Have You Seen Me?(41)

“Why don’t we wait and do this in person? I also find it more beneficial to have these conversations face-to-face.”

“‘These conversations’? Was there a problem?”

“No, not a problem. I simply wanted to offer a few guidelines.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to hear them now. I may not see you for a few days—unless you can meet tonight.”

That’s not going to happen. “Okay, like I said, a good start, but some of your comments sounded a little rehearsed. On a podcast, particularly the type of segment we did, you want to come across as natural as possible.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t have contradicted you about IRAs?”

“Of course not. That kind of stuff makes a segment compelling. But the back-and-forth should be easygoing, as if we’re chatting over coffee. I noticed you reading notes before we started, and I probably should have advised you to look them over last night and then forget about them. I’m sorry I didn’t mention that.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding less irritated now that she’s manipulated me into accepting partial blame. “And yes, that would have been good to know.”

“Well, there’ll be a next time. Remember, Casey is on vacation in a couple of weeks.”

“Right, thanks. I’ll look forward to it.”

Using one hand, I’ve also managed to slide the chicken onto a plate and extract the remaining half baguette from the freezer.

“Unfortunately, Sasha, I have to go. I’m having an early dinner with Hugh.”

“Of course. Say hi for me, will you? And tell him I finally remembered where I met him.”

I freeze in place, holding the head of lettuce.

“Sure.” I wish I could deny her the pleasure of asking where, but I can’t resist. “Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll pass it on.”

“It was at the Yale Club a few weeks ago—at a lecture on money laundering. I’d gone with a friend of mine, Ashley Budd, and she introduced us.”

I’ve been gripping the phone so tightly I’m surprised I haven’t crushed it, but now I let my fingers relax. I remember the night. Hugh had told me he’d be going with a friend of his from law school.

“I’ll let him know. Have a good weekend.”

As I’m setting the phone down, I spot another text from Hugh.

Sry! One of the partners grabbed me. In sub station now. 15 minutes tops.

I could actually use the time. Sasha’s call has compounded how uneasy I feel, and I’m craving a few minutes of silence alone. After washing and spin-drying the lettuce, and chopping up the broccoli, I retreat to the bedroom. Without turning on the light, I lie facedown on the bed in the darkness with my phone next to me. Lately, I’ve been keeping it by my side.

I close my eyes, taking four deep breaths. The room smells vaguely of anise and orange, from the scented candle I burned while dressing this morning, and I force myself to focus on the scent and stay in the moment.

It’s going to be okay, I assure myself. No one was watching me earlier, it was simply my imagination. Yes, I’m still troubled by what happened to me years ago, but once I speak with the police in Millerstown and apologize for my deception, I’m bound to feel more at ease. Things will get better with Hugh, too. Tonight will be nice. If I know my husband, he loves a good cheese course.

And Mulroney will help me find the threads that lead to the truth, even if Damien had nothing to offer.

For a brief moment, I allow my thoughts to be tugged back to Damien. It’s true that I was the one who suggested the break, after a fall weekend in New Hampshire. We often went away together because there was less of a chance of being busted out of town than in the city, and we purposely picked spots we figured our colleagues weren’t likely to surface in. It had been an amazing weekend. Hiking on beautiful trails, reading on the porch of our inn, a three-hour lunch at a restaurant along a rushing river.

On Sunday, however, Damien’s car had broken down and we ended up spending the night in New England. I called my assistant the next morning, saying I’d decided to extend a weekend visit to my dad’s since he wasn’t feeling well. Damien had emailed his assistant on Monday morning to say he had a last-minute meeting with an investor—and then made a point of showing up at the office midafternoon.

But clever Greenbackers weren’t so easily fooled. A few of them had probably already had an inkling, and the simultaneous unplanned absences clearly ratcheted up their suspicions. I sensed them watching us more closely after that. I hated it. I didn’t want people to assume that I’d slept my way to my most recent promotion. “We should put things on hold for a while,” I’d told Damien. But I never meant forever. And it was gutting when I realized several months later that he’d started dating someone else.

What does it matter now, though?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed so I’m sitting on the edge, grab my phone, and try Gabby, reaching her voice mail. I leave a message asking her to call me, and before I have a chance to set the phone down, it rings in my hand. Mulroney.

“Ms. Linden?”

“Yes, hi.” From the main part of the apartment, I hear the sound of Hugh’s key turning in the lock. “Did you receive the retainer okay?”

“Yes, thanks. We’re all set on that front. And I’ll be starting the canvassing at eight tomorrow.”