You Are Not Alone(74)
Shay, however, left the envelope out almost in plain sight.
It’s her own fault, Valerie thinks. Shay—so annoyingly tenacious—brought all of this on herself.
Valerie checks her phone. By now, Cassandra and Jane are mingling at the crowded charity auction. Establishing alibis.
Valerie exits the bathroom, passing Shay’s inert form, and places the scalpel and towel on Shay’s floor, near the threshold of the door. From the brown bag she carried into the apartment she removes the wheat-colored sundress Amanda wore on the night she led James into Central Park. She leaves two other items she brought on the floor beside the dress: James’s wallet and watch.
Then she takes a hard look around the apartment, making certain no detail has been overlooked. She sees Shay’s leather jacket hanging over a chair, along with the floral scarf that exactly matches one Amanda used to wear. Inside Shay’s new purse are the sunglasses that are an exact replica of Amanda’s favorite pair.
Shay, Valerie thinks, has no idea what’s in store for her.
Valerie steps through the door, leaving it ajar, and disappears into the hallway, her head ducked low.
She exits the building and walks unhurriedly down the street. Smiling at the shopkeeper sweeping the sidewalk as he closes up for the night. Inhaling the crisp late-fall air. Feeling better than she has in a long, long time.
PART
THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
SHAY
Ambien is one of the most popular sleep aids in the United States. Twice as many women as men use this prescription drug; 77 percent of those who take Ambien do so incorrectly.
—Data Book, page 65
I AM NOT ALONE.
A male voice is calling my name: Shay Miller!
I open my mouth to answer but I can only make a croaking sound. My tongue is thick and fuzzy feeling. A horrible taste fills my mouth.
I lift my groggy head from the end of the couch. Everything is blurry, and my eyes feel painfully dry. I blink a few times, until my living room comes into focus. I must have fallen asleep with my contact lenses in.
For a moment I think the voice belongs to Sean. Then I remember I’m not in my old apartment.
I try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forces me back down. My blinds are closed but bright light seeps through the cracks between the slats. It must be morning.
What happened last night?
“Shay Miller!” The man’s voice is more insistent now.
I look toward my doorway and see two uniformed police officers. One has his hand on his gun holster.
I slowly push myself to a sitting position. “What’s going on?” My voice sounds raspy.
“Why don’t you tell us?” says the officer with his hand on his gun. He has dark, flinty eyes and a lined face.
I’m still in my jeans and blue blouse. The last thing I clearly remember is Cassandra popping the cork on a bottle of champagne.
I’ve never blacked out from drinking too much, not even in college. But my head is splitting, and last night is a jagged hole in my memory.
“I was with my friends—I must have fallen asleep.”
Then I jerk back.
The bloody scalpel and towel that I’d hidden under my sink are splayed across my living room floor. So is a man’s wallet and a gold watch I don’t recognize.
A crumpled tan sundress with a rust-colored stain on the hem is next to my coffee table. I’ve never seen it before.
The officers are staring at me intently, not coming any closer.
“Wh-what is all this?” I stutter.
My body starts to shake. I wrap my arms around myself and rock back and forth.
“Take a deep breath,” says the younger officer, the one who isn’t touching his gun. “We’re just here to try to figure out what’s going on.”
How did someone get into my apartment and put all this stuff around me?
I had plans to go out with Ted last night. He was coming to my lobby to pick me up. Is it possible I let him in? Could he have done all this?
I look at the wallet and watch again. “I was supposed to have a date. Are these things his?”
“Who was your date with?” the older officer, the one with the harder face, asks.
“This guy named Ted.” I realize I don’t even know his last name. “I met him online.”
The vanilla-bourbon candle on the coffee table is almost completely burned out; the air smells cloyingly sweet. My stomach heaves. “Could I please get some water?”
Then I hear the creak of a footstep in the hallway.
A moment later, a tall, lean woman with a close-cropped Afro appears behind the two officers.
She scans the room, her gaze roving over the scalpel and towel and dress.
Then her eyes fix on me. They widen with shock.
“Shay?” Detective Williams asks.
* * *
An hour later, I’m in one of the small blue rooms at the Seventeenth Precinct that I passed not long ago when I came here to give the necklace to Detective Williams.
I can’t stop shivering, even though Detective Williams gave me a blanket and brought me a cup of hot coffee.
“Why don’t we start at the beginning.” She pulls out the chair opposite me. The metal feet scrape across the linoleum floor. “Would you mind if I recorded this?” She gestures to the camera in the corner.