by D. J. Palmer
For a moment, the anger remained visceral—to think her husband had junked her for this woman. Nina was the old model traded in for a flashy (or trashy) newer one. She’d been put to pasture. She’d been made a damn cliché. But then Nina remembered that she was here to get information, and simmering anger would turn Teresa off. With a few deep breaths and long exhales, Nina managed to let go of any lingering animosity.
Teresa weaved between the tables, expertly balancing a tray of steaming hot food, most of it fished from the depths of boiling oil moments ago. She delivered the goods to a table of salivating young people with a smile that made it clear she understood what it meant to work for tips.
Nina approached from behind, tapping Teresa on the shoulder after she had jettisoned the heavy food. The marginally perturbed look on Teresa’s face when she spun around suggested she was anticipating some complaint: a missing beer, wings without sauce.
“Can I help you?” Teresa sounded genuinely relaxed, not a hint of recognition in her eyes. Nina waited for her to make a connection that didn’t come. Certainly, she’d have known from the news that her missing paramour had a family.
“I’m Nina, Glen’s wife,” she finally said, wishing she could subdue the shake in her voice.
Teresa returned a blank stare as she switched her tray from one hand to the other. “Have we met?” she asked.
Nina had her phone and the pictures at the ready. Teresa studied the images for a quiet moment, before her expression changed to one of utter surprise.
“What the hell is this?” she said. “Where did you get these? Who are you?”
“I’m Glen’s wife, Nina.”
Teresa gave a deep-throated laugh. “Holy shit. Is this a revenge thing? Are you armed? Honey, I swear to you I barely remember that night.”
“Night? You were in love.”
“What?” Teresa’s painted eyebrows went up. “No, no, darlin’, you got that all wrong. We were in lust, one drunken night only. One.” A single finger raised in the air emphasized her claim.
“But the message?”
“What message?”
Nina showed Teresa the text she’d received along with the pictures, and could see the shift happen like a tide of sympathy rolling in. Whatever hardness lingered in Teresa’s gaze emptied on the spot.
“Okay, okay, I think I know what’s going on here,” Teresa said, talking sweetly. “Well, not about your husband, but at least about these pictures. Let’s you and I sit and talk.”
Chapter 32
Nina grabbed an empty booth under a stuffed bison head, while Teresa headed to the bar to get them two Diet Cokes.
“Can’t drink on the job,” Teresa said, handing Nina a tall, ice-filled glass.
“And I can’t drink and drive,” said Nina.
“Well, this is weird, huh?” Teresa’s opener elicited nervous laughter from Nina, but nothing else in response.
“The police were looking for you,” Nina said. “You were on the local news as a person of interest in my husband’s disappearance.”
“Me?” Teresa put her hand to her chest. “Why? Do they think I killed him?” Teresa took note of Nina’s pained expression. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I just—Glen was a regular, we were friends, but I swear to you, I swear, I had absolutely nothing to do with his disappearance. I was long gone before he vanished. What’s it been? Almost two years? Do you think he killed himself?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Nina answered sorrowfully. “They can’t find his body. Maybe he faked his death to run away, start all over without the messiness of a divorce. I really don’t know. The pictures. Who would have sent them to me? Why would someone say you two were in love if it was just a one-night thing?”
The revelation that Glen might not have had an affair—Nina still wasn’t sure what to believe there—was surprisingly liberating. Sex was one thing, but an emotional attachment was a betrayal of a very different sort.
“I bet you anything it was Chris.”
“Chris?”
“Yeah, my crazy ex. A real stalker type. He couldn’t accept it was over between us. That’s the reason I left town. Had to get away from him. Didn’t leave any forwarding information; not even my best friends knew how to find me. That guy was going to kill me, I swear. It had to be Chris who took the pictures and sent them to you.”
“Why would he?”
“My guess—from what you told me—to get the police involved so they’d launch a search to try and find me.”
“The police never named you a suspect, or even a person of interest in Glen’s disappearance,” said Nina. “So it wasn’t much of a search.”
“Shouldn’t have been.” Teresa sounded mildly offended. “Like I told you, I’d left a month before he went missing. Why would the cops waste their time tracking me down? I’m guessing Chris saw the news report about him, recognized Glen from that creepy stalkerish photo he took, and figured you’d tell the cops about me. That way he could get a little petty revenge on the guy I slept with and get the police to go searching for me at the same time. God, he’s such an asshole.”
“How long have you been back?”
“A few months,” Teresa said. “My mom’s got COPD, so I came back to care for her. Don’t smoke. Don’t start.”
“Don’t intend to,” said Nina. “What about Chris? Aren’t you still afraid of him?”
“Not anymore. He’s in prison in Concord,” Teresa said. “Beat up his last girlfriend, surprise, surprise, so I have at least five years, maybe more, without having to worry about him.”
Teresa reached across the table and patted Nina’s hand. “Okay, talk to me, sweetie. I can’t sit on my ass for long. Much as I’d like to, the boss frowns on that sort of thing. What else do you want to know?”
Nina’s question came free-falling from her lips like the Tom Petty song now playing on the juke.
