Trespassing(46)

“Yes, thank you.”

“And if you’re planning to go anywhere . . .” He wipes the back of his neck, then proceeds to give it a good massage. “Well, let’s just say you ought to check in with us before you leave on any excursions.”

“Where would we go?” I ask. “I mean . . . where do you think—”

He shrugs. “Dry Tortugas. Fort Jefferson. Back to the mainland. Who knows? Just check in before you go. Shows good faith.”

“Good faith?” I maneuver the business card beneath my fingernail. A splinter from a wooden picture frame dislodges. “Look, I don’t know what Detective Guidry told you, but I don’t plan on going anywhere but back home.”

He offers a half smile and another nod. “All right.”

“And actually . . . maybe you can help me. Do you know the people who used to live here?”

“I don’t.”

“It’s a small island, right? Not too many locals? Mostly tourists? See, I own this house. Only I didn’t know anything about it until recently. My husband arranged the purchase, and . . . well, now that I’m here, I’m seeing that maybe the house isn’t the only thing I didn’t know about.”

“Wish I could help. But I haven’t had an occasion until tonight to even come up the drive of this place.”

“Any of your colleagues then. If they know anything—” I shut up when I catch something in the way he’s looking at me. Accusation maybe. Annoyance. Or mistrust.

I swallow over an initial sense of shock building up in my throat. They, too, think I know something I’m not telling. “Well, if you think of anything—or if you hear anything, maybe—I wouldn’t mind if you check in with me every once in a while.” Maybe now they’ll get it through their thick skulls that I’m not trying to hide anything, that I didn’t come here to run away—let alone from the law—but to piece together everything that doesn’t make sense.

And that includes, apparently, my entire life with Micah.

But Laughlin stiffens, pressing his lips together in a way that makes the muscles in his jaw twitch. “We’ll be checking in. I promise you.”

“Well”—I clear my throat and cough to hide my intimidation—“I’d appreciate it.”

He doesn’t budge.

“Is there anything else?” I ask. “I have a hungry three-year-old here.”

“This is your first time on the island?”

“Yes.”

“Nini goed here once,” Bella murmurs into the hollow of my neck.

While the officer glances toward my daughter, he doesn’t pry. “Have a nice night, ma’am.”

“You too.”

“Check in before you go anywhere.”

“If I go anywhere, I will.”

He’s walking down the steps now, toward his bicycle.

“I wish I knew what you think I’m hiding,” I call after him.

He stops and turns to shoot a disciplined stare right through me.

“If I knew, I’d clear it up for you,” I say. “My world is falling to pieces . . . everywhere I turn, just fragments . . . and I don’t understand why you’re looking at me as if . . .” Unspoken words trail into nothingness.

“Why do you assume I’m looking at you in any way?”

“You see?” I wipe a budding tear from my eye. “You’re implying I have a guilty conscience. But what if I just want help understanding what happened to Micah?”

“Your husband disappeared under rather mysterious circumstances,” Laughlin says. “From what I understand, he left debts behind—debts in only his name. And here you are, in a house you say you never knew you owned. I’m sure you understand. We have to rule out the spouse.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help you rule me out, then let me do it.”

“Will do.” He raises his chin. “Evening, ma’am.”





Chapter 23

There’s a bottle of rum on the front porch. A metallic blue bow is affixed to the label, along with a note: WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD!

I look around the property to see who might have left it, but the house is situated away from the road, and the trees shroud this place in privacy, despite the fact that neighbors border nearly all edges of the lot.

It must have been the cat sitter. Who else knows we’re here?

The cops, of course, know we’ve arrived, but they’re hardly the welcoming sort.

“So tell me about Nini.” I take Bella by the hand, and we saunter down the pink driveway toward town. “The Nini in the picture.”

“You broke the picture.”

“I know. But Nini’s still in it.”

Shattered glass won’t erase the past, won’t erase the proof of Micah’s secrets.

“Hungry, Mommy.”

And the way Elizabella refuses to talk about being on this island with Nini has me thinking she doesn’t want to tell me something—maybe because she’s confused. “You can tell Mommy. Were you here with Nini before?”

“Hunnnngry.”

My stomach feels hollow, but I can’t imagine I’ll be able to keep anything down, even if I tried to eat, after seeing those pictures. “We’re heading to town,” I remind Elizabella. “We’ll find a restaurant and stop at a market on the way home.”