That evening, once the girls had gone to bed, Abby decided to try to clear the air with her mother. She turned on the television and began watching one of the decorating shows her mother liked so well, hoping her mother would hear it and come join her. Sure enough, a few minutes into the program Barbara came into the family room and joined Abby, sitting on a chair near the couch.
The tension in the room was palpable, and Abby gathered her courage before saying, “Mom, we need to talk.” She turned toward her mother and was stunned when her mother began to cry.
“I’m so sorry about last night,” Barbara said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Speechless at this display of remorse, Abby just stared at her mother.
“Sometimes I get so caught up in how I want things to be that I forget everyone else may not share the same view of the world that I do. I just want what’s best for you.” Barbara wiped a tear from her cheek as she spoke. “I’ve so enjoyed spending time with your children, Abby. I want to be a part of your life. Your whole family’s life, including Eric, if you work things out.”
Touched by her mother’s sincerity, her throat became clogged with unshed tears. “I want you to be part of our lives too. I know the girls have loved having you here. You’re their only grandmother, you know.” Abby stood and walked to her mother.
Barbara stood as well, then pulled Abby into a warm embrace.
They talked for a while about their years of misunderstanding and why Barbara had struggled to love Eric, and Abby realized there was a great deal about her mother she didn’t know. Finally, late into the night, and after a measure of resolution had been achieved, Barbara said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”
Abby agreed and hugged her mother again. “Good night, Mom.”
“We’ll be fine, Abby. Just go run your errands,” Barbara said as Abby walked toward the car the day after finding the address to Buttercup Drive. She hadn’t told her mother anything about the address she’d found. She also hadn’t heard from Agent Franklin to find out who had been paying Mr. Phillips to spy on them. Maybe today she would do some spying of her own. She was tired of being the victim, always being on the defensive. Today she would be on the offense. It felt good.
“Thank you for letting me borrow your cell phone,” she said to her mother as she opened the door to her minivan.
Barbara smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Ten minutes later she was parked across the street from the house on Buttercup Drive. Gathering her fading resolve, she stepped out of the minivan and walked toward the house. It was hard to tell if anyone was home—the curtains were drawn and the driveway was empty.
She knocked loudly, then waited several minutes, but no one seemed to be home. Abby stepped off the porch and went toward the backyard. She reached for the gate string and hesitated, wondering if there was a dog back there.
Trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she slowly opened the gate and entered the backyard, then paused, waiting for a dog to jump out at her. All was still. Feeling more confident, she tiptoed toward a window. The blinds were closed there, too. She went all the way around the house and found all the blinds shut tight.
She went back to her car and sat inside, trying to figure out what to do, but she didn’t have to ponder very long. Five minutes later a car pulled into the driveway at 515 Buttercup Drive.
Not wanting to be noticed, she slid down in her seat, but after a moment she sat up slightly, anxious to know who had arrived. Peering out the window, she watched a woman about her own age go into the house.
Abby waited five minutes before climbing out of her car and approaching the house. Heart thumping, she rang the doorbell. The woman opened the door almost immediately. About Abby’s height, and with dyed-black hair swept up into a ponytail, the woman’s pretty features were makeup free, but seemed familiar.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked with a Southern drawl.
“Yes. I’m having car trouble and I was wondering if I could use your phone.” Abby smiled as she used her planned excuse.
“Certainly.” The woman opened the door for Abby to enter. “The phone’s in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Abby stepped into the entry hall and surreptitiously glanced around. Nothing seemed unusual about the place, and as she followed the woman toward the kitchen, she noticed photographs arranged on a piano in the living room. Trying not to stare, Abby thought something about the people looked familiar.
“It’s right here,” the woman said, pointing to the phone and drawing Abby’s attention away from the photographs.
Abby lifted the phone and dialed her mother’s cell phone, which she’d turned off. “Hi, honey. I’m having trouble with the car. Could you come and help?” She paused, as if listening. “The address?” She glanced at the woman, a questioning look on her face.
“It’s 515 Buttercup Drive,” the woman drawled.
Abby repeated the information. “Okay, hon. I’ll see you in a while.” Abby hung up the phone and turned to the woman. “Thank you for your help.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “Can I get you something to drink while you’re waiting for your . . . ?”
“Husband,” Abby said.
“Yes, your husband. How about some lemonade?”
Wanting to spend a few minutes there to try to get information, Abby accepted the offer.
“If you’d like to wait in the living room, I’ll grab something to drink.”
“Thank you.” Abby walked into the living room and immediately went to the piano and the photographs. Pictured were a woman, a man, and a young boy. As she stared at the photo, the blood drained from her face. It was another picture of Eric, and she suddenly realized that her hostess was a natural blond.
“Cute, isn’t he?” The woman had come up behind Abby.
“What?” Abby spun around to face the woman whose face matched the one in the picture.
“My son, Alex,” she said, handing Abby a glass of lemonade.
