“When we were on a road trip with our parents once when we were kids, we spent the time memorizing our numbers,” she answered. “Aloud. We were bored.”
“Normal kids play the alphabet game, or spot the tag.”
“We don’t get to claim we’re normal at this point,” Meg pointed out. “Why did you take out such a large insurance policy? You’ve been in the process of a divorce for months.”
“I didn’t.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Meg answered. “You’re the only one who would benefit. I know that I personally didn’t do it.”
“Well, therein lies the mystery,” Thad replied.
Neither of them were comfortable, although this didn’t feel like Thad to Meg.
“You sound so cold,” she said, and she was truly bewildered. “I don’t understand how you’re holding it together.”
“I’m not cold,” he answered. “I’m tired. I’m just bone-fucking weary, Meg. This has been such a long ordeal, and it’s ending up just how it started—a mess.”
“Your entire marriage wasn’t a mess,” Meg told him, indignant on her sister’s behalf. “Gen was good to you. I can dig out your wedding photos if you want. You were happy in them. You were happy on that day.”
“Any situation where the husband loves his sister-in-law is a mess,” Thad said, and he did, in fact, sound weary. “Particularly when that husband is a good man deep down.”
Meg couldn’t argue with that. She did believe he was a good man, which was why the life insurance was messing with her head.
“Did you think she’d kill herself?” she asked, trying to make sense of it. “Is that why you took it out?”
“Meg, first, most insurance policies don’t pay out in case of suicide,” Thad told her. “Second, I didn’t take that policy out. I don’t know how many times I need to say it.”
“Would she have taken it out herself? Maybe she...maybe she didn’t want to live anymore.” The words seemed to carve little pieces out of her heart.
“You think we devastated her so much that she wanted to die, and not only that, she wanted to make sure I was rich in the process?”
As Thad said the words out loud, Meg heard how ridiculous they sounded.
“Okay, you’re right,” she admitted.
“But you’re making me think,” he said, his tone picking up. “What if she wanted us to turn on each other, as sort of a revenge thing? She wasn’t happy, so she would want to make sure we weren’t happy, either.”
“That would explain why she never confronted us,” Meg answered slowly, running the scenario through her mind, scene by scene. “She wanted to take us apart, brick by brick. Revenge.”
“You know if she was in her right mind, she wouldn’t do that,” Thad said. “But she wasn’t. She was stretched thin, and this whole thing took a toll.” His voice trailed off, as they both thought about the possibility.
“If that’s the case, then she ran away,” Meg said aloud. “She’s somewhere right now, laughing at us.”
“It would be devious,” Thad said.
“Like you said, she was devastated,” Meg answered.
Although they didn’t say it aloud, they were both thinking a similar thought: a wounded animal was dangerous.
49
Jenkins, Now
Jenkins poked his hand back up in Gen’s bathroom ceiling. When Gen had given him a spare key, he’d guffawed and told her it would never be necessary. But she’d insisted, citing that she might lose her own etc., and he’d finally agreed, in the capacity of her friend, not her private investigator. He was glad of that now.
That New York detective didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with Gen’s disappearance. He felt he needed to step in and do something.
Gen didn’t deserve this. It had dragged on long enough.
He pulled the journal out again and took a seat in the living room.
Her apartment felt so haunted now, her paintings so very sad. The collage she’d made of Thad and Meg was disturbing, or at least it would be if he didn’t know Gen. She was the kindest soul in Chicago—he’d stake his life on that.
He skipped over the strange, sad drawings and read through more of the words. Some were neatly printed, but most were scrawled, large and loopy. He could tell from entry to entry which ones she was drinking and which ones she wasn’t.
Thad spent a lot of time on his phone tonight. I don’t know why, because Meg is away for work. So who was he talking to? Is there someone else?? If so, I’ll need to get Jenkins on it.
She’d never said anything, so it must’ve resolved itself.
Meg lied to my face tonight. She said she was going to a movie with her friends, and I know for a fact that she’s with Thad. He’s working late again, yet his assistant told me he left early.
Jenkins and I had hot dogs today. Becky sent home chocolate muffins for me, because she knows I love them. They’re such good people. I’m so lucky. I wonder if Thad will be home soon?
The next few pages were drawings, and they contained bloody images and a picture of a bullet, then another entry.
Jenkins didn’t notice that I took one of his guns out of his closet tonight. We played bridge with Becky. I don’t know how to use it, but I’ll figure it out. There are probably videos on YouTube. I told him that I’m buying a gun. It just feels like the right thing to do. I’m tired. So tired. I don’t want to be this way anymore.
Jenkins’s head snapped up, and he called his wife immediately.
“Becky, look in the guest-room closet,” he told her quickly. “How many guns are there?”
“Just a minute,” she told him and he heard her walking through the house. The floor creaked by the guest-room door, and he heard her open the closet. “Well, let’s see. There’s a shotgun, your .44 Mag and your Kimber .45.”
“What about the Beretta?”
Becky rifled through the boxes of ammunition and headphones. “No. It’s not here.”
Gen had taken his 9 mm.
