Pretty Little Wife(50)

Cassie followed her gaze. “So, no. You don’t deserve to be put under a microscope and dissected. He did.”

Past tense. Because she knew.

Lila wanted to ask how Cassie got away and what she’d lived through. Lila never viewed the other woman as a survivor. She had a quiet husband, clearly her second, who seemed nice enough and didn’t get into people’s business. The relationship made more sense with the new information. Lila had thought of Cassie’s husband as plain, but now she wondered if he was safe. Kind and nonthreatening. Things that should be automatic in a spouse but weren’t.

“And if what people say and what they think about you is true, that’s your business.” Cassie reached for the brush again. “That investigator won’t hear anything different from me.”

A free pass for murder. God. Lila spent every hour thinking she was alone, but maybe not. “Cassie.”

“After I tone this down, you’ll need another coat of paint to get a clean line.” Cassie nodded at the can. “I took a paint chip to the hardware store, and they matched the color.”

“Cassie.” This time Lila touched the other woman’s shoulder as she said her name.

“Yes?”

Cassie didn’t demand the details or have to be convinced. Lila had a support system, but the circle was small and tight, and she didn’t share the truth with them. She wouldn’t with Cassie either, but she sensed, for the first time, that if she did Cassie might get it.

Lila wasn’t sure what to say, so she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Come in for tea.”





Chapter Thirty-Two


Five Weeks Ago

NOW THAT SHE HAD A PLAN, SHE NEEDED TO FILL IN THE DETAILS. There was no good way to do this. Every minute of research made Lila heave. The first day, she choked and swore and broke two mugs before getting a bit more control.

All told, it took her four days of looking through high school yearbooks and studying social media to find the girls she’d seen in the videos. And those were only the girls she saw . . . she knew there were more. She suspected this went back to North Carolina, probably before.

Of the faces she recognized, one girl was still in school. A senior and not in Aaron’s class. She’d dropped out of field hockey, and Lila feared Aaron was the cause.

The other two women graduated from high school last year. One went to college out of state. She kept the photos from her time on the team and in Aaron’s class in her history online. Smiling photos, seemingly innocent. Whatever time Aaron stole from her appeared not to be problematic because she even referenced him in comments. All positive, with perky little emojis.

The third woman went to the community college nearby. Eighteen. That put her at seventeen when she made the video, maybe younger. Lila remembered being that age and not being nearly as savvy and wise as she thought she was.

This young woman recorded every moment of her life in photos and videos. Up until the month before, she showed off products she bought and modeled new clothes. She had big group photos and some with her and a few friends. None of her older high school photos or information suggested she was on the field hockey team. She never mentioned Aaron or popped up in photos with him.

There were comments on some of the clothing photos about going out with her “secret” boyfriend. She would have been a senior at the time. Last year. In her world, likely the equivalent of decades away from where she was now.

Over the last few weeks, the photo subjects changed. She posted inspirational quotes almost daily, along with pictures of her school apartment and complaints about the cost of textbooks.

Regardless of when the posts were dated, in every photo she wore her straight blond hair down, flowing over her shoulders. The realization made Lila wince. She could hear Aaron’s voice talking about how women should have long hair, not short. They should let it grow . . . as if their hair were for his pleasure only.

Lila tried to ignore that as she sat in the driver’s seat of her car with her hair pulled up in a bun. The college had a few visitor spots close to the admissions building, and she parked in one. The position gave her a front-row seat to watch.

Lila knew from the other woman’s posts that she often came here and sat by this tree. Today the surveillance worked. Sitting this far away, Lila couldn’t really make out her face. Not when she was looking down, reading or studying but definitely not paying attention to the two guys behind her who kept glancing her way. But it was her. Blond and very pretty. Big brown eyes and a round face that Lila knew could light up with a smile.

The live version seemed more serious, more involved in school. This was the second time Lila had come looking for her, and both times the woman had sat alone. Gone were the big crowds and high school T-shirts.

Lila debated talking with her. Going up and introducing herself and assuring the woman none of what had happened was her fault. Because this wasn’t about adultery or making Aaron pay in a divorce. This was about ensuring he took responsibility for hurting this woman, for playing with her emotions and taking advantage of her.

On some level, Lila also needed to know the younger woman was okay. That she hadn’t been too late to notice something terrible happening from inside her house like she had been all those years ago with her father and Amelia.

She opened her car door but then shut it again. The woman could be angry or, worse, think she was actually in love with Aaron . . . or vice versa. She might not want help or revenge. There were so many “ifs” and worries and things that could go wrong.