Abby took it automatically and turned back toward the picture. “This is your son?”
“Yes,” she said with obvious pride. “He turned three last week.”
Feeling surreal, Abby turned back toward the woman. “Where is he now?”
“Oh, he’s off with his father on some errand or another.” The woman looked at Abby with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
She ignored the question. “When do you expect him back?”
“Oh, Alex should be back anytime now.”
Still disbelieving what she was seeing, Abby blurted, “Not your son. Your husband.”
The friendliness the woman had been showing slowly seeped away as she looked at Abby with mistrust. “Why do you want to know that?”
Realizing the inappropriateness of the question, she felt the color rush to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” She handed her glass to the woman and walked quickly to the door.
“But your car!” the woman shouted after her.
Ignoring her, Abby ran across the street to her car, which started right up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As she drove home on autopilot, her mind was in turmoil. That was the same family from the photo I found in that book. There really is another family. She thought about the slip of paper with the address on it. Who put it there? Did someone want me to find it? Is this all a setup? Or am I in total denial?
At the thought, tears pushed into her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, forcing them back, then pulled over to the side of the road. She couldn’t take the insanity anymore and needed someone to tell her she wasn’t crazy. She pulled out her mother’s cell phone and dialed. Then, as the line picked up, she choked out, “Mary?”
“You’re saying my wife may believe I’m a thief.” Eric was using a pay phone at the mall and trying not to speak too loudly. Agent Franklin had just finished telling Eric that he’d questioned Abby and she had been less than helpful. Eric was relieved Abby hadn�
�t mentioned the message he’d given her. If she was following his instructions to not tell anyone about the message, he hoped that meant she trusted him.
“I’m saying I don’t know what she believes, but she didn’t have any information that helped.” Franklin paused. “Except for when she called me the other day.” Franklin told Eric about Mr. Phillips.
Eric finally realized how much danger his family was in. I need to find the rest of the money and get it to a safe place.
“I’ve had it,” the man said, pouring himself another drink. “This lack of respect cannot be ignored.”
“I agree,” his companion said. “We need to use him as an example.”
“I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he answered, a grin on his face.
“I’m doing okay,” Abby said in response to Mary’s question, then she adjusted the phone against her ear. “How about you? Are you getting by without me at the library?” It had been a day since Abby had visited the house on Buttercup Drive, and she was touched that Mary was calling to check up on her. She’d been so upset the day before, but now she was feeling somewhat better.
“It’s not the same without you, of course. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
Abby drew her brows together at the urgent tone in her friend’s voice. “What is it, then?”
“I wanted to talk to you about that picture and that house,” Mary said.
“Okay.” Abby felt a flash of humiliation that her husband might have left her for another woman, but she was glad she’d confided her discoveries to her friend after she’d run out of the house on Buttercup Drive the day before.
“Do you remember that when you showed me the picture, I thought the woman looked familiar?”
“Yes.”
“Well, since she was in profile it took me a little while to place her. But Abby, I remember her coming into the library.”
“Well, she doesn’t live very far from here.”
“She wasn’t just visiting the library. She was in our break room.”
Mary’s words caught Abby’s full attention. “What was she doing in there?”
“She told me she was looking for the bathroom. I didn’t think much of it until today, when I realized she was the same woman in the picture. I’m so sorry I didn’t remember before this.”
“It’s okay. I wonder what she was up to,” Abby mused. “Do you think Eric sent her to check up on me?” The thought upset her, but she had to consider all possibilities.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell what she was doing.” Mary paused. “I wish I could do more to help you.”
“Just telling me what you remembered is helpful. Thank you.”
“Hey, I know,” Mary said. “What if I look up that book on disappearing and see if it’s something Eric checked out—maybe he used an alternate address or something and we can track him down.”
Abby was grateful for her friend’s willingness to help, but the idea of confronting Eric was stressful. Still, she had to know so she could move on with her life. She sighed. “Thank you, Mary. You’re a true friend.”
“No problem, Abby. Look, I’m not at work right now, so I’ll check first thing tomorrow . . .”
Abby tried to listen to everything else Mary told her, but she found it hard to concentrate during the rest of the phone call, or, for that matter, during the rest of the day.
When Abby answered the phone the next day and heard Mary’s voice, apprehension washed over her. “Did you find out who checked the book out?”
“Tell me that address again. The one where the woman lived,” Mary said.
Abby told her, then asked, “Well?”
“The book was checked out by someone named Lauren Douglas. And the address on her file is the Buttercup Drive address.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised. I mean, it makes sense that Eric wouldn’t want to check it out himself. Why not send someone else?” Even as she thought about it, she imagined Eric and Lauren sitting down one evening and discussing how they would run off and leave Eric’s first family behind. A lump formed in her throat at the thought, and her chin quivered as tears threatened.
“Abby?” Mary asked. “Are you okay?”