“Thanks,” he mumbled to his wife, and hung up.
What had Gen wanted with a gun? Did she run away and use it on herself?
Diary, life is a blur of faces and names. I want to paint it all, but how do you paint a person without a face? The Amish do it, I guess. But I’m not Amish and it feels weird.
Why do I still love Thad? It’s crazy, and I’m broken.
I’m not normal.
My sister wants my ring, I can tell. Isn’t that weird? Isn’t it enough that she has taken my whole life? She told me today that it’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. Who would want someone else’s ring? It’s cursed. Whoever wears it will be cursed to a life of misery.
Maybe I’ll leave it for her, and run far from here, into the ocean, and I’ll never look back.
Does dying hurt?
Or do you close your eyes and you wake up in Heaven?
He says he’ll do it, but I don’t know and I don’t trust him. We’ll see, I guess. You can’t count on anyone.
Damn it. Last time Jenkins had read this journal, he’d read just the one section on this page, the one about Meg wanting Gen’s ring, and had run with it. He’d closed the book without looking further.
He’d been filled with enough agitation toward Meg, enough that when he first heard about Gen’s disappearance on the news, he’d tried to call Meg. He’d wanted to offer to help, but when she answered, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to her. All he could think about were the photos he’d taken of that woman with Gen’s husband.
So, instead, he tracked Meg down. He’d found out she was staying at the Aristotle in New York, which was easy enough to do—she really should have a talk with her staff about confidentiality—and he flew there.
He was just entering the hotel when he saw several staff members combing through the landscaping o
utside. He listened to their conversation. Some lady threw her wedding ring off her balcony. It’s worth a lot of money. She’s missing now!
Jenkins had been so focused on protecting Gen that he hadn’t realized how unhinged she had actually become from this whole divorce thing.
Maybe he should’ve reached out to Meg long ago, to share his concerns.
Now Gen had his gun. And she was obsessed with revenge.
Nothing good could come out of any of this.
50
Meg, Now
“Meghan Diane, I’m not saying you didn’t look through Gen’s things. I’m just saying that I want to, as well.”
Meg sighed in exasperation and pursed her lips. She didn’t say another word as her mom disturbed all of the carefully laid out articles Meg had taken from Gen’s bag.
“How you girls wear these lacy uncomfortable bras, I don’t know,” her mom clucked, folding things and putting them back in the bag as she went along.
“Mom, leave it out. Just in case it triggers something. A clue, or a thought, or something,” Meg told her.
“Your sister’s panties are not going to trigger a thing,” Ginny answered sternly. “Everyone doesn’t need to see them.”
“Everyone? Who in the world do you think I have in my room?” Meg demanded. “No one. Just... Fine. Do what you like.” Meg rolled her eyes.
Ginny continued looking, and like Meg, she came up without answers.
Her eyes were red as she sat limply, and Meg realized that her mother was being even more annoying than usual because she was scared. She put an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.
“It will be okay,” she told her mom. Ginny patted her hand.
“I know it will. But your father is worried.”
Meg rolled her eyes again. This time because of the tired old routine her mom always did... She worried about everything, and blamed it on her dad.
Your father worries, she always said.
Meg played with the edge of Gen’s toiletry kit. It was Burberry, very classy, very expensive. It was also unlike Gen. It was more something that Meg would buy. Gen preferred to be artsy, original. She didn’t like to reside inside a box, which was what she considered name brands.
Without thinking, she pulled the zipper open and peered inside. She hadn’t looked closely last time, because it was all the usual suspects you’d find in a toiletry bag. Small toothpaste, small mouthwash, travel toothbrush, moisturizer, perfume.
Her gaze shifted back to the perfume bottle.
Her belly in her throat, she turned it over.
Vanilla musk.
Her gaze met her mother’s, her heart pounding.
“Gen only wears that perfume when she’s upset.”
Meg nodded. Yes, she knew. It wasn’t unusual. She was upset. They all knew it.
Gen had such an artist’s heart. She always had. She’d always succumbed to the maudlin, the darkness. She embraced it. When her heart rained, she wanted her surroundings to rain, too. It had made growing up with her difficult. And being married to her difficult, too. She truly couldn’t fault Thad completely.
Yet, he’d known what he was getting into when he married her.
Had it all become too much?
* * *
Hawk had gone for a vigorous jog that morning. He was dripping wet when the phone in his armband buzzed with the station’s number.
The cop at reception told him that Simon Jenkins was there to see him, and was planning on waiting until Hawk showed up. With a groan, Hawk headed straight for the station. He had a spare set of clothes hanging in his locker, so he’d shower there after.
Traffic was a nightmare, and Hawk’s cab got stuck twice, so it was well over an hour before he arrived. He was sweatier now than when he’d started, thanks to a cabbie who didn’t believe in air-conditioning.
He strode in, and sure enough, Jenkins was standing near the desk, waiting, and not quietly. The desk cop looked pleadingly at Hawk, and the detective sighed.
“Hello, Mr. Jenkins,” he said politely to the older man. He’d seen it before, these washed-up older PIs who got attached to their cases. They lost their edge, and so they got sucked into the emotional aspect.
