Trespassing(33)

“It’s not too late.” Time is relative at this point, anyway. “There’s a man . . . he’s on the fairway . . . I think he’s spying on us.”

“I’ll send someone to check it out. Probably a member of the press, looking for a photo op. Keep your shades drawn.”

“A member of the press?”

“Probably. They’re desperate for human-interest stories.”

That’s what we’ve become? A human-interest story?

“No one can get in past the guard,” he continues. “Or without the gate code. And we’ve doubled the patrols at the county preserve just in case. If someone’s out there who shouldn’t be, we’ll know.”

A few minutes later, the detective is seated at my kitchen table, opening a file folder. “Is this your husband’s car?” He glances up at me.

With Bella on my hip, I award the photograph in his file a once-over.

Dark-blue Chevy Impala.

“Yes. But that’s not his plate.”

“The VIN matches. It’s at C-Way.”

“C-Way?”

“C-Way. An airport. It’s between here and the north woods of Wisconsin. About ninety minutes southwest of your father-in-law’s lake house.”

The familiar, dull ache in my lower back registers just then. I shift my weight to accommodate the bulk of kid in my arms, but she’s my security blanket, and I don’t want to let go of her.

“Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“Yeah.”

The detective places a warm hand on my elbow. “Veronica.”

We lock gazes.

“Why don’t you sit down?”

Fresh tears swell in my eyes. I lower my tired body to a chair. Bella touches the glossy photograph in the detective’s file. “Daddy.”

Guidry tears off a few sheets from his legal pad and slides them across the table to my daughter, along with a pen. Bella isn’t usually allowed to write with ink, but I help her click it open and give a nod toward the paper.

“Could be he drove up north for some alone time before he took his flight.” Guidry’s voice is soft, assuring. “Security at C-Way says the car’s been there at least twenty-four hours, maybe longer. It doesn’t fill all the gaps—the license plate switch, for example—but . . .” He sighs. “It’s something.”

“I don’t know why he would’ve left from up there.” I feel my brow creasing. As much as I don’t want to lose it—again—in front of Guidry, I’m powerless to stop the continuous flood of tears.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he says.

I wipe tears from my cheeks and again meet his gaze. “I never know what to say when people say that.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I mean, I appreciate the sentiment. You can’t not say you’re sorry, but—”

“You’re holding up okay? You need anything?”

It isn’t like I have a choice. I have to hold up okay, don’t I? And I don’t need anything, except my husband. But no one can bring him back to me.

“Detective, I’m . . .”

He narrows his gaze, but this time it comes off more concerned than usual.

“I’m . . .” I catch my breath over a sob. “My world is falling apart.”

“I’m sorry. I’m doing everything I can.”

Nothing makes sense.

“Perhaps if you dig deep,” he continues. “Think. What are you not telling me?”

I wish I knew what he wanted me to say. But all I’m thinking is that if the police can’t answer these questions, I have to find the answers myself.

They think I’m not telling everything I know, but I think it’s just the opposite, actually. They’re keeping something from me.

If Guidry is saying Micah never took a job with Diamond, then whose plane was he flying? And if he wasn’t a pilot anymore, then how did he die in a plane crash?





Chapter 16

November 19

“I don’t believe it,” Shell says through tears. “There has to be a mistake.”

I keep hoping the phone will ring, and that’s all this mess will have been—one big mistake.

“My son, my son, my son,” she murmurs. “God, why? And Bella . . .”

My tears intensify.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Except they found remains of a plane . . .”

“No, no, no.”

“It was off the coast of Florida. Atlantic side.”

“No, no, you said he was going to New York. There’s some mistake. There’s got to be—”

“That’s what he told me, Shell, but there were obviously things he didn’t—”

“We’ll figure it out. Someone’s made a mistake.”

“They sent federal officers to tell me.” I don’t say so, but it sure doesn’t look like anyone made a mistake.

“And Bella . . . she had a feeling. What was it she said?”

“God Land.” I hiccup over the words. “She said he went to God Land, and we know now she didn’t mean Wisconsin.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. How do you suppose—”