“She’s been through a lot recently,” Lauren’s husband said, and Annie knew he was referring to Lauren’s accident. His voice was rough with the history of it, the recollection of anguished hours spent pacing the floor while his wife, the mother of his children, was in the ICU, hovering between life and death.
“Don’t make excuses for me, Jeff.”
Lauren didn’t speak the words so much as bite them off, and Annie reached out to her, touching her forearm, saying, “It’s okay,” when it clearly wasn’t.
“Is there something I can help with?” The sheriff joined them.
“My car’s been stolen,” Lauren said. “I think this guy, Danny, from the dealership where it was taken for repairs, took it.”
But her husband said no, it was a misunderstanding. He introduced himself. “I’m Jeff Wilder,” he said, and he shook hands with Annie and then the sheriff. “I think Lauren is a bit confused. Her Navigator was taken to the dealership yesterday for repairs, but today when it wasn’t ready in time for her to go to work, they brought her a loaner, a Nissan Altima. She’s not much of a car person. She gets the makes and models mixed up all the time.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jeff, even brain-damaged, I think I know the difference between a sedan and an SUV.” Lauren was visibly shaking.
No one spoke. Jeff looked at the ceiling. The sheriff plowed his hand over his head.
“Where’s the key to the Altima?” Lauren asked, making it sound like a demand. “Not in my purse.” She fumbled it into her hands, and there was something sad and desperate about the way she pawed through it. “Here are the Navigator keys.” She dangled them. “But there aren’t any others.”
Jeff shot a fast-fading smile in Annie’s and the sheriff’s direction. His eyes were freighted with emotion. He seemed to beg their indulgence, their understanding. He turned his attention to his wife and her purse. “The keys to the loaner must be in there.”
Lauren dropped to her knees and after dumping the contents onto the floor, she scrabbled through them.
Annie squatted beside her. “Did you check your jacket?”
Lauren sat back, feeling in her jacket pockets, face flooded with hope that came as quickly as it went.
“Maybe you locked them in the car?” Jeff might have been addressing a child, one who was overly tired and on the verge of collapse.
Or he might have been speaking to someone who had been very ill, Annie thought, as Lauren had been. Judging from Jeff’s demeanor, his weary patience, it seemed he’d been down this road with her, or one like it, many times before.
Lauren said no in a way that seemed more a denial than a protest.
When she turned her gaze to Annie’s, her eyes were filled with pleading. They clung to Annie’s own eyes as if Annie couldn’t possibly know the scope of the disaster that was taking shape. She helped Lauren repack her purse. They got to their feet, and Annie was glad when Jeff tucked Lauren close to his side.
“Let’s go and see,” he suggested.
“At least, then you’ll know,” Annie said when Lauren looked at her.
“I’m really sorry about your brother,” Jeff said.
Annie thanked him.
“I don’t guess you’ve heard anything.” He shifted his glance from Annie to the sheriff.
“We’re looking at several possibilities,” Audi said.
The pause, no more than a heartbeat of silence, felt awkward to Annie, and she would have spoken if the sheriff hadn’t.
“You were out of town on Friday, the day your wife saw Bo?” He was asking Jeff, who looked taken aback, Annie thought, but then, she was mystified by the sheriff’s question, too.
“I didn’t leave until that afternoon,” Jeff answered. “Why?”
“Well, when the detectives interviewed your wife this morning, she said you don’t like her driving by herself, but she was alone on Friday and for the rest of the weekend. You didn’t come back until Sunday. She could have driven anywhere. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but her doctor cleared it, so—” Jeff shrugged.
“Stopping like that, for a pedestrian, it could be dangerous.”
“I’m standing right here,” Lauren said strongly, “and I’m not deaf. I didn’t go anywhere other than to the warehouse and home . . . and the farm, the Fishers’ farm,” she added, but she was frowning as if there might be other places, destinations that eluded her.
Annie couldn’t imagine it, how it would feel to lose the whole thread of your days, where you’d gone, what you’d done.
“It’s all right now,” Jeff said, hugging Lauren more firmly. “We’ll get it sorted out. Don’t worry.”
“But this isn’t—I just don’t see how I could have—” Lauren twisted out of Jeff’s embrace, and looking from the sheriff to Annie, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Annie said, because there was nothing else anyone could say. She followed them. “Lauren? Will you let me know—” She stopped, suddenly unsure of what she wanted.
But Lauren’s gaze softened in nearly the exact way Annie’s mother’s gaze used to, and Lauren did what her mother would have done—she pulled Annie into her embrace and held on to her. “I’ll be back,” she said, and her voice slipped and caught. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you find Bo, okay? Don’t worry about this with the car. It’s nothing. I’m fine, truly.”
Annie nodded, watching Lauren go, feeling anxious for her. It wasn’t nothing. It was weird. It wouldn’t be so terrible if Lauren had only misplaced her car. Annie had done that a time or two, for long enough that she’d considered reporting it stolen, but if Jeff was right, if Lauren had driven another car, one the dealership had loaned her—
Well, as Lauren herself had asked, how could you forget something like that?
