In Her Shadow

by Kristin Miller

  I pause, waiting for her to signal some kind of recognition, but she doesn’t. She stares politely, waiting for me to go on.

  “Have you ever seen a Dr. Garcia?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Cameron Garcia—have you ever met anyone by that name?”

  “No, doesn’t sound familiar. I don’t think I’ve ever met her.”

  There’s our answer: Mandy doesn’t even know Dr. Garcia is a man. Or is she playing us?

  Two women enter the studio and stare curiously. Class must be close to starting. We don’t have long.

  I pull out my cellphone and open the photo app. “Do you have any explanation why these two medications would be prescribed to you?”

  Confusion flares in her eyes as I show her the image I’d snapped of the bottles. “I—I don’t know how to explain that. I don’t even use that pharmacy. I get my medications from the CVS on Cabrillo Highway. Maybe it’s another Mandy McKnight?”

  Not likely. We searched. The woman in front of us is the only one with ties to Joanna Harris. Her shock appears genuine.

  “Ms. McKnight—”

  “Mandy, please,” she interjects.

  “Mandy, we believe Joanna was killed sometime in the middle of July. I realize it was a while ago, but if you think back, do you recall anything happening out of the ordinary around that time? Anything that might have struck you as odd?”

  “Like what?”

  “Did she seem lethargic during workout sessions? Stressed? Venting about her husband or other problems at work, perhaps? She was pregnant while attending classes here, so I assume some of the moves were difficult for her—did that bother her at some point?” I’m reaching, and I know it.

  “When Joanna first told me she was pregnant, I told her to take it easy, listen to her body and her doctor’s recommendations. As far as I know, she wasn’t bothered by anything we did. I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head again. “I wish I could help….”

  “What about Rachael Martin?” Patel breaks in. “Did she take the same classes?”

  Mandy opens her mouth to speak, then clamps it shut, her attention flipping between us. “I’d completely forgotten about it until now. Rachael and Joanna really got into it one day, right out front. I couldn’t help but overhear—oh my God, how could I have forgotten?”

  “Forgotten what?”

  “Joanna was sleeping with Rachael’s husband. They had quite the blowout.”

  Here we go. “Mandy, tell us what you remember.”

  RACHAEL

  “Knock, knock.” My friend Lora pushes the front door open and strides inside. She’s wearing black yoga pants and a caramel-colored tank the same shade as her hair. Today, that’s pulled back into a sloppy bun, yet she’s still somehow rocking it. “You ready?”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “I already gave you ten.” She shields her eyes from the glare reflecting off the living room window. “I told you morning-after workouts were a bad idea.”

  After Joanna stood me up at the distillery last night, I’d called up Lora and taken an Uber to the city to meet her. I wasn’t about to throw away a girls’ night simply because Joanna was sick. No way. Girls’ night was my night. Time away from Travis. By now, he’s fully aware of the way it works. Whether I’m with Joanna, drinking and painting into the night, or partying with Lora in the city, I never make it home before three. Hell, I don’t even mind going out alone. I’ve watched movies Travis would hate. Spent hours in a quiet corner of a late-night coffee shop reading a book I can’t pull my nose out of. Or, other nights, I’ve occupied the end of a bar and waited for a handsome stranger to catch my eye. I’ve gone home with men who made me feel wanted and beautiful and perfect. Men who simply filled a void that a fight with Travis had caused. Truth is, I don’t care what I’m doing. As long as I feel like myself again at the end of the night, it’s a success.

  Last night, Lora and I hit a comedy club and two Irish pubs and shut down a third. It was a blast, and closing time came fast.

  I had no idea the real excitement was waiting for me at home.

  “Damn, that’s hot.” I nearly scald my tongue on my coffee. “I’ll drive.”

  Giving the cup a quick wash, I swipe it dry with the towel hanging on the oven door, then set it back in the cupboard. Can’t leave anything in the sink. Drives Travis nuts.

