Authors: Erica Spindler
“They questioned you? Why?”
“My confrontation with him on Saturday. Our history. I think I’m their number one suspect.”
“Did they say that?”
“They didn’t have to. I called my lawyer.”
“But they didn’t charge you?”
“No. I didn’t kill him.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She paused. “Why did you think I was Jeff calling?”
Mira started to tell her, then changed her mind. “I was asleep,” she lied. “I was dreaming … Jeff was trying to reach me. It was so real.” She paused. “Dr. Jasper? Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How do we know Jeff is really dead?”
The long silence on the other end of the line spoke volumes. When the therapist finally spoke, her tone was soft but measured. “Mira, it’s been almost six years.”
“But we don’t have proof.”
“Do you still have hope he’s alive?”
“I didn’t. Not really. Until—”
Tonight. When I heard his voice.
She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not even to Dr. Jasper, with whom she had shared all her secrets, her highest highs and her darkest lows.
Why? Fear of looking insane? Or fear of the hope evaporating?
“How crazy would it be, Dr. Jasper? To believe he was alive?”
“You tell me, Mira.”
“His body was never positively identified.”
“True. But if he’s alive, where has he been these past years?”
“I don’t know.” Mira hugged Nola, who had responded to the noise and was looking concerned. “Maybe he’s had amnesia?” Even as she offered it, she knew how pathetic it sounded. The stuff of pulp fiction and movie-of-the-week plots. She pressed on anyway. “Isn’t there a type of long-term amnesia?”
“Yes, severe retrograde amnesia. But it’s extremely rare. And considering all the media coverage of Katrina, I feel certain someone would have contacted authorities about a man with injuries who didn’t know his own name. Or he would have done so himself.”
When Mira didn’t respond, the therapist went on. “Besides, if he remembers now, why not call you? Why not knock on the door?”
“What if he did call me?”
“Are you telling me that Jeff called you?”
Mira stared at the clock mounted on the wall beside the sink. The minute hand ticked forward. Instead of answering, she said, “Without a one hundred percent positive ID, is it so wrong to have hope?”
“Not if it isn’t interfering with your life. Not if you aren’t putting a new relationship on hold because of it.”
A new relationship. Connor.
“What else happened tonight, Mira?”
Connor told me he was in love with me. He told me that was why he joined the marines.
He also told me that Jeff knew. That Jeff had kept it a secret from me.
“Mira?”
“I’m not ready to talk about it.”
“If you don’t talk about it, I can’t help you.”
“Have I changed history? Have I idealized my marriage? Turned Jeff into a saint?”
“A certain amount of that is normal. And understandable. But too much, like anything, is unhealthy.”
“Why? What would be so wrong in believing the absolute best?”
“Depends on what you’re talking about. But just off the top of my head, what’s wrong is it’s a lie. It’s difficult for real life to compete with a fairy tale. I can help you. But you have to tell me what’s happened.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to hold on to this for a while.”
“Are you certain you don’t want me to come over there? If you need me, I’ll—”
“I’m okay. I’m not going to do anything drastic, including use.”
“Then I want to see you in the morning. I’ll come in early.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“I insist. What’s going on is huge, Mira. You can’t handle this alone.”
“Maybe I can. Maybe I should try.”
“Trust me.” Panic crept into the woman’s voice. “We’ve worked together a long time. You’ve come such a long way. Promise me, you’ll come in tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.”
“I promise I’ll try.”
Mira hung up before the therapist could object. She returned the phone to its base and dug her cell out of her pocket. She stared at it, heart thudding heavily.
The moment of truth. Just how crazy was she?
She accessed call history. And there it was.
Unknown caller. 11:03
P.M.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Wednesday, August 17
12:10
A.M.
“Deni!” Mira called, pounding on her door. “It’s me. I need to talk to you!” Her assistant lived in half of a shotgun double in Mid-City. Her house was dark, but her red VW Beetle sat in the drive.
She pounded again. “It’s an emergency!”
The neighbor’s porch light snapped on. Mira had met that neighbor: he was a butcher for Winn-Dixie with hands the size of meat hooks and the bulging biceps and chest that suggested he was no stranger to steroids.
