The Last Thing She Ever Did(54)

She’d crack and fall to pieces, and while Owen knew that she loved him, she could be only a liability to him now. She’d blundered into quicksand and, in her blind panic, would think nothing of pulling him in with her.

Owen looked in the mirror again. He had always liked what he saw. Right now, however, he knew his world was about to change. He was on the verge of a dream come true. And while he knew there had been a time when he truly loved Liz, that had been eclipsed by the mistake she had made. He furrowed his brow and tightened his lips. He put his hand on the wheel and let out a scream that came from deep inside. It was the kind of scream that could send a flock of geese flapping into the sky, that would make the bravest dog run and hide under the bed. His eyes popped a little.

Still, no tears. Not a single drop. It was much harder to do than he thought.

“Help me,” he said in a raspy whisper. “I just got home. My wife . . . she’s not breathing. Oh, God, please hurry. I think she overdosed on pills. Hurry.”

Better, Owen thought, but he’d still need to find a way to turn on the waterworks. Or at least give the appearance that he had cried just before the paramedics arrived.

Onions occurred to him.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MISSING: ONE WEEK

Matt Henry waited in the lobby to see the detective handling the case of the missing little boy. The young man with shoulder-length brown hair and morning stubble wore a red fleece, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks.

When Esther emerged, he introduced himself as the “canoe guy” the news said was being sought in conjunction with the missing little boy, Charlie Franklin. She led him to an interview room where the air-conditioning was working too hard. The room was an icebox.

“Sorry for the chill,” she said. “Maintenance is on the way.”

Matt said he was fine. “Had a good workout,” he said. “Took a run along the river this morning. That’s when I heard on my Oregon NPR podcast you were looking for me. I’m totally behind in my podcasts. Anyway, that’s when I figured I might have something that could help. I think I might be the paddler in the red canoe you’re looking for.”

“Tell me about that morning,” she said.

“Right. Okay. Me and Chelsea were playing around that morning. Chelsea’s my dog. We were paddling in Mirror Pond and, I don’t know, I just got a wild hair and decided to head up the river. Just testing my new toy.”

“‘New toy’?”

“My GoPro. Got it for my birthday.”

She nodded, familiar with the make of camera. “What time was that, if you remember?”

Matt thought for a beat. He liked to be precise. He worked for a local engineering firm.

“We got a late start,” he said. “Chelsea chased a rabbit in the park and, well, we didn’t get into the water until after nine thirty. Beautiful morning. Lots of commotion around Drake Park, though. You know, with the car show. I’m not much into cars. More of a cycling kind of guy.”

“So you decided to head up the river.” Esther wondered if he paddled in a straight line or a leisurely, circuitous route. He sure talked in circles.

“Right,” he said. “We started up the river. I listened to some tunes and set up my equipment.”

“What kind of equipment?”

“The GoPro. I told you. I figured it would be cool if I shot some footage from Chelsea’s point of view as I paddled. It’s a lot harder to paddle upstream than I thought. I don’t think I’ll ever try that—”

“You have video?” Esther asked. Adrenaline charged through her nervous system.

Matt gave a quick nod. “Yeah. I remember the woman calling over to me. That’s on the vid. She was pretty upset. I didn’t see anything. I thought she was drunk or something. Seems like that’s all people do around here: drink. Not good for you.”

“Where is the camera?”

Matt retrieved the camera from the pocket of his fleece and the two of them huddled awkwardly over the device to watch the playback on its minuscule screen. The first images were of the morning’s jog up Pilot Butte with flashes of the dog’s hindquarters featured prominently.

“Let me speed past all that,” Matt said. “You been up there? Awesome view. Well worth the effort. Sunrise is the best time to go. I’ve been up there two hundred and six times. More than that, actually. That’s when I started keeping track. Had to start somewhere.”

“We all do,” Esther said. “And, yes, I’ve been up there.” She was tempted to give some kind of bogus number, just because Matt Henry’s OCD seemed to beg for it, but she didn’t.

“All right,” he said. “Here. It starts right here.” He tapped his finger against the screen as though the detective needed prompting to get her complete attention.

Esther bent closer. It was agonizingly slow going, and the dog had the attention span of a mosquito. She could hear the sound of the water and see the tip of the canoe as it moved upriver. A mallard landed, and the camera went nuts while the dog barked.

“Whoa, Chelsea!” Matt could be heard exclaiming. “Do not go in the drink with that camera on your head!”

The dog settled down and the paddling continued. Just past the beaver lodge, the camera picked up a glimpse of the shoreline. While it didn’t show the Franklins’ house, it was unmistakably their property. The lower third of the river-rock fire pit flashed by.