  “I’m almost done,” I say, rushing toward the bedroom. “Promise.”

  Because Travis wanted a quickie before work, my morning has been a scramble I’m still recovering from. I missed the morning news and only had one cup of coffee instead of my usual two. It doesn’t help that Travis and I had to do major damage control with Joanna last night, so I barely got any sleep.

  I wouldn’t normally have a problem being late for Pilates, or skipping at all, especially since today is a special two-hour Saturday session. But I’ve been raving about Studio Balance and Mandy’s skills for so long, Lora finally agreed to come with me.

  Snatching my Nikes from their cubby in the closet, I shove one on my foot and hop into it, then switch to the other. I’m annoyed that I couldn’t find my favorite tank—the cute black one with cutouts on each side and straps in back. I had to settle for my pink one, but it doesn’t go as well with these pants. After tying my hair back, I turn my attention to our bed. Sometime this morning, Travis and I must’ve kicked the duvet and top sheet to the floor and yanked the fitted sheet from each of the corners. I can’t leave it like that. I get to work making the bed, tucking the fitted sheet around the bottom of the mattress.

  “Oh, for the love of God.” Groaning, Lora peers into the room. “Do you really have to do this now?”

  “It’ll only take a second.”

  She sighs. “Must’ve had a rough night.”

  “Actually, it was. I still can’t believe what happened with Michael and Joanna. That was insane.”

  Lora nods as I run through all the details again.

  “The worst part of it is that she lied to me, all this time,” I say, smoothing the sheet at the foot of the bed. “I get lying to Michael about her affair, but I was supposed to be her best friend. Last night, she said she was feeling sick and dizzy, so she called off our plans. No biggie, you know? I don’t want to catch something nasty if she’s passing it around. But I guess she was never sick at all. Lying comes second nature to her now.”

  “This is like something out of a bad reality show,” Lora agrees. “She’s insane to cheat on Michael and throw all that away. I mean, look at her house.”

  “Right?” I go on. “I can’t believe she ditched me to go out with a guy. Never pegged Joanna for a cheater, but you never can tell these days, can you?”

  “Who called the cops?” Lora asks. “Did she?”

  “Well, I’d just gotten home after leaving you, so I was in the shower when she ran over. She was crying and banging on our door. Travis had called by the time I came downstairs. You should have seen him jump into action, Lora. He was so chivalrous, taking care of Joanna until the police came, making sure she was comfortable. She couldn’t stop crying.”

  “Are you sure Michael actually beat her?” Lora frowns. “Or is she lying again?”

  “She had marks on her throat and swelling over one eye. Who knows, though? She could’ve done those things to herself. Hard to filter the truth from lies these days. The people on the shows I watch go through the same thing.”

  “Did she press charges?”

  “No, and she went back to him right after the police left. We offered for her to stay with us, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  Lora takes a slow, dramatic blink. “Well, there’s your answer.”

  “You should’ve seen her, Lora. She was a mess. And who wouldn’t be, after a fight like that?” I prop the pillows against
the headboard. “I didn’t get a chance to really talk to her, to ask about who she’s sleeping with, but you better believe I’ll find out sooner or later.”

  “Do you think she’ll show for Pilates this morning?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, making a firm crease on the edges, just the way Travis likes it. “Last night she said she was, but plans might’ve changed. Travis was really worried about her. He’s already called from work, wanted to know if I’d talked to her yet, if I knew how she was holding up. He loves a damsel in distress.”

  “Well, I guess we know one thing for sure.” Lora’s poking around the perfume bottles and makeup on my vanity. “You’re the luckiest woman on the block. If you figure out a way to clone your husband, let me know. I’d like to order four copies.”

  Laughing, I shove the sheet between the mattress and the headboard, and my fingers catch something hard.

  A ring.

  “Whoa,” Lora says with a gasp as I hold it up to the light. “Only thing I find when I make my bed is a dryer sheet.”