“What about that night with Glen? Can you tell me anything about it?” Nina felt her cheeks go hot. “Not the details, I mean, just, you know, how it happened.”
Teresa gave another throaty laugh as she tossed her head back.
“Like I remember!” Teresa grimaced with embarrassment. “Sorry, that sounds really, really cold. But it was a long time ago and we were all pretty far gone.”
“All?” Nina got the sense someone else was involved.
“Yeah, it was me, Glen, and this other dude at the bar tossing them back. I knew Glen because, well, he came here a lot. Had the ring, though.” Teresa pointed to her finger. “So I kept my distance. I was good like that—well, normally, I mean.
“Anyway, we would talk about fishing, or sports, or the bar. He was great at helping me with this crazy place.” Teresa gestured behind her, as if Glen might be there, dealing with some personnel problem. “You wouldn’t think it gets political here, but believe me, there’s all sorts of shit going on behind the scenes, and Glen was really good at understanding people, figuring out what to say, how to smooth things over.”
“He was a financial advisor at a bank,” Nina told her. “He understood people as well as he did numbers. It was a skill he prided himself on.”
Teresa had people skills of her own, and took hold of Nina’s hand as if sensing her growing distress.
Nina had imagined this moment for so long, what she’d say, how she’d say it. She had rehearsed it like a play—coming in all hell on wheels. “You give me some answers!” she had shouted in her mind. But this moment was nothing like her fantasy. She had no anger at all. Teresa might drink too much, smoke too much, definitely partied too much, but all of that was a big “whatever,” because something about her, the ease of her being, the relaxed way she spoke, how she called her sweetie, touched her hand, made Nina like this woman immensely.
“I didn’t know that about Glen, the pride and all. Didn’t know much about him because it was just a one-night thing. I swear. I had the evening off, and was hanging out here ’cause what else was I going to do? We w
ere having a great time at the bar, things got a little heated as we got drunk, and the other guy said we should take the party to my place, and I was like, why the hell not? I’m not proud of it, but I also wasn’t thinking very clearly. Anyway, the other guy passed out on my couch, took off without a good-bye, but your husband—well, he stuck around.”
Teresa cringed a little. “I’m really sorry it happened, but that’s the whole story and the truth.”
Nina’s eyes were filled with doubt.
“I can tell you don’t believe me,” Teresa said. “And I don’t blame you. But if you ever find Glen, ask him, and then you can be sure. It was one night only. I saw Glen maybe one or twice after that, and then I took off.”
Nina gave a nod. She wanted to accept Teresa’s story as the truth—part of her did—but she’d need to look in Glen’s eyes to be certain.
“If Chris didn’t send me that picture I never would have known any of this,” Nina said, her voice getting softer.
“What are you doing here?” Teresa asked. “What is it you’re chasing?”
“Answers,” Nina said sorrowfully. “I hate not knowing.”
“Why he cheated? I told you we were wasted.”
“Not only that.”
Nina quickly went through the narrative—the job Glen pretended to have and the money he stole from his own family to keep up the ruse.
“I don’t know why the bank fired him, they wouldn’t give me that answer, and now nobody can find Glen.”
“Oh my, that’s a lot of secrets for one man to keep.”
“Tell me about it,” Nina said, again exchanging a knowing look with Teresa. “When you hung out with him, did he say anything about me, his wife?” Nina’s crooked smile acknowledged the silliness of talking about herself in the third person.
“Not much, no.”
“He didn’t . . . criticize her . . . me . . . any?”
Teresa got a faraway look in her eyes, maybe drifting back to memories of friendly chitchat at the bar before alcohol tore down all inhibitions.
“No, we didn’t talk about you like that. You were the wife, that’s all, and there were his kids, but he didn’t talk about them much either. He told me he had business in Carson, but fished every chance he got. I got the sense there was more to the story there, but no idea what a screwed-up story it was. Like I said we were . . . you know . . .”
“Bar buddies,” Nina said, allowing a little bit of bitterness back into her heart. The rest didn’t need to be said. “And he didn’t complain about me, his family, not ever?”
“No, but don’t kill yourself trying to figure it out. Men can be crazy. The first time I broke up with Chris he faked having cancer so I’d feel sorry for him. Then, I found out it was all bullshit, and that’s when I broke it off for good.”
“That is crazy.”
“It’s no biggie,” Teresa said with a wave of her hand. “He’ll be away for a long time. But picking a man can be like reaching into a bag of jelly beans, you just never know what flavor you’re going to get.”
“I have a new man,” Nina said, offering up the information like a reflex. Perhaps she was hoping Teresa, an impartial third party, could waylay her lingering concerns.
“Tell me about him,” Teresa said, her eyes sparking a bit. “I’ve got about five minutes before I’m on the unemployment line, and much as I hate it, I need this job.”
Nina talked about Simon, how they met thanks to Daisy, and about his job as a teacher, how she’d been judged for moving on so quickly with a new man, how his tragic past and hers might have helped speed up their union, and how wonderful he’d been to her since he’d come into her life. For whatever reason, Nina felt compelled to share, in brief, her struggles with Maggie. For sure it all took more than the allotted five minutes, but Teresa didn’t complain.
