Open House(42)

Haley swallowed, needing to ask her mother something, but afraid to. “And you didn’t leave him?” she finally managed, as gently as she could. “I’m not judging you, I swear. I’m just wondering; I don’t understand marriage yet, like I said, and . . .”

Her dad wiped his eyes and looked away, but Liv held Haley’s glance. “Because we had to face something indescribably worse than an affair,” she said, “and I knew the only way we could survive it was to face it together.”

Haley tried to hold back more tears. Her parents exchanged a glance. “Is there something else? Anything you’re not telling me?” Haley asked.

Her dad shook his head. “No,” Liv said. “No other secrets.”

“Good,” Haley said, letting go of a shaky breath. “Then can we talk about what happened today, at the open house, if that’s okay with you both?” she asked carefully. “Because I have a very strong feeling that the person who killed Emma was at the house on Carrington Road today. Which means if this crime gets solved, then maybe so does ours.”





THIRTY-THREE

Priya

Priya drove straight home after the cops dropped her at the open house to retrieve her car. Where else was there to go?

There had been a time, years ago, when Priya would have gone to her studio on Yarrow’s campus; she would have chosen to be surrounded by her work. But those paintings had all been sold or given away, and that studio didn’t exist anymore. At least, not for her. The last thing she’d ever painted was a nude self-portrait with her belly at full capacity with Elliot, her face round and her ankles swollen. She’d never felt so beautiful and strange, and she wanted to capture that person who finally understood the meaning of the word expecting.

Now she sat on a wicker sofa and waited for Brad. It was almost five o’clock, and Elliot was next door with Robby. Alex had promised to keep him for dinner, and thank God, because there was no way Priya could have Elliot in the house when she confronted Brad.

Windows surrounded Priya on the porch. She looked out onto the snow that blanketed the lawn and weighed down the trees until the smaller branches looked like they would snap. The sun would set soon and leave her alone in the blackness with the man who may have killed Emma and hurt Josie. Was she supposed to try to protect herself from him? Was she a fool for not feeling terrified?

Priya kicked a quilt off her legs, wanting to feel the chill that matched her mood. She thought back to her and Brad’s third night home from the hospital with Elliot, when Brad finally convinced her to rest between feedings. She’d lain there alone in her bed while Brad rocked Elliot down the hall, and though she tried to sleep, the adrenaline from birthing her precious creature was still coursing through her veins. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, she’d tiptoed back down the hall to take over, but right as she was about to turn the knob, she heard Brad’s muffled crying. She waited outside the door for a few moments just to be sure—Brad never, ever cried—and then she crept slowly into the dark room. “Brad?” she’d whispered.

“I’m here,” he’d said.

She’d waited for her eyes to adjust. “What is it?” she’d asked, creeping over the carpet, not wanting to trip on a rogue nursing pillow or baby blanket. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry,” Brad said. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.”

Priya’s nerves had spiked. As she crept closer she could make out Elliot’s tiny, still form against Brad’s chest, and for a reckless moment she’d thought Brad had done something to her newborn. She was about to lunge forward when she heard Elliot let out a sleepy cry before nuzzling back into Brad’s chest.

“What do you mean?” she’d asked him, her breathing still way too fast. Was he talking about the cheating? Or had he done something so much worse?

He’d never answered her, and she let it go, because she truly believed he didn’t hurt Emma. But what if she was wrong back then? Could she be absolutely sure her husband didn’t hurt anyone? Could anyone be that sure about another person?

The front door opened with a familiar screech of wood against the frame.

“Priya,” Brad called out, his voice strangled. She braced herself for everything she was about to say, and for everything he might tell her.





THIRTY-FOUR

Haley

Haley pulled into the hospital’s parking lot for the second time that day, this time in her own car. Rappaport had shooed her away, but the hospital—and Josie, with all her answers, whether or not she remembered them yet—drew Haley back like a magnet. She still hadn’t heard from Dean, and as she parked and walked through a hazy mist of snow, she worried about why he hadn’t called her back. He had to be freaked out; there was no way he’d ever seen anything like what he’d seen today on Carrington Road. Even for Haley, who worked on a cadaver and did rounds in the hospital where people lay struggling, what had happened this morning was too violent and scary to comprehend yet.

Haley flashed her badge again at the guard and headed to the elevator. In the ICU she strode toward Josie’s room and saw the same police officer parked outside the door. There was no sign of Rappaport. The cop gave Haley a look like he wasn’t thrilled to see her, but he still stood to slide open the door, and that’s when Haley saw Noah, Chris, and—strangely—Dean. They were all staring down at Josie, their features drawn, and when they looked up to see Haley, Dean’s face went white.