  It’s not just any ring. It’s a platinum Tacori. The princess-cut three-stone beauty is at least six carats, with a crown of diamonds intensifying the center diamond.

  “I’ve never seen that one before.” Lora sets a perfume bottle down and comes closer. “That’s gorgeous. Why haven’t you been wearing it?”

  “It’s not—” Heart drumming, I twist the ring in my fingers so the diamonds catch the morning rays. “It’s not mine.”

  “Then whose?”

  I know instantly, without doubt. It’s one of a kind. This flawless bauble has been flaunted in my face, waved around at cocktail parties, its outrageous price tag bragged about more times than I could count.

  “Joanna’s.”

  “Figures she’d have a ring like that, but what’s it doing in your—” Lora stops. Covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh no…Rach, you don’t think…”

  I can’t speak. Not a word. Her ring is in my house. In my bed.

  If it was in our living room, anywhere downstairs, I could explain it away. I’d concoct excuses in my head about how she must’ve lost it when they came over for dinner last Friday. But last night in particular, when I came home around two A.M., I swore I picked up the scent of Joanna’s perfume in our room. Joy. It’s an unmistakable scent, and one she’s worn since I’ve known her. When I mentioned it, Travis had brushed me off, telling me how ridiculous I was being. He’d never break our rules and cheat on me with a friend. I’d believed him. Not an hour later, Joanna raced over, claiming Michael had beaten her.

  My skin crawls with a memory of the company anniversary party in February. Travis and Joanna disappeared for the better part of an hour. He’d said they were out smoking, and even though they’d returned to the party, cheeks flushed, unable to take their eyes off each other, I’d believed him then, too. He’d said it was biting cold outside—that was the reason her cheeks were pink. His hair looked as though he’d tried to style it in a rush with his fingers.

  That was nothing but an inkling, hunch, possible female intuition rationalized down to stupid jealous thoughts.

  But this—this—is concrete proof in the form of diamonds and platinum.

  “I’m sure—they couldn’t,” Lora whispers. “Travis wouldn’t…He loves you. You guys are the perfect couple.”

  I’m gripping the ring, scraping my nails along its grooves as anger flares up inside me. He can’t explain this away—I’d like to see him try. Lora’s eyes are full of pity. When her hand touches my back, I flinch.

  “Rachael,” she says, “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe they would do this to you.”

  The pity in her voice makes me want to vomit.

  I refuse to be this woman—the one my friends whisper about when they get together for brunch. The one they feel sorry for. Poor Rachael couldn’t keep her husband happy. Poor Rachael, did you hear he slept with her best friend while she was partying in the city? Poor stupid, ugly Rachael who can’t do anything right. I hear the voice I’ve had ringing in my head since childhood telling me I’m not good enough. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough…and now everyone’s going to know it.

  “Lora.” My voice is shaking with rage. “What time is it?”

  “A few minutes before nine. Why?”

  “We need to get going. Don’t want to be late for Pilates.”

  On the way outside, I slide Joanna’s ring onto my finger, up against my own wedding band. Her fingers are impossibly slender; the ring barely slides over my knuckle. It’s heavy, its cut brilliant. Michael must’ve spent a fortune on it.

  “Are you sure you feel up to working out?” Lora asks.

  “Joanna will be there. She never misses.”

  “You really think she’ll show? Even after what happened last night?”

  I don’t answer.

  An eerie calm settles over me as I drive to Half Moon Bay, Lora blabbering in the seat beside me. She rambles the whole way there without leaving much room for me to respond. Her tone is pacifying and sympathetic. She’s trying to calm me down by offering explanations of how Joanna’s ring could’ve ended up in my bed. It’s not helping because deep down in my gut, I know there’s only one explanation.

  Joanna canceled our plans last night so she could sleep with my husband, in my bed.

  Bitch.

  Travis knew I wouldn’t come home early to catch them. I always manage to go out and have my fun one way or another. And he used that to his advantage, to have his own fun. With my closest friend.

