.

But all that ended when Micah and I got closer.

“It was a dramatic few weeks all those years ago, but we made a clean break.” I catch Claudette’s glance. As if she can hear the detective’s line of questioning on the other end of the line, she raises a brow and almost imperceptibly shakes her head in a silent it’s a shame, but I told you so. “Why? Do you have reason to believe he’s been in contact with Natasha?”