Every Single Secret(26)

I’ll find the police myself.



Chapter Nine

Tuesday, October 16

Three Days Before

I decided all that stuff about the universe knowing what I needed was bullshit. The universe could go suck an egg; what I really needed was some Internet and a Domino’s pizza.

And an email from Annalise Beard telling me what she knew, if anything, about Heath’s past.

Not that it was going to be easy to hear, whatever it was she might have to say, but it was for the best. Getting Heath away from this weirdo doctor, this creepy mountain and ancient house, was in Heath’s best interest as well as mine. What I was doing was for us.

But it was Tuesday already. Three days since I’d gotten the Instagram message from her. And I was losing faith that I was going to be able to get into the car to retrieve the iPad. And if I did get to it, there was still the possibility that Annalise knew nothing. So what would I do then?

My brain raced. Like me, Heath was a loner. Not extremely so, just a little on the introverted side, and mostly focused on getting his career off the ground. He had friends, just not many older ones from his years at University of Georgia. That guy at Divine, the one in the bad suit, was one, but they hadn’t been roommates. I’d only met a roommate once—Evan Something-or-Other. Graham? Gilbert? If Annalise was a dead end, maybe I could track him down on Facebook or Instagram. Ask him if Heath had ever talked in his sleep.

I paced the length of the room. Baskens was getting to me, fraying my nerves and making me jumpy. When I first arrived, I was so run down from the nightmares, part of me had hoped Baskens would be the break I needed. But I didn’t know how to amble and piddle and lounge like a delicate Victorian lady. My body was used to the exhilarating busyness of dealing with clients, the daily analgesic of sprinting around a track until the copper taste filled my mouth and every bone in my body ached. The relentless quiet of this place was driving me insane.

I needed to find our car keys before I ended up strangling somebody.

After breakfast, I followed Heath down the stairs, then down the hallway that led to the kitchen. I heard the doctor usher him into his office and close the French doors behind them. I waited a few seconds, then, backtracking, inched closer to the glass doors to see if I could get a better view.

All that was visible was the anteroom of the office—a small, unfurnished nook that blocked any view of the doctor’s office beyond it. On the wall adjacent to the door, a row of metal hooks held multiple sets of keys, including the Nissan’s, which I recognized from the red-and-black Georgia Bulldogs fob. I pushed at the door, and it creaked open a couple of inches.

“How are you feeling this morning?” I heard Dr. Cerny say from the other side of the wall.

“Better,” Heath answered. “It’s not like I hadn’t anticipated the—”

His voice dipped in volume, and I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. But it didn’t matter. I was here for the keys, not to eavesdrop on my fiancé’s therapy. I slipped through the open door and crept toward the hooks.

“Do you think having her here was really a good idea?” I heard the doctor say.

I froze. Who was he talking about? Me?

“It’s so funny to me”—Heath again—“the assumptions you people make, you doctors, that you know what’s best for the rest of us. You leave . . .” His voice lowered.

My God, he sounded so brusque. It seemed a little premature to have already developed such a combative relationship with the doctor. But maybe that’s how Cerny operated—maybe he encouraged bluntness in his patients. I lifted the keys gently, easily, off the hook and slid them into my pocket, then backed toward the door, tugging my sweater down to hide the bulge.

I slipped out the front door and headed around the side of the house. At the row of cars, I stopped beside the Nissan and unlocked the passenger’s-side door. Ducking in and shutting the door behind me, I reached under the floor mat. The iPad powered to life, and as the bars filled in, a thrill ran through me.

“Hi, you,” I crooned.

Thanks to the gods of 4G, little red dots sprang out on my apps like a rash of measles. Twenty-one new emails, a handful of texts pushed from my iPhone, and a smattering of notifications on my social-media apps. I opened the texts from Lenny first.

This seems really last minute, D. Not to be an asshole, but we’ve got a lot going on this week. Could H not have given a couple weeks’ notice?

Then:

I’m all for counseling, but H knows how headshrinkers make you feel. He should respect that.

Followed by:

I don’t get why you’re so willing to drop everything for him like this. And, okay, maybe my feelings are just hurt because you never open up to me. Well, fuck it. I am being an asshole, after all. Look, I know it’s not about me. I love you, D. I’m here for you. Can you just check in when you get a chance? Let me know you’re okay? This is really nerve racking, not being able to talk to you. And just FYI, my mom is worried, so she’s calling me nonstop.

And finally:

Okay, ignore all previous texts. I’m a jealous diva. I love you. We’ll talk when you come home. BTW, did you hear? They’ve shut down Divine’s. xx L

I smiled, in spite of my nerves. That was my Lenny, running the entire gamut of emotions in a handful of texts. I felt bad, worrying her, worrying Barbara, but I really didn’t know what else I could’ve done. I’d had no other choice but to come with Heath. I would text her back later, and when I got home, I’d take Barbara out to lunch.