Woman on the Edge(57)

I pick up and put it on speaker. I have nothing to hide anymore. The relief is immense. “Hi,” I say.

“Where are you? I’ve been calling and there’s no answer. I went to your apartment, but you’re either not there or ignoring me.”

“I’m with Ben. We went to Kenosha to talk to Donna.”

“You what? Why?” Her voice is high and incredulous.

I fill her in on everything—Greg coming to take Quinn back, Melissa, the redheaded reporter, and Tessa Ward. I tell her about the letter slid under my door and the email with the horrible doll photo.

“Guerrilla Mail is an untraceable, disposable email address. It would be hard to prove you didn’t send that photo to Ben.”

There’s something in her tone that I don’t like. “You’re not listening. We need to find this redheaded reporter,” I say.

“We? Don’t you think you should leave that to me?” She sighs, exasperated.

But I no longer care. I know I’m not guilty. I know I’ve done nothing wrong.

“How long will it take you to get back here, Morgan? Nicole’s attorney filed her will into probate. It’s now public. And Martinez got a search warrant for your computer and phone.”

My stomach clenches. “A search warrant? What probable cause does she have?”

“Nicole’s autopsy deemed her death undetermined, and not a single witness has come forward to say you didn’t push her—at least not yet.”

“I didn’t do it,” I say, my tone more forceful than I intend.

“It’s just a theory. If there’s no proof that you have any connection to Nicole prior to August seventh, she’ll have to explore suicide and other persons of interest. But we have to give her your devices. The CSU did a search of Nicole’s. The Post-its in the pantry with your name all over them aren’t good. They also found a GPS tracker under the carriage of Nicole’s Lexus, and a spy app on her phone and computer. They need to rule you out.”

I can hear her suspicion. It’s creeping into her voice. None of this is good news. Whoever’s been after Nicole might know who I am.

“Track Melissa Jenkins,” I tell her.

“I don’t have enough information to go on. She was in New York with Greg when Nicole died, so she couldn’t have been on the platform. The one strange thing, though, is that I got my hands on some footage from the blue Prius that hit you on the highway. And we already know Donna owns a Chevy. The license plate doesn’t match the one you gave me for Melissa’s car. But the Prius on the highway was rented in Nicole’s name.”

I shudder. Nicole’s dead, and I’m still in danger. So is Quinn. “Did someone steal her identity to get the car? Does Martinez know?”

“I’m looking into it, and I’m not sure Martinez knows. I’ll meet you at your apartment building. How long until you can get to your place?”

“About an hour.”

“All right, see you in an hour.”

I hang up and look at Ben. “Could you hear her?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “Perfectly.”

Flashes of my past flit through my mind in complete disarray. Ryan dropping to one knee and asking me to marry him. The middle of the night phone call telling me my father was gone. Nicole putting Quinn in my arms before jumping. Ben standing between me and Greg, defending me.

I think he’s my ally.

“Thank you,” I say to him.

“For what?” His eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Believing in me.”

He smiles, and we spend the rest of the ride in companionable silence. Our separate lives have been entwined because of his sister and a baby we both care deeply about.

He pulls up to his house, where I left my car. We look at each other and laugh uncomfortably. This is all so insane.

“Now what?” he asks.

“I’ll meet Martinez and Jessica at my place. You?”

“I guess I’ll just wait.”

“Of course,” I say, though I’m disappointed. I’ve gotten used to him by my side. But we don’t owe each other anything, and I can deal with this part on my own.

I put my hand on the door handle. “Okay, so, I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

He nods, both hands on the wheel. “Me too. I’ll check in again with Quinn later and keep you posted.”

I get out, and he does, too. Then, oddly bereft, I watch him enter his house and close the door.

When I drive up to my building and park, both Martinez’s black sedan and Jessica’s white Mercedes are waiting at the curb. The two women, one tall and lean, the other small and curvy, stand on the sidewalk. They stop talking when they see me approach.

Jessica smooths her dark hair. “I’ve informed Detective Martinez of all the evidence you’ve uncovered.”

Martinez’s face is stony. Does she believe any of it? Will she really follow the leads?

Without pleasantries, Martinez pulls a yellow form out of her pocket. She flashes it in front of my face.

I read the black print. “Search Warrant” is splashed across the top of the document.

I want to slap the warrant out of her hand. Again, I’m somebody’s puppet.

Be strong, I tell myself. Be brave.