The Better Liar(94)

I slumped against the window and glanced around the room. A hundred faces stared back at me from Robin’s walls.

Phone. I’d call her. I’d ask—But I’d left my purse on the hook as I always did. My phone was in there. I could hear it ringing faintly.

The ringing seemed to go on forever in the empty house, echoing itself a dozen times. I sat down on the floor against the window and pressed my fingers into my forehead.

The noose was like a person in the room. I could barely look at it.

She could have left me yesterday. She had the money; she knew what I’d wanted mine for. But she’d stayed. She’d watched me vomit. She’d helped me plan to run, just as she had run before. Why had she stayed? Just to lock me in the house?

The phone had stopped ringing at some point and a new sound filtered into the room, a whine growing louder as it approached. Sirens. Someone had heard me shouting.

If the police showed up, Robin couldn’t come back.

What had she done?

The sirens grew deafening, then shut off. A heavy knock came at the door, and someone said something too muffled for me to make out. I sat shivering at the foot of the window.

    “Leslie Flores?” the voice said again, louder. More knocking, and then movement around the side of the house. I turned and watched from the edge of the window as several people in dark uniforms tramped through the backyard gravel. They disappeared toward the back door, and I heard them knock again, and call my name. I was too afraid to reply. After several minutes, there was a cracking noise, and heavy footsteps moved through the house, voices reporting on each room.

“Leslie Flores?” one of them called from just outside Robin’s bedroom.

I wiped my mouth. “I’m in here,” I said.

“Open the door.”

“I can’t,” I said, too quietly. “The lock is on the outside.”

“Okay, I’m coming in.” A man, a calm voice. I heard the door rattle and scrambled to stand, knocking the chair and the record player over. A second later, the door burst open, revealing one of the police officers I’d seen in the backyard. He was tall, square-jawed. “Are you Leslie Flores?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. My throat was dry. Another officer stepped into the room behind him. She looked familiar. She’d been in school with Robin. I’d run into her at Sprouts once or twice.

Her eyes were kind. “Leslie, your sister told me you might be here. I’m Nancy Courtenay, if you remember? I’m with the sheriff’s department. This is Officer Wright.” She turned to her partner. “Can you wait over there for a second? I’m going to talk to Mrs. Flores.”

“What?” I could barely think. The other officer—Wright—took one last glance around the room, shook his head, and disappeared into the hallway. “Why would she tell you?”

“She cares about you, Leslie,” Nancy said. “Your note really scared her.”

“What note?”

“The note you left her,” Nancy said, holding a folded piece of paper out to me. “She thought you might go to your dad’s house. I’m glad she called us.”

I heard voices in the living room, boots shuffling over the carpet. There were more people here. People Robin had called. I took the piece of paper from Nancy and unfolded it slowly.

    I’m heading out now. I didn’t want

to wake you up to say goodbye.

I hope you find your way on your own.

I’m glad our time together is over.

I can’t feel any other way.

But I’ll think about you.

—Leslie



The bottom of the note, with Robin’s Social Security number, had been ripped away, leaving a ragged edge. I could hear my pulse in my ears. “It’s not a—a suicide note,” I said. “It’s—she was leaving town—she was here to work out some legal—”

Nancy came closer, and I stumbled back. “I’m sorry she couldn’t be here. She said it was too hard for her, and I hope you understand that. But she hasn’t left town. She’ll visit you in the hospital.”

The voices in the living room muttered to one another. I heard someone chuckle.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” I said to Nancy, my heart rabbit-fast in my chest. “I’m not suicidal. Robin lied to you.”

Nancy looked up at the noose. “I wish that were true. But I can’t leave you here on your own. I’m required to make sure you’re no longer in danger.”

Another car pulled up outside. A walkie-talkie burped in the other room, and a garbled voice said, “Everything’s okay. We located her.”

“Is there someone else we can call for you to meet you at the hospital?” My attention was dragged back to Nancy, who tilted her head. “Someone who can support you?”

“Don’t call Dave,” I said. “He can’t…”

“You don’t have to worry, Leslie,” Nancy said. “We haven’t notified anybody yet. I came straight over after Robin’s call. If you’d like, we can ask the hospital not to admit him in to see you. You don’t have to see anybody you don’t want to see. But support can be very important. Is there anybody else I can call for you?”