“It’s about time,” Jenkins grumbled. “I’ve got something to give you.”
Hawk waited.
“It’s information,” Jenkins told him. “Let’s head back to your desk.”
Hawk led the way, and Jenkins scrunched up his face.
“You do need a shower,” he advised as they entered the bullpen. “In my day, we wore ties to work, too.”
“You a retired cop?” Hawk asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to his desk.
“Yes,” Jenkins answered without giving details. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pink journal.
Hawk took it.
“You told me once to find the answers in a pink journal,” he said slowly. “Is this it?”
Jenkins nodded. “Yeah. I figured you’d find it by now.”
“You knew where it was the whole time?” Hawk was taken aback, and Jenkins held up his hand.
“Yeah, but I only wanted to make sure you’d do your part to find Gennie. I thought she’d been taken. But now... Well, now I don’t know. This journal makes it look like several things were going on, but one of them is... It makes it sound like Gen wanted to run away and hurt herself. She stole one of my guns.”
Hawk sucked in a breath, but Jenkins was already shaking his head.
“I didn’t know that part before. And I would never have thought she’d run away or hurt herself. I know her. But now there’s something else. She wasn’t in her right mind. This journal shows a clear progression—she was coming unhinged. I fear an actual mental break. She’s prone to dramatics anyway, but all of this... It can take a toll on someone.”
Hawk riffled through the pages quickly, and his eyes narrowed at some of the entries.
“It does look like she wanted to hurt herself,” Hawk agreed. “She also was extremely angry with her sister.”
“That’s why I’m here. Wherever she is, I don’t think she’s safe. She’s a danger to herself. Maybe even to Meghan. I don’t know.”
“Exactly how close were the two of you?” Hawk asked him now, staring at him hard.
“It wasn’t like that,” Jenkins said quickly. “I have a soft spot for her. My wife does, too. She’s like a lost bird.”
“I really thought it was abduction,” Hawk said aloud. “Someone kept trying to call Meg, and it threw me off.”
“That was probably me,” Jenkins said, embarrassed. “I didn’t have the whole picture. I was taking Gen’s word, and then later, I tried to call Meg but hung up. I shouldn’t have.”
“Jesus, do you understand that you’ve thrown off this investigation?” Hawk asked incredulously. “As a former cop, you should’ve known better.”
“I let my emotions get the best of me.” Jenkins shrugged. “You can lecture me after we find Gen.”
“You’re not going to help,” Hawk told him. “You’ve proven what your help does.”
“Good luck trying to shut me out,” Jenkins told him cheerfully. “I’m a PI. I’m used to cops not wanting me around.”
“You’re a PI, all right,” Hawk said. “Did you ever figure out that the other Ms. Thibault was Thad’s sister? He wasn’t having an affair with someone else at all.”
Jenkins froze. “What?”
“He’s a caretaker for his sister. He wasn’t having an affair. Maybe you should’ve dug deeper.”
Jenkins’s mouth opened, then closed, and his gaze wavered. Then he got up and walked out.
Hawk bristled and texted Meg.
I need to see you. Meet me at the coffee shop.
Meg arrived first this time, and she had coffee waiting for him. It steame
d above the cup, and Hawk stared at it as he sat down.
“I’ve got something.”
He slid the journal across the table, and Meg picked it up, flipping through the pages. Hawk patiently drank his coffee while Meg took her time. He watched her eyes flitting from line to line.
“Son of a bitch,” Meg breathed, without taking her eyes from the page.
Hawk stayed quiet.
Meg’s fingers moved fast, flip, flip, flipping, and when she finally hit the last of it, she sat back in her seat with a thump.
“She stole his gun?” she asked in a very thin voice. “The PI. Have you talked to him?”
“Yes. He’s the one who gave me this journal. He seemed to be under the impression that she would never hurt herself, but that now she’s unhinged. He says he watched the progression of her anger turn into something more akin to unbalanced rage. He thought it would be okay, but now he’s not so sure.”
Meg didn’t seem surprised. “My sister has always been mercurial,” she said. “Even in the best times. I just... I can’t believe she hated me so much. I don’t know how she hid it so well. She can’t usually.”
“She usually tells you when she hates you?” Hawk lifted an eyebrow and Meg rolled her eyes impatiently.
“No. She’s never hated me before. I meant, she can’t usually hide her feelings that way. She doesn’t have the self-control, never has.”
“You make her sound like a child,” Hawk observed. “Yet, I know you love her.”
“I do,” Meg agreed.
“So, you think she could’ve been out of control,” Hawk said, urging her. “She’s certainly unhinged on these pages. There’s no denying that.”
“My sister can be very fragile. She’s always been that way. My parents spoiled her, but she’s just...very dramatic. Very emotional. When she’s upset, she immerses herself in it. There’s no controlling her.”
“So you believe she was out of control,” Hawk repeated, not believing what he was hearing. “And you’re only just now telling me.”
Meg nodded somberly. “Yes. She only wears vanilla perfume when she’s very upset. We found it in her bag. I just realized it today.”
The Last to See Her Page 24