“No surprise there,” she said in reference to Maggie. “It’s hard for a kid. It was hard for me.”
“You had a stepfather?” Nina asked.
“I wish,” Teresa said sharply. “I had four.”
“Oh.”
“Look, I know you didn’t come here for my advice,” Teresa said, “but I’m going to give it to you anyway, because you seem like a really sweet girl, and your husband was a real shit, so I’m going to give you my two cents and then I’ve gotta split. Time is money.”
“I’m all ears,” Nina said, leaning forward, catching that faint whiff of tobacco again.
“Make sure you really know this new guy of yours. Make really damn sure. I made that mistake with Chris, and it’s one mistake I’ll never make again.”
On the drive home Nina thought about Teresa’s warning. There were still things about Glen she didn’t know—why he lost his job for one, if he had had other “flings” for another. She’d come to the Moose hoping that insights into his choices would help her feel more comfortable with her own. Instead she left feeling an urgent need to get windows into Simon’s life. But how? His parents were gone. There was no extended family to contact. No place to turn for clues—or in Teresa’s words, to really get to know him—unless of course she went to Simon himself for answers. But hadn’t she done that? Hadn’t they talked, and talked, but did she feel any closer to an understanding? No, not really.
Just before reaching home Nina had a thought and brought her car to a stop in a strip mall parking lot. She used her phone to access a usually reliable source of information.
Google.
She had long ago Googled Simon’s name, because of course she’d do that before bringing a new man into her life. What had come up was nothing remarkable: links to school-related matters, pictures of him in his Revolutionary War garb from the school Web site, articles about robotics competitions his team had won, and a few mentions of Emma Dolan’s tragic suicide on news and tribute sites. She had researched Emma as well, but had never looked into Emma’s family, because it didn’t seem relevant. But now she was realizing there was a hidden history there she could mine for information.
Again, she heard Teresa’s voice in her head, urging her along. Sitting in her car, she Googled Emma Dolan’s name, searching for other avenues to explore. She read the obituary. There was a brother mentioned in addition to the parents, aunts, uncles, and husband she had left behind: Hugh Dolan. She Googled Hugh’s name and got a number of hits from—of all places—the Manchester, New Hampshire police department Web site, detailing his numerous arrests for drug possession. It did not take a lot of research for Nina to conclude that Simon’s former brother-in-law, Hugh, was a drug addict—heroin and oxy, according to the police logs she read.
He was also on Facebook. Nina matched a profile picture to one of his posted mug shots.
Before she knew what she was doing, Nina had sent him a friend request, with a short message introducing herself as Simon Fitch’s fiancée, because “girlfriend” didn’t sound serious enough. A moment later, Nina’s friend request was accepted, and a return message hit her Messenger inbox.
So you’re the one, Hugh wrote. We should talk.
Chapter 33
Glen felt sick to his stomach.
He had lied to his daughter. Deceived her. Tricked her. What kind of father would do that to his child? He imagined what people would say about him if they knew.
Should have given her obviously wrong answers, you idiot! Then she’d know something wasn’t right. She’d have gone to her mom, broken that promise she never should have made. They would have gone to the police and figured it all out. The police would have protected your family from Simon, and eventually they would have found you and freed you. You fool! You dummy! You dolt!
They could think that, but they’d be wrong. They didn’t live with Simon. They weren’t in the box. The box changed a person. It broke them in every way.
He was afraid. It was as simple as that. One wrong answer would bring the worst consequences. He saw blood. Gashes to Nina’s face, deep slashes across Maggie and Connor’s throats. He saw himself watching their deaths
via a live video feed.
The horrific visions consumed him. He believed Simon, took him at his word, and in his heart Glen knew he was right to believe.
So many moments over these months Glen had wished for death. He was already entombed; all he needed was for his heart to stop beating. He thought about using the chain to choke himself to death, or go on a hunger strike, even stop drinking water, but again fear held him back. He couldn’t and wouldn’t leave his family to Simon.
He knew eventually, soon perhaps, there’d come a tipping point. Nina would upset Simon more than she already had with that job of hers. Maggie would cross him one too many times . . . and then the blood . . . then the knife to their throats. So Glen existed—he breathed, ate, pissed, defecated, solely to keep Simon from acting impulsively—or worse, violently—taking from his situation the only parts he could control so that his family might live another day. He had no other purpose.
Horrible as it was to lie to her, it was also unbelievably uplifting to be connected with his daughter again. He felt human. The proximity was intoxicating. He felt like a castaway catching the glow of a distant rescue ship; his heart never felt so full. Alive again. Alive.
When he closed his eyes, Glen transported himself out into a field with Maggie, playing catch with lacrosse sticks and a ball. He felt the sun on his face, so bright and warm, the wind rustling through his hair; he inhaled fresh spring air deep into his lungs. Oh, how he longed to breathe fresh air again. Roll in the grass. Touch the earth. Gaze at the sky. Hug his daughter. Tell her how sorry he was for everything, for tricking her, for lying to his family.
Tricks.
That was how he got into the box in the first place—a dirty, nasty trick.