Woman on the Edge(35)

He banged on the glass. “Nic, I can see you. Open up.”

Everything was okay. She could do this. She was good at pretending.

So she opened the door.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN MORGAN




I take the obituary back from Ben, and it crinkles in my hand. I can’t stop looking at the date: August 7.

“It never occurred to me that the date was the same.” Ben digs his fingers into his forehead. “Could Donna have had a hand in all of this?” He gets up again and walks circles around the kitchen, tugging at his dark waves. “Or do you think Nicole just chose to end her life on the seventh?”

It’s making me dizzy watching him. “What do you know about Donna?” I ask. “Did she have any recent contact with Nicole?”

“No clue. I left it all behind. Nicole obviously gave me this obituary for a reason. She hadn’t said Donna’s or Amanda’s names to me for years.”

“Maybe Donna was on the platform. If we can find her photo, I can see if I remember anyone who looked like her at Grand/State. But I have to be honest, the whole event is a bit blurry.”

Ben stands still and wrings his hands. “It’s worth a shot.”

If I can find the truth, Martinez will be forced to admit I was just an innocent bystander. And if we get to the bottom of this, Quinn will be safe, and I can get my life back.

I take my phone out of my bag, type in: “Donna Taylor; Kenosha, Wisconsin,” and hand it to Ben.

Quinn’s arms and legs jut out suddenly like a starfish, but she doesn’t wake up.

He takes my phone and taps then holds it out to me. “Here she is. She still lives at the same address and works from there. Recognize her?”

The thumbnail is of a thin, pale redhead, wearing a pained smile that doesn’t reach her empty blue eyes. She runs an online consignment shop from her home in Kenosha.

I squeeze my eyes shut to try to recall everything I saw on the platform, but all my attention was on Nicole and Quinn. Donna has red hair, like the woman in the Prius. But it’s not enough to know for sure that was her. And in this photo, her hair is more auburn. The color isn’t quite the same. “I don’t think I saw her on the platform. And I didn’t get a good look at the redhead in the Prius.”

I take my phone back, suddenly exhausted. I wish I could sleep the day, the year, away, until all of this is over. But I did that after Ryan died, and it didn’t help me at all.

My stomach growls loudly, and heat creeps up my neck.

He smiles weakly, and for a moment he looks younger. “I haven’t eaten, either. I might have some granola bars in my backpack, if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you,” I say softly.

“It’s just a granola bar,” he says, and leaves the kitchen.

Ben’s awkward joke is almost childlike. He seems like such a genuine person, but I’ve learned the hard way I can’t rely on my intuition anymore. I have to remain guarded.

Only a moment later, I hear his low voice from the front hall. He mentions Donna Taylor, a redhead, a Prius. Then I hear my name. And I know he must be talking to Martinez. If I could run, I would. Why did I think for a second that he trusted me? My skin prickles with anger, and using the table as leverage, I stand up just as Ben walks back into the room.

We look at each other. His cheeks are flushed, and mine feel hot.

“You think I’m lying,” I say coldly, though really I want to cry.

“No. I don’t. But I had to call Martinez. We almost got run over by a car, and Nicole died the same day as Amanda. She has to know.”

I say nothing. Just because Donna is in the picture doesn’t mean I’m safe.

“Martinez took all the information down, and she’s going to check into Donna, the make of her car and license plate. It’s fine, Morgan.”

Fine. He has no idea what can happen, what can go wrong. I should get out of here and call Jessica. But then I notice a set of double doors next to the fridge. One of the doors is ajar. I want to scour the house for clues that will set me free, but I know I have to tread carefully.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

“The pantry, I think. Why?”

“Do you think we should look around a bit before we leave?”

He nods. “I’ll go. You can barely walk. And …”

“And she was your sister.”

Ben walks toward the doors and disappears inside. Then I hear a sharp intake of breath.

“Morgan.” His voice is low. “Come in here.”

I hobble slowly to the pantry. It’s a vast walk-in with shelves upon shelves filled with cans and boxes. Instantly, I see why Ben is shocked. Scores of purple Post-its cover the wall. Post-its like the one I found on my purse.

Name card. Redhead. Missing pills. Letter. Mobile. Door. Shattered chandelier. Photo. Box. Text. Exhaustion. Help me. Shelter. Widow. Morgan Kincaid. Mother.

“My name!” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes from the tiny papers. Seeing my name is like a fist to my solar plexus. The words swim in front of me, and I reach to steady myself against the wall.

Ben touches my shoulder. “You all right?”

I pull myself together. I have to think fast. It’s clear something horrible happened to Nicole that made her write these notes. Something or someone caused her to track me down. I stare at the wall.