The Murder Rule(57)

Dandridge stared at her. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Hannah shook her head. She tried to push her chair back, but it was fixed to the floor. Her heart was racing painful y now, and her lungs felt tight. She couldn’t take a deep breath.

“How did you know about my nanny?” Dandridge said. He was looking back and forth between Hannah and Sean, clearly expecting some sort of explanation.

“I didn’t . . . I just assumed . . .” It was no good. Hannah stood up.

“I have to go, I’m sorry.”

Sean looked at her, openmouthed.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, but insistent.

“If we cal the guard, that’s it. Mike wil have to go back to his cel ,” Sean said.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“That’s al right,” Dandridge said. “If Hannah’s not wel , she’s not wel .” But he was staring at her, real y taking her in. Shit. Hannah turned away, turned her back on him. Dandridge spoke to her one more time as the guard escorted them from the room. “Come back and visit any time, Hannah,” he said. “Any time.”

And then they were walking again down those endless gray corridors while Hannah blinked furiously against tears of confusion and anger, feeling sicker and sicker and then final y, final y, there was the door to the outside and she burst through it, took a few steps, and vomited on the gravel. Sean fol owed her out. She straightened and wiped her mouth. This made no sense. It was Tom who’d cut his hand. Not Michael Dandridge. Not Mike.

“Are you al right?” Sean sounded confused, concerned.

“Fine. I’m fine.” But she stil felt so sick. And hot. And her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He put a hand on her shoulder, turned her to face him.

“What’s going on with you, Hannah? What was al that about his hand?”

Hannah shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I . . . it was nonsense. I just suddenly felt so dizzy in there. I don’t know what happened. I think I’m sick. Maybe I ate something.”

He knew she was lying. “Talk to me, Hannah. Whatever it is.

Maybe I can help.”

She very, very nearly did. For a moment she teetered on the edge of disaster, and then she pul ed herself back. “I’m so sorry. I feel like an idiot. It was just . . . I think I just panicked in there. I was overwhelmed. A bit claustrophobic. I feel terrible that I ended the meeting early. I’m so sorry, Sean.”

He didn’t believe her. She could see it in his eyes. Oh, he was kind and he was solicitous, but they drove back to Charlottesvil e in near silence. They arrived just after one P.M. and she told him she needed an hour at home, to eat and shower and change before going into the office. He insisted on walking her to her door where they said a stilted goodbye. Hannah let herself into her apartment.

She went straight to her bedside table and took out Laura’s diary, that scrappy little notebook that meant so much. She flipped quickly through the pages until she found the entry from July, the one where her mother and Tom had kissed for the first time, the one where Laura had reached out and traced a thick silvery scar across the palm of Tom’s right hand. Hannah knew every word of the diary by heart, but she had to see it in front of her, to see the words in ink on paper. She knew, for sure, that she had not made an error, that the words would be exactly as she remembered them, but until she saw them some smal part of her could stil hope.

She found the entry and let out an involuntary moan. It was al there. Undeniable. Hannah found her phone and dialed her mother’s number. She let it ring and pressed her phone hard to her ear when it was answered.

“Mom,” she said. There was no sound. “Mom?” she said again.

“Hannah? Is that you? When are you coming home?” Laura’s voice was querulous, and thick with alcohol. Hannah put one shaking hand to her mouth. She tried to speak, and couldn’t. And through the phone she heard the sound of something fal ing, clattering hard against the floor, and then soft weeping. Hannah pul ed the phone away from her ear as if it had burned her. She stared at it for a moment, then switched it off and pushed it so hard across the bed that it fel onto the ground. She climbed ful y clothed under the covers and curled up into a bal , pul ing the duvet up under her chin and closing her eyes tightly against the pain.





Hannah

THIRTEEN

FRIDAY AUGUST 30, 2019

Hannah was stil curled under her blankets an hour later when the apartment buzzer sounded. She climbed out of bed, feeling bruised and delicate, her skin aching as if she had the flu coming on. She pressed the button and heard Camila’s voice.

“It’s me. I have coffee. Can I come up?”

Hannah pressed the button again and sat back on the apartment bed and waited for the knock to come on the door. When Camila arrived she had a smile on her face, two coffee cups in one hand, a paper bag in the other.

“I came to see how you were doing. Sean told me you had a tough time at Greensvil e. I total y get it. I was completely weirded out myself the first few times I went. Are you hungry? I wasn’t sure if you’d want this . . .” She waved the bag in the air. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Hannah said. “Come in.”

Camila went to the kitchenette, opened cupboard doors until she found plates. “I brought bagels. Do you feel wel enough to eat?”