Sweet Water(75)

I thought Martin was in a hurry to get married because he was afraid I was a flight risk, because no one really wants a February wedding in Pittsburgh. The Ellsworths were happy to push things along because a jilted groom would look bad for the family. It was about that too. Their appearance. The embarrassment of it all. They never really wanted me; they just didn’t want the public scorn of what it would look like if I broke off the engagement, especially after the big display Martin had made at the restaurant. His engagement had made the newspaper.

I stare at the E engraved into the stained-glass windows—the letter—it has always been about preserving their name.

We found out after the ceremony that I was pregnant, so I always blamed the big rush on that, but he hadn’t known it on the day of the ceremony, so that was poor logic. I still remember the way that dress squeezed my belly like a vise the day Martin surprised me with Stonehenge. The over-the-top gesture of purchasing that house never sat right with me, but I chose to ignore it, because it looked more than right—it was my dream home.

The door cracks open. I jump. “Sarah, what’re you doing in here?” Martin pockets his phone, fresh from another call, probably with Alton. It bought me a few more minutes. Martin’s breath is labored, and I’m certain he’s sprinted from the basement steps to the foyer.

“I was just putting the checkbook back. I took care of it.”

“Is that so?” He stares at me, and I’m staring right back at him. He knows I’m not a good liar. “What did she want? Did you offer her a certain amount, because people don’t feel comfortable taking it until they see the zeros. I should’ve told you that before you left, to have a preset amount.” Martin shifts his weight, and I want to kick him square in the testicles. Is that how blackmail works? Thanks, Martin!

I fight to remain controlled. “I gave her enough to cover burial expenses to compensate for Finn not being sure what happened. I made a point to let her know they were Yazmin’s drugs.”

I don’t want to tip my hand and tell Martin it’s the journal Alisha is after. If it isn’t already destroyed, he’ll burn it in the backyard right now if I tell him. Although Alton has probably already gotten ahold of him. I have a very limited time to get it back. There’s obviously something important in there. My stomach shudders at the thought of what it could be.

He blows out a hard breath, making his sticky hair fly off his forehead. “Good job.”

I hate him. But this is the test, and to him, I’ve passed. I can stay. Be an Ellsworth, sit next to him on his throne of lies, his queen. I need out of here.

“Alisha is angry, Martin. She’s threatening to go to the media because she’s not happy with how the investigation has been handled.” I decide to give him a chance to tell me about the missing journal, and his gaze flits away to the corner of the room. “She thinks there’s more that could’ve been done. Maybe she suspects we’ve tampered with things.”

Martin’s eyes blaze open behind his lenses. “Did she say that?”

“Not exactly, but I suspected it.”

“Alton says that it will blow over once the toxicology report comes back, and then he can close the case.”

“Martin, did Alton tell you Finn lied about using drugs? That he’s used them frequently in the past and that is how he and Yazmin met?” My throat chokes on this impossibility. My honor student, my quiet kid. He’s no stoner.

“Yeah, I’ve already talked to Finn about it.” Martin dismisses me, and this is worse than I thought. Finn and Martin are conspiring against me, lying in tandem.

“That’s just perfect,” I say.

“He’s going to straighten out now. He promised, and I believe him. Excuse me.” Martin darts away into the kitchen. I hear his feet plod down the steps to the basement, no doubt to make a private call.

To cover up what I’ve unearthed. Or bury it some more.

He’ll go for Finn next, poison his mind with more lies. I can’t let it happen.

I’ll return later to inspect the corner of his office, the one he eyed with interest. There’s a safe there, and I don’t want to think the horrible thoughts, but they’re there: my husband’s crimes have increased over the years, so he’s had to escalate his efforts from hiding stolen property and bribes under his mattress to our home safe. I can’t let him get away with it this time, and I can’t turn a blind eye either. I left that girl in the woods to save my son, and I’m just not sure I have the courage to turn Finn in to the police if there’s damning evidence in that journal.

No better than an Ellsworth.





CHAPTER 20

I pause in front of Finn’s bedroom door and take a deep breath. I knock, then creak it the rest of the way open. “Honey . . .” Finn looks up at me from his desk and shoves a leather-bound notebook, like the corporate kind Martin’s company gives to all his employees, back in the bookcase. He fumbles with a book as it falls onto his desk, a Neal Shusterman fantasy novel with a red-cloaked grim reaper on the cover. I can’t help but take a sharp breath at the image.

One of those books is about two teens who learn the art of killing, and I can’t help but grip my hands together, dried and cracked from washing and drying them. The book makes me think of the word I tried so hard to push away at the police station—premeditated.