15
Jeff went ahead of her, striding down Prescott Street toward Kim’s Needle and Book Nook, a man on a mission, and Lauren let him. She felt sick with frustration and dread. What was next? Would she forget where she lived? Her children’s faces? Where she’d left them? Would Jeff take her car keys now? Her license? Would she lose her freedom entirely?
Her head filled with white noise.
He stepped off the curb where the Altima and not the Navigator was parked, and walking to the driver’s side, he bent to look in the window. Lauren knew what he would say before he straightened and said it, that the keys were there.
“In the ignition.” He sounded rueful, apologetic.
“That doesn’t prove I drove it.” She clung to the last of her conviction.
“Well, there’s also a scarf on the seat. I think it’s the one that belonged to your mom.”
“No,” she said.
“Come and see for yourself,” he said.
“How would it get there? I didn’t bring it with me. I don’t wear it with this jacket.” She joined Jeff, reluctantly, looking from him to the car. Not directly, because she couldn’t bear catching even the smallest sight of the scarf her mother had brought home one year from Paris. French women had worn scarves for years, her elegant mother had said, winding the length of vintage pale-pink-and-cream silk around Lauren’s neck. “It’s the height of haute couture.” She’d been laughing. “There, my darling.” She had turned Lauren so that she could see herself in the mirror. “Beautiful, no? A runway model should have such a stunning look.”
“I don’t remember bringing it with me,” Lauren said now. “I almost never wear it.” It was fragile. Her mother had said it was from the forties.
“Maybe you missed her. You get it out sometimes when you do.”
Lauren looked up at Jeff. His eyes were soft with commiseration. He circled her shoulders with his arm, pulling her against him, kissing her temple.
She turned her face into his chest. “I don’t remember driving this car. How could I not remember?”
/>
An SUV pulled to a stop behind the Altima, blocking it. Lauren recognized her Navigator, but the red-haired man who hopped out wasn’t Danny. He was older, a complete stranger to her, and she was relieved. The last person she wanted to see now was Danny, after the accusations she’d made against him. He hadn’t heard them; still, it shook her how willing she’d been to blame him rather than admit the truth, which was that she was incompetent.
“You the Wilders?” the red-haired man asked.
“Yeah,” Jeff said. “I hope you brought an extra set of keys for the loaner.”
“Got ’em right here.” He pulled them from his pocket.
Jeff asked him to unlock the door. He retrieved Lauren’s mother’s scarf and gave it to her. He thanked the guy for bringing Lauren’s SUV, and handing the man a twenty-dollar bill, he said, “I’m really sorry for the trouble.”
“Hey, it’s no problem. I know how it is. My wife was pretty shaky when she got out of the hospital, too.”
Lauren stared at Jeff, cheeks burning with fresh mortification and something hotter, like rage. She felt it pulsing behind her eyes. “What did you tell him?” she demanded after the guy drove off in the Altima. “That I was nuts?”
“No. I only said you had an accident a while back. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lauren. Why do you always take it so personally? Let people help you. Let me help you. It’s all I want to do.”
“It will never be different, will it? You’ll never get past it. Every mistake I make, every time I forget, you’ll automatically assume I’m incompetent or strung out. No matter what I do, you’ll always be watching, checking—” Her voice broke, and she hated it, the loss of control, how it further cemented what seemed apparent, the fact that she was coming apart.
“You think you’re the only one feeling like this fucking nightmare is never going to end?” Jeff glared at her. “What do you want me to say? That this was some kind of joke and you really didn’t drive a loaner into town? No matter what I say, I’m going to be accused of meaning something else.” He walked away, walked back. “You know what your problem is, Lauren? You overthink everything.” He punched his skull above his ears with his forefingers. “You’re in your head too much. It’s making you paranoid.”
“How am I supposed to trust what you tell me to my face when you’re going behind my back, telling people I’m nuts? Huh?” Lauren pushed her hair behind her ears, wiped her eyes, pinched her nose. “How do you think it makes me feel to stand by and listen while you make up excuses to cover up your wife’s crazy behavior? Ha ha ha.” Her voice shot high, a falsetto mockery. “Poor Lauren doesn’t know the difference between the makes and models of cars. Poor Lauren, doesn’t know if she’s driving a car, much less what kind.”
“Jesus.” Jeff rolled his gaze skyward. “This is why I can’t talk to you.”
“That’s all right, because I’m done.” Lauren wanted to end this. If it went on any longer, she thought she might punch Jeff. They would erupt, explode, brawl in the street. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know her anger was unreasonable. She did. But she still couldn’t help it.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Can I have my keys, please?” she asked sweetly.
He handed them to her. “You sure you can drive yourself?”
She shot him a look.
“Okay, okay.” He backed off, hands raised. “I’ve got to go back to the warehouse and finish up. I shouldn’t be long. You want me to stop and get something for dinner? Hamburgers, maybe?”
“That’s fine,” she said, and when he said he’d see her at home, she nodded, but on reaching the freeway, instead of turning north toward their subdivision, she turned south and headed into Houston.
Why go home? What was the point of trying so hard to be the sane, sober Lauren when, so clearly, she wasn’t that woman anymore? When it was so obvious that the new Lauren couldn’t distinguish reality from delusion.
