“Shaw here,” I say into the cell.
“Toxicology results are in.” He’s out of breath, and talking fast. “Joanna had Hydrocodone and Diazepam in her system. Shaw, we got him.”
Valium and Vicodin—the ones we found in the back of her medicine cabinet. Had Joanna taken those pills herself, of her own volition, before she was killed? Or had the murderer drugged her before taking her life?
“Overdose?” I ask, staring at Joanna’s tombstone.
“It’s not conclusive, but we’re going after Michael Harris anyway.”
Why the hell is he rushing this? As I take a second to curse his urgency, a large bird rustles and takes flight from a nearby tree. My conversation with Samara echoes through my head. Losing her baby. Control over the men in her life. Her religious counselor. How does it all fit?
‘She’ll fix everything,’ she’d say, and then she’d laugh.
“Anything else?” I ask Patel. “What about the autopsy?”
“It’s finished. I’m on my way back to the station now. Shaw, we know why Joanna went to the women’s clinic. You’re not going to believe this, but Joanna’s tubes were tied….”
In the distance, the raven cries out again.
MICHAEL
Colleen and I haven’t said much to each other since I called her by Joanna’s name, and there’s only so many times I can apologize. I was drunk, for Christ’s sake. She can’t hold my feet to the fire for every single word that comes out of my mouth when I’m in that state. Still, it was a terrible slip, and I’m tired of the tension between us.
Anxious to get home and talk things over with her, I leave work early. I turn in to the drive. A single light is on in the living room—she’s probably curled up on the couch reading one of her thrillers. I can almost see her, blanket wrapped around her, hair loose around her shoulders, and my pulse jumps at the thought.
If only we could get back to the way things were.
The back porch is dark this moonless night, making it difficult to find my keys. The bulb must’ve gone out. I’ll have to remember to ask Samara to replace it in the morning. Walking beneath the fixture, I glance up.
Wait…
The bulb hasn’t burned out. It’s missing entirely.
I unlock the door and push it open. A blast of cold air wafts out, followed by Joanna’s scent, raising the hair on my arms.
Colleen’s books are gone. Her framed pictures are gone from the shelves. Not a single blanket drapes over the back of the couch. I might as well have walked into the house the way it was last summer.
And then I see her.
“Joanna?” I can’t stop myself. I walk closer to the figure crouched on the couch. “What—are you all right?”
Dark wet strands of hair drape over a ghostly pale face. A sheer white nightgown sags down her naked shoulders. In her lap, a large book has fallen open. A dark smear of blood mars her lap. It hits me all at once. Colleen and Joanna. How similar their appearances are—were.
Confusion warps the air around me. “Colleen?” I whisper, my voice shaking with strain.
I breathe her in—that sickly sweet floral scent I both hate and love—as my heart pulses in an unnatural rhythm. And then she looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes.
Joanna, gorgeous and perfect. The way everyone remembers her. The way she was at the beginning, when things were fresh and new and we were happy.
“You’re home.” Joanna pats the cushion next to her. She smiles, and I greedily study her features. Soft and supple lips. Bright eyes. Smooth skin. So much like Colleen. “Come. Sit. I have something to show you.”
Seconds later, I’m sitting beside her, my thigh touching hers. I can’t explain how I lost track of my movements. Don’t even try to make sense of it.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds strange. As if I’m not the one speaking, or not in control of the words coming out of my mouth. “I thought you were—they said you were—”
Dead.
“Shh,” she says, sweeping the back of her hand down my cheek. “I’ve made everything better. We’re finally going to be happy.”
Chills settle deep in my bones as she pulls back her hand, and I realize it’s covered in mud. It hadn’t been a moment before, had it? I swipe the filth away from my cheek. What’s happening? Where’s Colleen? Nothing makes sense. I shouldn’t be here. Not with her. Not anymore.
“We’re going to start over.” She whirls on me then, but only her head turns. The rest of her body remains still as stone. “Don’t you think that’s what we should do? Go back to when we were happy? You could go back to being you and I could go back to being me.”
“I am me.” I cover my heart with a shaking hand. “And you’re you.”
She stares me down as if it’s the first time she’s ever laid eyes on me. I hadn’t noticed before, but she’s wearing a necklace. It’s gleaming against the thin, filmy fabric of the nightgown. A gold chain with a tiny medallion of a woman’s figure embossed in the center. The figure cradles a topaz gem—the birthstone for November, the month our baby was going to be born.
“Do you like it?” Joanna asks, clutching the medallion in her dirty fist. “It was a present.”
“I—I think it suits you. Who gave it to you?”
Lights flicker. Her hands drop to her sides. She’s sitting cross-legged, blood pooling from between her legs. My gut sours, and panic strikes through me like a lightning bolt.
“Help me.” Tears gloss her eyes as she looks down at the blood in her lap for the first time. “Michael, don’t you know what I’ve done? I need help. I’m hurt.”
I jump to my feet, frantic, searching for a phone. “I’ll call 911—”
“They can’t help me.”
She shakes her head slowly, calmly, then raises the arm that’s been resting at her side. A pair of scissors is clutched in her muddy fist. Blood glimmers wetly on the blades.