Not the man you wanted to awake at midnight
.
A light snapped on inside Deni’s apartment. The door cracked and her friend peeked out. “Mira? My God, it is you. What the hell? It’s after midnight.”
“Let me in. Please. I need to talk to you.” From the adjoining house came the sound of a dead bolt turning. “Quick before roid-rage Randy next door gets hold of me.”
Deni swung the door wider and Mira slipped inside.
When she’d closed and relocked the door, Deni turned to her. “You’re pale.”
“I feel pale.” She hugged herself. “Do you have anything to drink? Alcoholic.”
“White wine or beer.”
“Wine. Thanks.”
Deni motioned the couch. “Sit down, I’ll get you some.”
Mira sank into the sofa. It was old and lumpy, in a good way. It swallowed her up, like her grandmother’s lap used to. She laid her head against the sofa back. From the kitchen she heard the sound of hushed conversation.
Deni wasn’t alone
. She hadn’t even considered that when she’d beelined over here at midnight. Geez.
Deni appeared with a tumbler of wine. Mira took it apologetically. “I can’t believe I barged in like this.”
“Don’t worry about. That’s what friends are for.”
“But with Chris here, it’s so awkward. I just didn’t think.”
“Chris isn’t here.”
“But I heard you talking to someone.”
“It was the cat.” Deni smiled. “She’s curious why I’m up.”
As if cued, Mr. Suit trotted into the room. Deni had named him that because his gray and white markings made him look like he was wearing a gray flannel suit with a white shirt, socks and gloves.
The animal mewed and jumped onto Deni’s lap. “What’s happening, Mira? Chris told me what he knew, which wasn’t much. Was it really awful? What did they ask you? It’s unreal that they could think you’d have anything to do with Anton’s murder, even if he was a horrible old son of a bitch.”
“I think Jeff’s alive.”
Deni’s mouth dropped. “Did you just say—”
Mira nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. He called me tonight.”
Deni simply stared at her. Mira set the glass of wine on the coffee table and leaned toward her. “I haven’t told anyone else. I didn’t think they’d believe me.” She searched her friend’s expression. “Please believe me.”
Deni blinked. “I’ll try.”
“He called me. On my cell. He told me to hold tight. He was almost home.”
“How did you respond?”
“I dropped the phone. I was so shocked … I picked it up but the phone had shut off when I dropped it.”
“Did you check your call—”
“History? Yes. Look.” Mira accessed it and handed it over. “The call came in at eleven oh three.”
“Unknown. That means the phone the call was made from was an unlisted number. Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he just didn’t think about it.”
Deni looked perplexed. “Wait. All those weird things that have happened to you lately … the two break-ins, awakening to the smell of his aftershave, do you think that was him?”
“I’m not sure what I think, but … maybe.”
“Mira, honey, why would he play games with you? If he was alive and trying to contact you, why not just do it?”
“I don’t know.” Mira brought her hands to her face, then dropped them to her lap. “It doesn’t make any sense. I’m so confused.”
Deni stood and came around the couch to sit beside her. She took her hands. “What you should be is scared. Someone is screwing with your head. They’ve been in your house.” She lowered her voice. “People are dead, Mira.”
When she just stared blankly at Deni, her friend ticked them off. “Your father-in-law. That Preacher guy. Father Girod. I’m no cop, but you have a connection to all of them. Don’t you find it all really freaky?”
The hair at the back of Mira’s neck stood up.
Dear God, she did.
“No wonder the police questioned me that way. No wonder I’m a suspect.”
Deni didn’t respond, and after a moment, Mira met her friend’s concerned gaze. “What if it is Jeff?”
“Seriously?” When Mira nodded, Deni said, “Then he’s a sick son of a bitch who doesn’t deserve your devotion.”
“You sound like Connor. We argued tonight.” She plucked at the blanket lying next to her on the couch. “He told me he up and left all those years ago because he was in love with me.”
“I knew it! He’s still in love with you, isn’t he?”
“That’s what he said.”
Deni frowned. “And that’s why you argued?”
