Trespassing(68)

I would’ve been better off had he divorced me. The legal system could have protected me through the process. But because he disappeared, I’m out of luck. The authorities can’t make a man support his child, if they can’t find the man.

The saving grace is that I own this house. I found the closing documents in a drawer in the kitchen. Along with the power of attorney I signed over to my husband, there’s a refusal of homestead rights form. Micah signed it at the closing, so he has no legal claim to this property. The lawyer said this house should be free and clear of any of Micah’s debts. Translation: it’s mine, and Micah thought to protect it the moment we purchased it.

I can make things work here if I can find a job. I haven’t worked in almost five years, and it took a while to get a permanent position out of college, so I have a whopping three years of experience on my résumé. Plus, the island is less than seven and a half square miles. Employment opportunities have to be limited.

But the funds from the safe-deposit box are dwindling with every trip to Home Depot, and debts in Chicago are accruing. I have to find something.

“Nini, faster!” Elizabella should be in preschool. She should be socializing with real children, not with made-up ones who live in her head.

I snap a picture on my phone to commemorate this moment. She’s happy.

Normally, I’d forward the picture to Micah and maybe his mother, but under the circumstances . . .

Shell thinks I’m responsible for Micah’s disappearance. I’ve stopped trying to connect with her. She’ll come to her senses when she stops blaming me. I can’t send her a casual text until then.

Well, why not?

Maybe an incoming text will jump-start some activity on Micah’s phone. Knowing he won’t answer hasn’t stopped me from calling every day just in case.

I forward the picture of Bella to both of them on the same thread.

The moment I send it, however, I realize it might look bad. Guidry all but accused me of being in touch with my husband—he thinks I know where Micah is, that I’m going to meet up with him in Italy, Switzerland, or wherever else he was searching with my log in for houses.

I dial Guidry’s cell phone.

“Mrs. Cavanaugh,” he says. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello, Detective.” I wait for him to accuse me of something, but when no accusations come, I continue with my reasons for calling. “Do you have any news?”

“I’m following up on the boys’ names you offered up last week. There is no record of any children with the last name of Cavanaugh or Markham in the Key West school system.”

I’d told him about Bella including Connor and Brendan in her games, as well as my theory that she met a little girl named Mimi and is mispronouncing it as Nini. The longer things carry on without Guidry finding answers, though, the more I’m certain he’s going to accuse me of sending him on a wild goose chase.

“I’m searching birth records here,” he continues. “And in Florida. It took some time, but I may have hit on something.”

“Good. You’ll let me know?”

“I’m e-mailing Key West PD. Officer Laughlin should be by sometime this afternoon to show you what I’ve got.”

“Okay.”

“The other searches are proving more difficult. We’ve followed up with real estate agents in Europe, but there are no records of a Micah Cavanaugh inquiring about properties. Still no word on any unidentified John Does in the tri-state area, and I’m still waiting for more details about whether he applied for employment in Europe. But as far as whether anyone has confirmed sightings of your husband since he left . . .”

I’m holding my breath, hoping against all that’s holy that someone has seen him.

“We have none.”

I release the breath. “I want you to know I texted a picture of Bella to Micah’s phone and to his mother’s. I thought if either replies . . . you know, maybe it’ll tell us something.”

“Let me know what happens.”

“I will. But if Micah’s choosing to be gone, he has a good reason, and Shell won’t take my calls.”

After a pause, Guidry clears his throat. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, want to tell me what business you had at a lawyer’s office, would you?”

Every time he hits me sidelong with something like this, it makes my head spin.

“I told you I’d have eyes on you,” he says.

“I saw a lawyer, yes.”

“You’re looking to get your ducks in a row.” The words alone aren’t terribly accusatory, but based on his tone, he may as well have said you’re covering your ass, aren’t you?

“Is there any question in your mind,” I say, “that whatever happened to Micah, he’s put me in a difficult position? That whatever Micah is doing now, it’s pretty apparent that what he was doing before is unacceptable? I have to protect myself. Whether he’s setting me up or whether he’s left me for another woman. Technically, I don’t even have a home to go home to because my father-in-law owns it. No matter what comes to pass, I have to protect my daughter.”

“That’s valid,” he says. “I finally got a track on that phone call you got . . . the caller who told you to listen to your daughter?”