“Joanna,” I whisper, shaken to the core. “What’d you do?”
“I already told you, Michael. Weren’t you listening?” Her voice is strong. Determined. Not a trace of weakness or indecision. Without warning, the icy Joanna I knew in the end has returned. “I’m making things right, sweetheart. Getting back to the way we were in the beginning. Doesn’t a fresh start sound perfect?”
My vision swims again, and I swear I see her smile.
“But you’re bleeding, Joanna,” I protest. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
Blood soaks her white gown and drips on the hardwood with sickening tap-tap-tap sounds. Too much blood…
“No, no more doctors. I did this for us, honey. It was worth it, to make us perfect again.” She spins the bloody scissors. “Don’t you see? Losing the baby was the best thing to ever happen to us. It wasn’t going to make us happy. You don’t want a family. You never did.”
“Joanna. I did want a family with you. I never wanted anything more—”
“No,” she interrupts firmly. “You wanted someone to control. And when you realized I wasn’t going to let you, you wanted a child to take my place. You wanted a stupid little puppet. Well, I took the control back, Michael. I fixed us from the inside out.”
“What are you talking about? What’d you do?”
“I fixed me.” She uses that fake singsong voice she perfected over five years of a terrible marriage.
Tap-tap…
“Joanna, what—” I stop as it hits me. “What have you done?” Vomit rises in my throat as I kneel at her feet and shake the scissors from her hands. They fall to her lap. “Joanna, I’ll get you the help you need.”
She reaches for the scissors again. The blades gleam silver and crimson red. Her scent washes over me, flowers mixing with the scent of blood and metal, and I’m about to throw up.
“Michael? Michael, wake up.”
The room is flooding with blood.
Tap-tap-tap…
“Michael, are you okay?” Colleen’s voice. I can’t place where it’s coming from.
Nausea sours my stomach. Joanna laughs as I back away from her, from the blood pooling on the floor.
“Michael? Michael, wake up.”
I open my eyes. I’m on the couch, where Joanna had been moments before. No blood, but I swear I can smell the metallic tang. No mud. I rub my eyes and struggle to focus. Colleen is standing in front of me, the light from the kitchen bathing her in an aura of gold. She’s dressed in white, and as a draft of air sweeps through the house, the familiar aroma of Joy hits me. She’s built exactly like Joanna, I realize suddenly, having just seen Joanna’s figure so vividly. A petite little thing, with a narrow waist and heart-shaped face. Long hair. Nice smile. Scissors clutched in her hand. No, wait…
Digging the heels of my hands into my eyes, I feel like I’m going to break. Snap clean in two like a twig. Swinging my legs to the floor and sitting upright, I lower my head and try to force my heart to calm. The dream felt so real. I could’ve sworn Joanna was here, blood everywhere, laughing.
“Are you okay?” Colleen asks, her hand suddenly on my back.
“Don’t.” I jump up from her touch and circle the coffee table as the scent of Joanna’s perfume heightens my nausea again. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Michael—why? What’s wrong?”
Because anger and resentment and pain are building to a violent crest inside me, and because I can’t push them down any longer.
“Just stay there.” I put up my hands. “Please. Give me a second to clear my head. I’m not seeing straight.”
“Why don’t you sit back down?” She frowns, confused. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you onto the couch.”
But I won’t sit. My gaze lingers on the grove across the street. All those smooth trunks and crooked branches. Torrential rain rushes over everything, flooding the street and the grassy area in front of the grove.
Joanna was buried right there, just out of my line of sight.
A car passes by, then slows. It stops in front of Ravenwood, and the doors fly open. Detectives Shaw and Patel emerge from either side, their heads bowed to protect their faces from the barrage of rain.
Colleen opens the door wide before they can knock. They’re dressed alike in black shoes, black pants, and white collared shirts, shoulders drenched from even the short time they were exposed to the storm. They smile at Colleen as they pass by, but when their eyes turn to me, their faces turn stony.
“Make yourself at home,” Colleen says, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Can I get you an espresso? Tea?”
Shaw lifts his hand dismissively as Detective Patel takes handcuffs from his pocket.
“Mr. Harris,” Patel says, “you’re under arrest for the murder of your wife, Joanna Harris.”
“Wait,” Colleen interrupts, shocked. “What?”
Detective Patel goes on with the formal statement, but I can’t make out anything through the static buzzing in my brain. The walls close in, and the floor disappears beneath my feet. Colleen starts to cry, and her frenzied voice drones in and out as she tugs on Shaw’s shirt. She’s begging. Dropping to her knees. Wind and rain blast through the gaping front door, howling through Ravenwood. Joanna’s scent swirls in the torrent of air.
“Please, no, he didn’t kill her,” Colleen pleads, attempting to block the doorway. “You can’t do this. You can’t take him from me—”
“Step aside, Miss Roper,” Patel snaps.
Shaw lifts me off the couch and twists my arms behind my back. The cold prick of metal slaps against my wrists.
“It’s okay, Colleen,” I say, grasping for a moment of lucidity. “Contact my lawyer. You can get the number in my office. Can you do that for me?”
She nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I know you didn’t do this. They won’t be able to keep you for long. I’ll do whatever I can to get you out, I promise, darling. Whatever it takes.”
“I know,” I say, and lean to plant a kiss on her lips, but the detectives pull me back. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon,” she swears. “We’re going to be a family, Michael. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”
I want to believe her, but I don’t dare hope. Not now.
As Shaw escorts me to the car, I lower my head to shield my face against the slashing rain. I glance back at Ravenwood, blinking through the drops gathering on my eyelashes. The house appears ghostly and dark. Shrouded in secrets and lies. The door and two huge windows at the front of the house look like evil, all-seeing eyes and a gaping mouth. Something moves behind one of those eyes. Colleen stands there, biting her nails. When her eyes meet mine, she blows a kiss and crosses her arms over her belly.
And I get the strange skin-crawling feeling it’s the last time I’m going to see her.
COLLEEN
I have to do something—anything—to get Michael out.
Do I need to figure out how to pay bail? I realize I don’t have access to Michael’s accounts—and there certainly isn’t enough money in mine. I start to panic. Wait, Michael told me to call his lawyer first, so he must be able to help. But it’s nearly eight o’clock at night on a Sunday. No one will be at Michael’s office at this hour. I’d drive over if I had keys to his office, but he’s never given me a set. Not even when I was his assistant. I won’t be able to get his lawyer’s name and number until morning.
I try to find one on my own. A quick Google search pulls up more lawyers’ offices in the San Francisco Bay Area than I could possibly imagine. I skim through reviews and testimonies, but my eyes blur before long. Choosing one who looks the most professional—and the most expensive—I dial the number and get sent straight to voicemail. Of course. Who’s going to take a case at this hour? I leave a panicked message, hating the tremor in my voice as I ramble through the details of Michael and Joanna’s story.
When I hang up, I’m so filled with adrenaline and anxiety, I’m trembling. Waves of nausea rise up, but I can’t lose control.
Michael needs me at my best. He needs me more than he’s ever needed me before.
I haven’t come this far to lose it now.
Ravenwood is too quiet, echoing with the drumming sound of rain on every window. I wish there was someone I could talk to. Someone composed and put together, who would tell me everything’s going to be okay in the end.
Because I just don’t know anymore. This was never supposed to happen.
I pace through the house, though I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do. It makes me heartsick to think of him locked up. I can’t raise our baby without him. There has to be a solution.
In order to get Michael out, I’ll need to take matters into my own hands and prove the killer is someone else.
I know who that person is.
Throwing on my trench coat, rain boots, and a pair of gloves, I snatch the spare keys off the hook in the kitchen and head outside. Bracing myself against the howling wind and icy rain, I run to unlock the garage. Against the far wall, Joanna’s Lexus—my Lexus, now—rests beneath a black cover, which Michael had insisted I use. I search frantically through the cabinets on the back wall as rain hammers against the roof.
There.
Hidden in the Keurig reservoir, where I’d left it when I’d packed up a few kitchen items and replaced them with my own. I’d banked on the fact that no one would think to search a kitchen appliance for something this valuable.
The one thing that can save me, save us.
Feeling as though live wires are pulsing through my arms, I charge through the storm to the Martins’. The path is soggy, and I stumble and nearly sink to my ankles in mud. Rathe
r than head toward the front door, I trudge around back, behind their garden shed, and move a tarp covering a pile of firewood. I find what I’m looking for quickly; after all, I’m the one who put it there.
There’s no going back now.
I’m going to prove that Dean killed Joanna.
* * *
Rounding the corner into the Seascape parking lot, I double-check the address on Dean’s business card and squint through the rain-smeared windshield. I scan the garage numbers as I roll by.
1A…1B…
Accelerating the Lexus slowly, listening to the scrape of wipers against glass, I count aloud until I reach 3B, Dean’s garage. The stall reserved for his Mustang is empty. Does he park inside the garage? Or is he gone? I hesitate for a moment. There’s only one way to find out.
Leaving the car idling, I cradle my stomach and step outside. I’m drenched in the seconds it takes to reach the covered carport. Fat raindrops smack against the roof and drown out the rumble of my car’s engine as I fumble for the handle on the bottom of the garage door.
Even though I doubt it’ll be unlocked, I give the knob a hard yank and gasp as it rolls up. I duck inside, peeling strands of wet hair from my cheeks and eyes. The space is empty and dark, the only light coming from the Lexus’s headlights. It reeks of oil. Cabinets on the back wall reach from floor to ceiling. A single lock threads through the handles. No car.
Dean’s not home.
Where could he be?
I can’t let Michael down now. I run back and climb into the warm interior of Joanna’s car. It smells strangely familiar tonight, the way her bedroom had when I’d first gone in, and I realize I never gave much thought to ghosts before.
But I believe in them now.
And I believe they can be exterminated.
When I get Michael out of jail, and we’re together with our baby, he’ll understand what lengths I went through to be with him. To give him the future he’s always wanted.
When this is over, I’ll overshadow Joanna completely.
In Her Shadow Page 29