16
How well do you know her?” Sheriff Audi watched Lauren follow Jeff down Prescott.
“We only met today. She reminds me of my mother,” Annie added after a beat. She was still disconcerted by the resemblance, the way it had seemed to loosen her tongue, making her confide things about herself and her life that she’d ordinarily never admit to anyone, least of all a stranger.
“They do favor each other,” the sheriff said.
Annie looked at him. “You knew my mom?”
“She came to see me a few times. She was concerned about your brother and asked if we would keep an eye out for him.”
Annie wasn’t surprised. Her mother had solicited help with Bo from so many people, including Annie, and in the end, they’d all failed him.
“Sometimes even when you do the best you can, it’s not good enough.”
Annie looked at Sheriff Audi and wondered if he was reading her mind. Or maybe he was thinking of his own failures. “What about the dog Lauren saw in the car with Bo?” she asked. “Couldn’t the vets around town be contacted to see if any of them recognize the description? They might even know the woman or the car.”
“Might be worth a shot,” the sheriff said, but without conviction.
If pressed, he’d talk about his limited resources. He would say as much as he might wish it, Lincoln County didn’t have the big-city manpower of, say, Harris or Dallas or Tarrant County. He would reassure Annie he was doing his best. How many times had she heard him spout the party line on the local news and never paid attention because it hadn’t concerned her.
But there was nothing to prevent her from contacting the local vets with a description of the dog, was there?
“Doesn’t seem like her memory is too good.” The sheriff was looking out at the street, in the direction that Lauren had disappeared.
“She told me she fell and sustained a bad head injury. She still feels kind of disabled, I think.” Even as Annie said this, it didn’t jibe. Lauren had seemed so pragmatic and steady, so down to earth—so like Annie’s memory of her mom. But the Lauren who had dropped to her knees to grope through the contents of her purse for keys to a vehicle she hadn’t known she’d driven had been tenuous and frightened. Unbalanced. The word appeared in Annie’s mind. Like Bo could be, Annie thought, but not in the same way.
The sheriff said he knew about the accident. “It’s a crazy business she and her husband are in, taking down those old buildings. Anything can happen.” He started for the door.
Annie caught his elbow. “What about the dog?”
“I don’t know as I’d put a lot of stock in anything Mrs. Wilder said, Annie, you know?”
“But she described the woman to a T. It’s the same description Cooper gave.”
“He didn’t report seeing a dog.”
“No, but maybe he forgot, too, or the dog could have been lying down.”
“I’ll look into it, okay?”
“Fine,” Annie said, and she smiled as if she believed him, as if she didn’t recognize the dismissal in his eyes. Like the deputy earlier, the sheriff didn’t believe Bo was alive, either. His urgency was gone. Even his shoulders seemed to have rounded with his sympathy and regret. It was only a matter of hours before the search would be called off, the command center shut down and the whole calamity forgotten. It panicked and angered her. She wanted to call Sheriff Audi on it, to say How dare you?, even as she fought an urge to plead with him not to give up.
He cupped her upper arm with his big palm and said, “Hang in there,” and she bore that, too, and once he took his leave, she went to find JT. But when she got to the kitchen, only Madeleine was there, washing dishes. “He left a few minutes ago,” she answered when Annie asked.
Picking up a towel, Annie joined her at the sink. “Did he go home?”
“No. He’s as stubborn as you are.”
“Look who’s talking,” Annie said.
<
br /> Madeleine let the water out of the sink. “I’ll go home if you will,” she said.
“Okay,” Annie said. “If that’s what it takes.”
Madeleine looked at Annie, not believing her. “You promise? Because you’ve worn yourself out, and there are plenty of other folks who are doing everything that can be done.”
Annie promised even as she thought there could never be enough people.
“It only takes one to find him.” Madeleine stated a fact.
“It’ll be dark again soon.” Annie stated her own fact, one that happened to be her worst dread. It was true what people said. Terror was more easily managed in the light of day. At night, it ran away with you; it seized your mind, conjuring every worst-case, missing-person scenario you’d ever had the misfortune of hearing about. There were hours, the ones after midnight especially—her mother’s despair hours—when Annie believed she couldn’t take one more breath without breaking from the fear.
Abruptly, Madeleine brought her open palms down hard on the sink’s edge, and Annie flinched. “What is it?”
But Madeleine only shook her head. “Nothing. Just tired and worried sick, like you.”
No, Annie thought. There was something more complicated than simple fatigue working in Madeleine’s eyes. Something like anguish, maybe. Or remorse? Annie couldn’t sort it out. She thought she was the cause, what she’d said about it being dark soon, and she apologized.
Madeleine wasn’t having it. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
She loosened her grip on the sink’s edge, and Annie saw that her hands were trembling. They were old hands; the backs were covered in the thinnest tissue of flesh and networked in a delicate lace of blue veins. Their fragility made Madeleine seem vulnerable somehow, in a way Annie had never imagined before. She wanted to reach out to Madeleine, but she knew better. There were boundaries, lines of reserve between them that had never been crossed. Annie thought they were there because that was how Madeleine wanted it.
Crooked Little Lies Page 18