Taking a deep breath before speaking, Abby said, “I’m not great, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No. I need some time alone. But thank you, Mary. You’re wonderful.”
“Please let me know if I can do anything for you. Promise?”
“I promise.”
Abby hung up, then sat on the couch, glad her mother had taken the girls to the nearby park. She felt so betrayed by Eric. She didn’t know what to believe anymore, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Eric wasn’t using drugs.
No, Abby. Instead he may be an embezzler, and has lied to you for years . . . She could hardly believe Eric would do this to her, and the more she thought about it, the more upset she became.
How dare he do this to our family? She began pacing before finding herself in the office, where she stared at the family picture on the desk. A moment later she picked it up and hid it in one of the desk drawers. If he doesn’t want anything to do with us, I don’t want any reminders of him.
She walked around the house and took down any picture with Eric in them, including the large portrait in the entry hall. As she stared at the empty spot where the portrait had hung only moments before, she remembered one other place where she kept Eric’s picture.
She found her purse in her bedroom and dug out her wallet, but when she flipped to the picture section, her forehead creased in puzzlement as she thumbed through all the photographs.
The small family photo she kept in her wallet had vanished.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The house on Buttercup Drive looked the same on Monday as it had on the previous Thursday, and Abby boldly pulled into the driveway. Breathing deeply to slow her pounding heart, she walked to the front door and rang the bell. When she heard footsteps approaching the door, and she prepared to see Lauren face to face, her heart thrummed painfully in her chest.
“Yes?” A completely different woman stood in the open doorway.
Caught off guard, Abby stammered, “Do . . . do you live here?”
“Yes, of course. Can I help you with something?”
“Does anyone else live here?” Abby asked, still trying to comprehend who the woman was.
The woman’s eyebrows drew together. “Who are you?”
“I’m sorry. I was here last week and I spoke to someone else. That’s why I was wondering if anyone else lived here.”
“Oh. Well, my family moved in a couple of days ago. I don’t know who lived here before us.”
Abby felt foolish for her questions and mumbled something before walking back to her car and driving away. A few minutes later she stopped at a nearby park to take a moment to consider what had happened.
Who was that before? Where did she go? Was it really Eric’s other wife and now that I’ve found him he’s back on the run?
Not liking where her thoughts were going, she tried some positive self-talk. I will be in control of what I believe until I have proof. I have to have faith that he loves me and is trying to come home to me, just like he said. Someone’s trying to mess with my mind—my missing picture proves it.
Done being a pawn, she was going to beat whoever it was at their own game.
Hiding behind a bush, Eric could see his family through the open blinds—they were cleaning up a game they had just finished playing. He could also see his mother-in-law there. He knew how she felt about him, and her presence there worried him.
Watching them laugh as they closed the lid on the game and set it on the table made Eric ache inside. He desperately wanted to be with them, but he also wanted to stay out of jail. He gazed after them as they went upstairs—he knew the bedtime ritual would take at least ten minutes.
When he’d arrived
in his neighborhood earlier, he’d been surprised to see the police car patrolling his neighborhood and he’d had to wait for it to drive by before sneaking into the backyard. Now, as he watched his family head upstairs, he decided to make his move.
He sprang toward the sliding glass door, but wasn’t surprised to find it locked. Next he went to the garage door where he was shocked to find a totally new doorknob. The keyed entry had been replaced by a keypad.
Obviously Abby’s frightened. Guilt swept over him as he considered the anguish he’d caused his wife. He stared at the keypad and wondered what the code was. First he tried the code he and Abby had chosen for the burglar alarm—the year of Tiffany’s birth—but that didn’t work. What else would Abby have used? How about the year we were married? We almost chose that for the alarm code.
Holding his breath, he punched it in and was gratified to hear the lock click open. Abby must still have some trust in me to use a date we both care about. He paused as he turned the doorknob, wondering if the alarm would sound. All was silent. He quickly entered the garage and closed the door behind him.
Next was the door to the house. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he hoped everyone would still be upstairs. As he reached toward the doorknob, he saw it turning and he jumped back and ran behind the Jeep. He didn’t have time to figure out how his car had gotten there.
Eric watched Barbara flip on the light and step into the garage, then after grabbing something from his workbench, she went back into the house, turning the light off on her way in. He released his breath and continued kneeling behind the Jeep, but when he checked his watch, he knew his time was about up.
Operating on the assumption that Abby had changed the alarm code, he knew if he didn’t get in the house before she punched it in, he wouldn’t be able to enter the house or leave the garage until she deactivated it.
Creeping to the door, he listened to discover if anyone was near, but it was difficult to hear through the heavy steel. Opening the door slightly, he peered into the kitchen. No one was there, and he didn’t hear any noise in the adjoining family room. Falling to his hands and knees, he crawled toward the family room and then into the hall closet. The scent of musty coats almost made him cough and he had to control his breathing.
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