My Lovely Wife(78)

Fifty-six




For a second, I believed Millicent was upset because the news was horrific, because it was shocking, because it had nothing to do with us. Or I like to think I believed that.

Within another second, I knew it was her. The church was where she’d brought Lindsay and Naomi.

“A church?”

We are back upstairs, in our bedroom, but the mood could not be more different. There is nothing sexy about a dungeon in a church.

Our family does not go to church, and never has. Millicent was raised agnostic; I was raised Catholic and lapsed early. Church is where we attend weddings, funerals, and bake sales. And even I think this location is one of the most disturbing choices Millicent could have made. The only place worse would have been a preschool.

Millicent is no longer shocked by the discovery, nor is she scared. She has turned defensive. “I needed a place. Somewhere they wouldn’t even search.”

“Keep your voice down.” The kids are downstairs watching TV, but I am still afraid they will hear.

“No one found it, did they? Not when they were still alive.”

“No. No one found the church until Claire came to town.” According to Josh, they found the church because of a tip. Someone had seen a car in what used to be the parking lot but was now full of weeds.

Millicent stood in front of me, hands on hips. She is still wearing her robe.

Behind her, the TV is on in our bedroom. The press has not been let into the church, nor have any pictures been released, so Josh is repeating what his unnamed sources have said.

“A vile scene … chains attached to the walls … iron cuffs drenched in blood … even a veteran police officer was brought to tears … like something out of a movie.”

Millicent flipped her hand, brushing the words away. “It is not drenched with blood. That room isn’t a vault. It’s a basement. And the church has to be a hundred years old. Who knows what’s taken place in there?”

“But you cleaned it?”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you really asking me that?”

I throw up my hands as an answer.

Millicent walks up to me, her face closer to mine than when we were still in bed, but there is nothing cozy or warm about her. “Don’t you dare second-guess me. Not now.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Stop.”

Her robe swishes as she turns around and disappears into the bathroom.

I can understand her anger. She is angry the church was discovered and angry I am questioning her. But I would not have left that basement with a speck of blood in it. The whole thing would have been doused in ammonia or bleach or whatever gets rid of blood and fluids and DNA of any kind. Maybe I would have left behind a lit cigarette inside and let it burn, making it look like an accident.

I never got the chance to do any of that, because I did not know about the church. I could never bring myself to ask.



* * *



? ? ?

Millicent decides we should all go to the movies this afternoon. Given the circumstances, the suggestion is absurd, but I tell myself it has to be better than watching the news all day. Yes, it’s a good idea to get out of the house. Out of my head. Away from Josh. I repeat this as I get dressed, trying to shove aside that church and its basement. It almost works.

“I’m not feeling very well.” For emphasis, I hold my stomach.

Millicent gives me the look. “Maybe some popcorn would help.”

“No, no, you guys go ahead. Have a good time.”

They leave without me.

I do not turn on the news. Instead, I drive out to the church.

The TV is not good enough. I want to see it for myself, this place where Millicent kept Lindsay and Naomi alive.

It is out on a lonely road between nowhere and nothing. The only buildings along the way are a boarded-up bar, a run-down gas station, and an empty ranch at the end of a private road. This is why I never spotted the church on the GPS. The ranch is up for sale, and the address showed up on the tracker several times. She could walk out the back door of the ranch and be at the church in minutes. No one from the road would be able to see her.

The area is flooded with cars, TV vans, and lookie-loos. I put on a jacket and baseball cap, and try to blend in with the crowd.

Reporters are spread out in front of the church, and the steeple rises up behind all of them. They stand right in front of the yellow tape, which is protected by uniformed cops. Some are baby-faced. Others are bloated and on the verge of retirement.

I have never been this close to Josh, never seen him anywhere other than on TV. He is shorter and thinner than he looks on-screen.

An older woman is beside me, her eyes shifting between all three reporters.

“Excuse me, do you know if they’ve said anything new?” I ask.

“Since when?” Her voice has a smoker’s rasp. She has a thick head of white hair and yellowy eyes.

“About half an hour.”

“No, you haven’t missed anything.”

Through a thick block of trees, the top of a white tent is visible. It looks like the same kind used at weddings and kids’ parties. “What’s that?”

“The police set it up first thing. They call it ‘home base.’ ”

“The chief’s back there,” says a man standing behind me. He is large everywhere, standing a good four inches taller than me and at least a foot wider.