My Lovely Wife(92)

I shake my head. It’s all too mundane to be useful.

“She liked games,” Andy says. He opens a few Match 3 games and crossword puzzles.

Any hope I have blows away like a dead leaf. Of course there is nothing on the tablet. Millicent would never be so stupid.

“Also found a few recipes,” he says, bringing up some pdf files.

“Stuffed mushrooms, huh?”

“The spinach hummus dip sounds good.”

I sigh. “You’re an asshole.”

“Hey, it’s your wife,” he says. “Last but not least, her Internet searches and the sites she visited. She cleared the history, but I recovered most of it, for what it’s worth.”

Not much. More recipes, medical websites about sprained wrists and upset stomachs, the school’s online calendar, and a bunch of real estate websites.

“No smoking gun,” I say.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

I sigh. “Not your fault. Thanks for trying.”

“You owe me forever, you know,” he says.

“If I don’t go to jail for life.”

He gives me a hug before driving away in his old truck.

I am alone again, in no hurry to get back to Kekona’s. Even a big house can feel suffocating.

Instead, I go back to the tablet, looking through all those real estate websites she visited. No one is perfect, I tell myself. Not even Millicent. Somehow, somewhere, she made a mistake.

My eyes are almost bleeding when I find it.





Sixty-six




The website Millicent visited the most is a property database. She went to the site every day, researching sales records and real estate transfers, all of which were public information. Her browser recorded the addresses she researched.

One of them is a commercial building at 1121 Brownfield Avenue. Six months ago, a man named Donald J. Kendrick sold the building for $162,000. The building has been around for more than twenty years and has had one longtime tenant.

Joe’s Deli.

Donald sold the building to an LLC owned by another LLC and then a third. Ultimately, the building is now owned by R. J. Enterprises, LLC.

Rory. Jenna.

This is Millicent being clever, because she would not see it as a mistake. Our children are never a mistake. This was on purpose.

I think back to six months ago, realizing that it was right after she sold three houses in a row. Plenty of cash for her to use.

Denise was never a client of Millicent’s.

She is a tenant. A tenant who just happened to know Owen’s sister.

Knowing Millicent, she spent hours researching Owen’s history—his family, where they lived and went to school. She hunted until she discovered that Owen was actually dead, and then she found someone who could prove it. Like Owen’s sister. She just needed to get her back in the country.

Who better than an old friend? Especially an old friend with a demanding landlord. Someone who contacted Jennifer Riley and begged her to speak up about Owen’s death.

Millicent. All Millicent. And all within the past six months.

Now I understand her reaction about the Jane Doe victims in the news. Millicent was convinced they were lying; she’d insisted that the real Owen had not returned. She already knew he was dead.

Her dedication to ruining me would be admirable if it weren’t so sick.

Yet I still have no proof. Just an LLC and a commercial building, which even a bad lawyer would argue was an investment, not a plot to frame someone for murder.

I drive back into Hidden Oaks through the back gate, using Kekona’s remote to open it. Once inside, I have an urge to drive past my house. The sun is coming up, and I wonder if the kids are asleep. If they can sleep. If we lived anywhere else, they would be surrounded by reporters. Not here. The public does not have access.

But I don’t drive by. That would be stupid.

Instead, I go back to Kekona’s and turn on her giant screen.

Me. It is all about me.

Now that I have been identified, everyone has something to say about me, and they all say it on camera. Former clients, coworkers, acquaintances—all weigh in on the fact that I am a person of interest. A missing person of interest.

“Nice guy. A little too smooth maybe, but what do you expect from a tennis coach?”

“My daughter took lessons from him, and now I’m just glad she’s alive.”

“Used to see him at the club. Always hustling for clients.”

“My wife and I have known them for years. Never would have guessed. Never.”

“Right here in Hidden Oaks? This is unbelievable. Really.”

“Terrifying.”

Josh is now being interviewed by other reporters, because his talking to me makes him part of the story.

My boss says I was the best tennis pro he has ever employed, and it’s too bad I’m a sicko.

And Millicent. She does not appear on camera, nor do they show a picture of her, but my wife releases a statement:


My children and I ask that you respect our privacy during this unimaginably difficult time. I am cooperating fully with the police and have nothing further at this time.

Short, sweet, and written by Millicent. Probably dictated by a lawyer, perhaps one of her clients. Someone who used to be my friend.

Now I just have Andy, although if he knew the truth he would kill me.