Trespassing(94)

“No, a Roberta Marley owns the house. If you search the address, it’ll take you to a vacation rental site.”

But he was there. I saw him writing in the kitchen. I ate Thanksgiving dinner on his back patio. He kissed me in the den a few hours ago.

“It’s safe for you to return, ma’am. We’ll have someone patrolling regularly, and we can better ensure your safety here than wherever it is you’ve run to.”

Unless I imagined it all.





Chapter 51

By the time we return to Old Town, Goddess Island Gardens is as calm as the wafting ocean breeze. One would never guess the frantic occurrences of this morning.

I wonder if everything suspicious is as much a fabrication in my mind as an imaginary friend. Did I conjure Christian—in all his feigned perfection—as a means to help me cope with the unthinkable things happening in my life? Could I have been so distraught over losing Micah that I brought myself into an alternate reality?

But what of Christian’s nieces, whom Bella has been drawing consistently since we met them? Andrea, with purple hair; Emily as a blonde. They, too, seemed too good to be true. Would eighteen-year-olds, on a gap year, be willing to spend their free time with my bossy three-year-old? Is it possible for a parent with delusions to pass the same visions onto her children?

Is Elizabella seeing people that don’t exist simply because I tell her they’re there?

Mama tried to make me see things from her point of view, but I never budged from reality. The state clinics declared me sane, even though she told the authorities I wasn’t right. I always thought she was simply good at convincing them of her sanity, but what if it’s the other way around? What if I managed to convince them of mine?

Or is there another explanation for Christian’s sudden exodus?

Could he have packed everything he owned, and everything his nieces brought for use during their gap year, and cleared out in less than an hour?

I mentally retrace the past twenty-four hours.

I was feeling guilty for neglecting to tell Christian the truth about Micah.

Bella and I paid him and his nieces a visit—at the very house that is now vacant, the very house Laughlin claims has been vacant for months.

Andrea answered the door, her vibrant purple hair voluminous in the humidity.

We entered. Bella wanted to play one-two-three-fly.

All of this I could’ve imagined, I suppose.

But wait.

The autograph tree.

Emily and Andrea added to the leaves others had decorated. They wrote their names and drew pictures. If their scribbles are still there on the leaves, I’ll know I didn’t imagine them.

Bella is tired; she needs a nap. But I buckle her into her stroller and take the long way around, down Elizabeth. By the time we turn left on Southard, my daughter is asleep. I continue to Christian’s place on Love Lane.

There, next to the front door, is the tree.

And on the leaves are signatures:

Emily

and

Andrea

And several others, as well, in different handwriting. This lends credence to the house being a rental for vacationers.

I look more closely. One of Christian’s twin nieces wrote GAP YEAR! on a leaf and the date of their arrival. They got here a few days before I did.

I’m not crazy . . . unless I decorated the leaves. Unless I wrote the girls’ names in varying fonts.

I’m about to turn around and walk home, when something catches my eye: a leaf from the tree, discarded on the porch. On it, someone wrote Miss You, Bella. Only it doesn’t match the handwriting of Emily or Andrea.

It looks, actually, like it could be Micah’s.





Chapter 52

My phone is ringing by the time I bolt the door behind me.

“Detective Guidry.” I’m near tears of relief to see he’s finally returned my call. “You have to follow up on my neighbor. His name is Christian Renwick.”

“Do you have a minute? I’m out front.”

I’m already on my way to the door.

A minute later, the detective is seated at my table. Eight-by-ten glossies occupy the space before us.

I’m looking at one of the photographs. “Yes,” I say. “That’s him. He said his name was Lincoln, and he was an FBI agent. He told me my husband was dead.”

“He has ties to Diamante, stationed in the Dominican Republic.”

“Diamante,” I repeat. “That’s the business account Micah transferred money from.”

“Yes. It’s a legitimate company. Once one of the biggest in international shipping.”

“If his name was on the Diamante account, are you telling me Micah owned a legitimate shipping company? If it’s legitimate, why would he lie about flying executives around the globe?”

“Diamante paid Micah, according to the transfers, up to four, sometimes five, times the going rate for carriers. Either he was transporting something illegal, or he was laundering the money they obtained from illegal goods. Those carriers are of another class they call de azul.”

“Azul.”

“You know the term?”

“No, but there’s a boat docked at Simonton Street Beach. It’s called Azul. It means ‘blue.’”

“Micah could have been a blue-status carrier—responsible for transporting high-risk shipments.”