“No.” She rubbed the blanket’s worn edge between her fingers. “He also said that Jeff lied to me. That Jeff knew all along where Connor had gone and why.”
“Oh.”
“How could he say that about Jeff? They were best friends.”
“Maybe because it’s true. How do you know it isn’t?”
“Because I knew him. Did you?”
For a long moment, Deni simply stared at her, then backed down. “So it’s not true.”
“No, it’s not.” Mira shook her head. “Why would Jeff have kept that from me? Why the elaborate ruse of calling Connor’s family, then sharing what they said?”
“Maybe there’s more to it than you know?”
More to it than she knew?
It made her dizzy to think there could be. “Or maybe Connor is lying?”
“Maybe.” Deni yawned. “Look, it’s late. Why don’t you stay here tonight? We can talk more in the morning.”
“I can’t. Nola’s at the house.”
“She’s probably sleeping. You can get up early and go home and let her out.” She searched Mira’s gaze. “I’m afraid for you.”
“What if Jeff tries to call again?”
“You have your cell phone. And I’m here.”
“What if he’s … there? What if he’s home?”
“He’s not, hon. I’m sorry, but I have to say what I think. Look, if I’m wrong and he is there, he’ll wait for you. You’ve waited almost six years for him, he can wait six hours for you.”
Mira’s eyes welled with tears. Exhaustion rolled over her and she shuddered. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
“Good girl. I’ll get you a pillow and another blanket.”
* * *
Mira awakened with a start. She rolled onto her side, but with difficulty—it felt as if she was being held in a bear hug. The dark was unfamiliar, as was the quiet. Where was she?
Deni’s, she remembered. The big, mushy couch. The last thing she recalled was laying her head on the pillow.
Now it all came crashing back. Anton’s murder and being questioned by the police. Connor’s claim that he was in love with her, that he had been for years—and that Jeff had known and kept it from her.
“
Hi, babe, it’s me. Hold tight, I’m almost there.
”
She’d gone to sleep with her cell phone tucked under her pillow. She retrieved it and checked the time.
4:20
A.M.
No calls
.
Careful to be as quiet as possible, she eased off the couch and went in search of the bathroom. Using her phone’s display to illuminate the way, she tiptoed down the hall.
She froze as she heard her name. The sound of voices. A quiet conversation.
Mira frowned, confused. What was Deni doing up? And who was with her?
She recalled the night before, thinking she’d heard Deni talking to someone. Deni denying it. Mr. Suit, she’d said. She’d been talking to the cat.
Why would Deni lie to her? She couldn’t believe she was even thinking such a thing. They had been friends for years. Mira relied on her, trusted her completely.
The bathroom lay to her left. Dead ahead was the closed door to Deni’s bedroom.
Even as she scolded herself for being an ungrateful, faithless friend, Mira crept nearer to the bedroom. The voices became more distinct. More than a murmur now but still indistinguishable. A male voice. And a female’s, Deni’s.
Almost there, she thought she heard her name again. Then, distinctly, she heard Jeff’s. Her heart began to thunder. She moved one step closer to put her ear to the door.
A floorboard creaked loudly. The voices stopped. She heard steps. Hand to her mouth to hold back her gasp, she darted to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
She sank onto the commode, dropping her head to her hands. What the hell was she doing? Spying on a friend? A friend who had opened her home to her in the middle of the night. If Deni had something to hide, would she have invited Mira to stay?
Get a grip, Mira. Pull yourself together.
A tap came on the bathroom door. “Mira,” Deni called softly, “is everything all right?”
“Yes,” she managed. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay.” Deni yawned. “I’m going back to bed. See you in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
Mira relieved herself, washed her hands, then rinsed her face with cool water. She stepped back out into the hall, glancing toward Deni’s bedroom. The door was partially open.
Heart in her throat, she crossed to it. “Deni?” she whispered. “You still awake?”
She answered that she was and Mira poked her head into the room.
In the glow of the alarm clock’s luminescent dial, she saw that Deni was alone in bed. Also that she sported a major case of bed head and wore an oversize, ratty T-shirt. Hardly the appearance of a woman who had a male visitor.