  He’s gone too far.

  He’ll feel my wrath later, but for now, my hands are trembling as I turn onto Cabrillo Highway and pull into the parking lot. Joanna’s brand-new Lexus convertible is there, spit-shiny clean and parked up front, in her usual space. Leaving my engine running, I jump out, slam the door, and hear another door close behind me as I charge into the studio. My cheeks are on fire, my skin burning, prickling.

  Mandy’s at the front, chatting with the half-dozen women who’ve gathered for her class. I recognize two of them, but where’s the home-wrecker?

  There.

  Standing on the far side of the studio, Joanna’s wearing white leggings and a purple sports bra. Even five months pregnant, she’s lean and barely showing. As usual, she’s put on a faceful of makeup to work out, with cherry-red lips and a hint of shadow over her eyes. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail with not a single flyaway.

  I want to clutch that silky rein of hair in my fist and yank it right out of her skull. I want to gouge my fingers into the soft flesh of her eyeballs, and dig them in so deeply that she cries tears of blood. I want—God, I want the perfect contours of her cheekbones busted and cracked, her lips split open. I want her so mangled, bloodied, and bruised, no man will ever look at her with lustful thoughts again.

  “Joanna,” I call, out of breath, as I struggle for air. “Can I talk to you outside for a second?”

  She peeks around the women who’ve begun to stretch. When she sees me, she smiles. “Rachael? Sure thing.”

  I step outside and wait for her to exit behind me.

  “Do you want me to go?” Lora sounds worried. “I can wait in the car….”

  “I don’t care what you do,” I snap, and then spin around as the studio door opens behind me. “As long as you don’t say a word.”

  “Hey,” Joanna says, a smile spreading across her gorgeous face. Not a single bruise mars her throat or her cheek. Those marks couldn’t have healed overnight. How much makeup did it take to cover them? “What’s up?”

  I’ve never had such a burning hatred for anyone in my whole life, and I swear, if she weren’t carrying a child, I’d drag her down to the concrete and bash her head on the parking block.

 
“I just wanted to ask you something,” I say, spinning her ring around my finger. “How long have you been sleeping with my husband?”

  Her smile falters. It’s only then I notice a slight discoloring on her throat, where Michael must have tried to strangle her. The bitch deserved it.

  “How. Long.”

  “Rachael…” Her gaze flips to Lora, and back again. “Don’t be absurd. You’re going to cause a scene for no reason. Come on, let’s get back inside before they start to think we’re fighting.”

  She didn’t answer my question. She’s patronizing and a smart-ass, and I’m not going to let her get away with it.

  “Were you together at the company party?” I ask. “In February—were you sleeping with him even then?”

  “Rachael—”

  “What about last night? After you canceled on me because you were ‘sick as a dog’? How many nights, when I had to work late, did you run over to my house to sleep with my husband?”

  “Rachael, have you talked to Travis about this?” she asks, planting her hands on her hips. “Maybe you should call him.”

  “I’m not talking to Travis. I’m talking to you. And I want to know how long it’s been going on.”

  Sighing, she leans closer and murmurs, “I don’t think you want to do this here. Go home. We’ll talk later.”

  I hold up my hand so that her beautiful, glimmering wedding ring stares her in the face. “Missing something?”

  She exhales slowly. “I had a feeling I left it at your place.”

  She reaches for it, but I pull my hand back. The fact that she hadn’t been concerned about losing something so valuable—not only in cost, but in the meaning of her marriage—is astounding. She couldn’t love Michael. Not really. Not if she was so careless with her wedding ring. Joanna’s features seem to morph right in front of me. Gone is the friend with the kind eyes, the woman we saved from a violent husband last night. Her features harden, and the swelling above her eye becomes more pronounced. But Joanna is no victim. I don’t know why it took me until now to see it. I was deceived like the rest of them. Tricked into believing someone so beautiful could never be so evil.