Wish You Were Gone(28)
“Oh, I’m fine. Don’t hang around because of me,” Gray said. “Just lock up on your way out.”
“Thanks, Ms. Garrison,” Tameeka said, and practically bolted for the door. Most likely she had plans with her fairly gorgeous boyfriend and thought she was going to have to order in sushi for Gray and hunker down with her for the night. Was it sad that Gray almost wished it was one of those nights? She enjoyed the camaraderie of digging through financials and timelines with Tameeka and the paralegals. It made her feel young. Because, well, that was what she’d done with her time when she was young.
Okay, yes, that was sad.
With a sigh, Gray checked her phone. It was after six. Nothing from Darnell. Did that mean he was almost home, or had he uncharacteristically spaced on contacting her again? It wasn’t that she was one of those women who needed to know where her man was at all hours of the day, it was that he—of his own volition—had always kept her informed. Now that he didn’t, it was as if she’d been set adrift, and it was all his fault. He’d basically trained her to expect his updates, and then taken them away.
Where was Darnell, for that matter?
Gray shook her head, to clear it of Lizzie’s voice. The question had been scrolling through her mind unbidden for the past few days. Lizzie had sounded so smug when she’d said it. Did Lizzie know something Gray didn’t?
She sat with the question for a moment, then laughed. No, no, no. If there was one certainty in this world, it was that Elizabeth Larkin did not know more about any one subject than did Gray Garrison. Especially not about this.
When she looked back down at the brief, Gray’s eyes literally crossed. She reached for the pile of mail in her in-box instead and grabbed her letter opener. The envelope on top was from the scrapyard, a check made out to Emma Walsh care of Gray Garrison. Gray placed the check into her briefcase, feeling self-satisfied. It was amazing, really, that Lizzie considered herself to be such a great friend to Emma. Look at all Gray had done for Emma since James died—dealing with the funeral home, the tow service, the junkyard. Making sure her kids were fed. She was even starting to help Zoe at the firm with arrangements for a memorial. What had Lizzie done? According to Emma, she’d called and asked for a referral to a Realtor. She was asking Emma for favors and advice when she should be doing everything in her power to be there for Emma and her family. Ridiculous.
Gray picked up her cell and dialed Emma.
Voicemail. Did no one answer their phones anymore? She waited for the beep.
“Emma, I’ve been thinking, we should get back to our weekly runs this weekend. I think it would be good for you to get out of the house and get some exercise. Call me back.”
The second she ended the call, her phone rang. Darnell. Her chest swelled with relief. He must be home and wondering where she was. She picked up.
“Hi, hon,” she said smoothly, shoving the letter opener into the next envelope.
“Gray,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t get mad.”
* * *
GRAY FUMBLED WITH her briefcase and keys while simultaneously trying to scroll through contacts on her phone as she walked to her car. Three feet from the door she dropped the keys, then the phone, and almost screamed in frustration.
The police station. Pulled over. Erratic driving. Shouting at cops. Issued a warning.
You’ve gotta come get me, Gray. They’re impounding my car.
It had turned out it was his third speeding infraction in two weeks. His license was being suspended pending a hearing. He hadn’t told her. Gray and Darnell never kept secrets from one another, and now this.
What the fuck was wrong with her husband? She had seen him angry before. It wasn’t as if he’d never been upset in his life. That awful day when the boys were in Little League and the opposing team’s coach had grabbed Derek’s arm when he’d talked back. The morning that Dante had put a baseball through the three-thousand-dollar French window three days after it was installed. There had been marital tiffs and spats, the occasional night spent on the couch, but ever since the day his best friend died, things had changed. She’d never forget the way he looked at James when he found out what the man had been doing behind his back. It was like a switch had flipped. Doctor Jekyll, meet Mr. Hyde.
Gray crouched to the ground and said a quick prayer before she picked up her phone. Shattered. Of course. She was literally the only person she knew who had never broken a cell phone. Until today. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed her keys and unlocked her car. Once inside its hermetically sealed cabin, she gripped the steering wheel and screamed, shaking her head so hard her hair flew and stuck to her lipstick.
After about five seconds of this, she was done, and she felt idiotic, even though she knew not a soul could have seen her. She took a deep breath, smoothed her hair down, and checked her face in the visor mirror. With a fingertip, she pressed a dot of spittle off her chin. Then she pushed the button to start her call and said, very calmly, “Call Mo Tornambe.”
Mo ran the desk at the Oakmont Police Department. She was the one who decided what news went out and what news stayed in. This news—former Super Bowl–winning NFL linebacker and partner in the PR firm Garrison & Walsh cited for erratic driving and disorderly conduct a week and a half after the salacious death of his business partner—most definitely could not go out. Especially not if Lizzie started running her mouth, saying she suspected Darnell had something to do with James’s death. She could so easily see this snowballing, and that was not about to happen on her watch.