My Lovely Wife(71)
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Kekona has gone back to Hawaii for a month, so my first client is Mrs. Leland. She does not like to talk about crime or Owen or anything of the sort. Mrs. Leland is a serious player, who only talks about tennis.
After her lesson is over, I have a minute between clients, just long enough to see a text from Millicent.
?
I do not know what it means or what she is asking, so I text back:
What?
Midway through my lesson with a retiree named Arthur, Millicent sends me a link to a news story. The headline does not make sense.
OWEN IS DEAD
I read the story once, then again, and the third time it becomes more unbelievable than the first.
Fifteen years ago, Owen Oliver Riley was charged with murder and let go on a technicality. He vanished without a trace until recently, when the body of a young woman was found and someone claiming to be Riley sent a letter to a local reporter, taking responsibility for the murder and promising to kill another woman, even naming the day she would disappear. When a second woman’s body was found, it seemed he had made good on his promise. The next letter claimed that he was done and would now leave for good. But was he ever here at all?
“No,” says Jennifer Riley. “Owen’s sister contacted the local police last week and subsequently issued a statement.”
In a twist so shocking it hardly seems real, she claims that fifteen years ago, after Owen Riley was released, both she and her brother moved to Europe. Neither returned to the United States, not even for a visit, her statement says, and they changed their first names and lived in anonymity.
Five years ago, her brother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, she told police, and after several rounds of radiation, he finally succumbed to his illness and passed away. His body was cremated, her statement says.
Owen Riley’s obituary did not appear in any U.S. newspaper. It was announced only in a U.K. paper under his pseudonym, Jennifer Riley claims. She provided a copy of it to police, along with a death certificate. Authorities are currently working to verify the information.
Until recently, Jennifer Riley told police, she had no idea her brother had “returned” to the area where they grew up. She went on to say, “I wanted nothing to do with this. After leaving the area so many years ago, I wanted nothing to do with it. However, an old friend of mine reached out and convinced me to say something, because the police were convinced it was Owen.
“I will state this as clearly as possible: The recent murders of two young women are tragic and heartbreaking. However, I need to make it clear that my brother had nothing to do with them.”
Fifty-one
My phone is lying on the cement court, the screen shattered. I do not remember dropping it. Or maybe I threw it.
A hand is on my arm. Arthur, my client, is staring at me. His eyes are hidden under thick grey brows, and they are crinkled up. Worried. “Are you okay?” he says.
No. Okay is not what I am. “I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s a family—”
“Of course. Go.”
I pick up my phone and bag and leave the court. On the way to the parking lot, I hear people say hello but do not see their faces. All I can see is that headline:
OWEN IS DEAD
In the car, with the engine running, it occurs to me I have no idea where Millicent is. Not without that tracker on her car.
Through the broken screen, I send her a text.
Date night
Her reply:
Date lunch. Now.
I am already pulling out of the parking lot.
The kids are at school, so we meet at home. Her car is out front, and she is inside, pacing the length of the family room. Today her shoes are navy blue, and they do not make a sound when she walks. Her hair is shorter, cut above her shoulders, because she didn’t want Jenna to be the only girl in the family with short hair.
When I walk in, she stops pacing and we look at each other. Nothing to say.
Other than we screwed up.
She smiles a little. Not a happy smile. “Didn’t see this coming.”
“We couldn’t have.”
I reach out to her, and she comes to me, into my arms. My heart is beating faster than normal, and she leans her head against it.
“They’ll start looking for the real killer,” I say.
“Yes.” She leans her head back and looks up at me.
“We could just leave.”
“Leave?”
“Move away. We don’t have to live here. We don’t even have to live in this state. I can teach tennis anywhere. You can sell real estate anywhere.” The idea has just come to me, as I am standing here with Millicent. “Pick a place.”
“You aren’t serious.”
“Why not?”
She moves away from me and starts to pace again. I can see her building lists in her mind, trying to figure out everything that needs to be done. “It’s the middle of the school year.”
“I know.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to pick.”
“We can figure it out together.”
She goes silent.
I repeat the obvious. “They’re going to look for the real killer.”
This was never a problem before. No bodies had been found, not until Lindsay. Up until then, no one even knew there was a killer. They weren’t looking for anyone.