Confessions on the 7:45(93)

She killed the engine, drew in another breath and released it.

The house sat dark, deserted. It was funny how an empty house could radiate a kind of loneliness. The energy of their life, their family, their love was gone. It was a body without a soul. She felt the threat of tears, the wobble of a breakdown. But she fought it back.

Not here. Not now.

She needed to change, get a coat. She needed money; she kept a stash of cash in a lockbox in the closet. In that box, there was also a gun, a small off-duty revolver with five shots. She knew how to use it. When Detective Crowe asked her if anything was missing, she’d thought of that box. But when she checked, it was back deep on the top of the closet, buried beneath clothes. It hadn’t been touched since the last time she put some money in there—more than a year ago, she thought.

The gun had been a gift from Graham after they bought the house, along with lessons at the range. She’d been uncomfortable with it at first, but found she’d enjoyed the target practice, the instructor who taught her how to aim, breathe, fire. It felt good to know that she could defend herself if she needed to. But she never thought she’d use it; the whole thing was more of a novelty, a very Graham type of gift.

Once she had those things, she would meet Martha—or Pearl, or whatever her name was—and figure out what the woman wanted. She hadn’t texted back, and Selena had no idea how to find her, but she knew the other woman was waiting. That she wanted something and that she’d come after it. It was only a matter of when.

One more text: I’m waiting, Pearl. Just tell me what you want.

No answer.

Finally, Selena exited the car, the air around her cold on her skin. She was going to take control of the situation and do what was necessary to salvage what was left of her boys’ lives. Maybe it would be easy; maybe Pearl just wanted money. Selena would give it to her. Whatever she had to, she was going to do that. There was a surge of power in the decision.

As she walked toward the house, the trees whispered their little secrets, all the things they knew and had seen. Other homes were warm with landscape lighting, glowing windows. Safe, normal lives being lived in relative peace. Or at least that was the facade. That’s how it seemed from the outside looking in.

Her house was quiet, and she didn’t bother flipping on lights as she jogged up the stairs. In the master bath, she mopped off, then quickly changed. A pair of jeans, a black T-shirt, her wool peacoat, black running shoes. She had to get the bench at the foot of the bed and climb up on it to reach far in the back of the top shelf of the closet.

When she retrieved the box, it felt light as she sank with it to the floor. She punched in the code and the lid popped open with a snap. Her heart sank. The gun was gone. Maybe half the cash had been removed.

“Goddammit,” she whispered, counting the cash.

There had been five thousand dollars. Now there was less than two. Her money, cash she’d saved over the years from birthday gifts from her parents, work bonuses, anytime there was extra from the monthly budget. It was her security fund. She didn’t even think Graham knew about it. They never touched the gun. Or so she thought.

What if Geneva had taken it? But, no, only Selena and Graham knew the code. He might have told Geneva, or given her the money, the way Erik Tucker had bought her a car. When Detective Crowe had asked her about their finances, she’d been so sure she was in control of that at least.

She pocketed what was left of the cash.

More secrets and hidden things. Her husband a thief as well as a liar, an adulterer, an abuser of woman. Where was the gun? It was hers, registered to her name, had her fingerprints on it. Her heart thudded as she remembered Detective Crowe’s questions, his pointed stare. Did she ever think about hurting Geneva? No, she never did. But who would believe that now?

The room around her seemed to spin. Fear and self-doubt crept up behind her and whispered in her ear. What are you doing? You’re out of your league here. It took her a moment to register the ringing of her phone, which she’d left on the bed.

She rose and walked over to glance at the caller ID. Will.

Her mother probably called him. She hesitated before answering.

“Selena.” His voice was taut with tension. “Where are you? Your mom’s freaking out. She said you took off.”

She was about to answer, but he interrupted her. “Look, it doesn’t matter. The body—police were able to identify it. It’s not Geneva Markson.”

Relief crashed over her like a wave. Thank god—for Geneva, for her family. She nearly wept with gratitude. Graham—whatever he was, he wasn’t that.

“How?” she asked. “I thought you said it could take weeks.”

“There was another missing woman. Her family was able to identify the body by a tattoo on her shoulder.”

Another missing woman.

“Her name was Jacqueline Carson. Do you know her?”

It had a familiar ring, but she couldn’t place it. “No.”

“She worked with Graham. She was the woman who accused him of harassing her, the reason he was fired from his job.”

The news knocked the wind out of her. A crushing fatigue followed, like someone drained all her energy from her. She sank onto the mattress.

“Have you seen Graham?” asked Will.

She struggled for breath, for words. “Isn’t he—still with the police?”