Cara pulled the pillow over her head. Why couldn't she stop thinking? Her stomach felt better, so the rest was what she needed. But she was wasting time if she couldn't sleep.
Worry about her friends, and even Dean, was useless. She didn't know where she was going to bed the next night. The last place Cara wanted to go was to her mom's, but the more she thought about it, the better it probably was. She wasn't going to tell any of her friends about the split up.
What would they think of her going back to the poor part of town? They probably didn't even know what part of town Cara was from. It wasn't like she ever made a point to talk about it. Quite the opposite, in fact. Cara went out of her way to dress up the truth so no one would know that she had grown up poor. Cara made fun of the trailer trash, but in reality, those were her people—at least they used to be. Now they might be again.
She didn't even want to take her stuff to the trailer, much less her baby. Her mom had an unemployed, drunk bum of a boyfriend living with her, and Cara didn't trust him. No, going there would be a bad idea. Like she had told Ethan, she'd rather live in an apartment. But that would require getting a job, and who would hire her? She was at the point where she couldn't hide her pregnancy no matter what she wore. Not that she was even qualified for anything, having only barely graduated from college.
Cara rolled over and focused on the black behind her eyes. "Just sleep," she whispered. Ethan had offered to help her get on her feet for a month. She didn't need to figure everything out right then. When she woke up, she could look for an apartment. Then after she got settled in, she could figure out what she would do for a job.
Dean might even have some ideas. If he knew Cara was suddenly on her own, he would be willing to help her out. She sat up. That was it. Dean had a condo somewhere not too far away. She was the mother of his child—surely he would let her stay there. Then she could save the money Ethan gave her and let Dean take care of her.
She could be sweet and take care of him and keep the condo shining. Then he would see how great it would be for the two of them to be together. He could get a second house and they could live happily together when he was avoiding Lydia. Or maybe he would leave her altogether.
That was it. It would work out perfectly. Cara slid under the covers, finally feeling sleepy. Maybe everything was going to work out just like it should. She would have a family with her baby's actual dad. It was perfect. She only had to get a hold of Dean to find out where his condo was. By dinnertime, she could be sipping iced tea by a pool.
Her eyelids, now heavy, closed. Cara slipped into a peaceful sleep knowing that everything would somehow work out. Even if she lost her best friend. Besides, she had known that was a possibility from the moment she kissed Dean that fateful night.
The alarm on her cell woke Cara up around seven. She was surprised at how rested she felt after only about four hours of sleep. She stretched, enjoying the feeling that had settled into her body as she slept.
As Cara turned off the alarm, she noticed a missed text. It was from an unknown number: The coffee is ground.
Cara smiled and held the phone close. It was Dean's secret code. He was settled in and had a number she could call. When he traveled, he always bought a throwaway phone. Once it was activated, he texted her something about caffeine, and she could call or text at that number until he left. It was the perfect solution to make sure neither of their spouses ever figured out what was going on.
She always kept her phone password protected, but at least with the changing numbers, neither Ethan nor Lydia would never know about their conversations if they checked the phone records.
Ethan appeared in the doorway. "I'm going into the office, but I'll be back before the truck gets here. Make sure you know where you're going by then. Otherwise, I'll give them your mom's address."
Cara's stomach twisted in knots. "No. I'll find an apartment."
He nodded and then disappeared.
She looked at the time. Considering all she had to do, she needed to get back to packing. She would have to skip a shower today, as much as she hated the thought of it.
Cara found Dean's latest text and hit reply. I love coffee grounds. She had to send a single message in response to his to let him know that she got it, and it also confirmed that no one else knew what was going on.
Did you sleep well?
No. We need to talk. Are you available now?
She sat and waited for two long minutes. Sometimes he was in a meeting or otherwise busy with work. She knew better than to take it personally.
Can you text me the details? I'm tied up at the moment.
How could she text all of that to him? Cara took a deep breath and thought about how to sum everything up as concisely as possible. Ethan knows.
No response. Cara's heart sped up, but she knew Dean would have to process the shock.
Everything?
Pretty much. Do you have room in your condo for me?
Cara waited a full five minutes. Then she typed a new message. I can always get an apartment. It's no biggie. Her finger hovered over the send button. She held her breath, hoping she hadn't overstepped her bounds and upset him. She knew from Lydia's stories that Dean could go crazy when he lost his temper.
I have a better idea.
Cara let out her breath and deleted her message. What's that?
I've been looking at a couple of foreclosures by the lake. I'll have my real estate attorney see if they're still available and have him fax me the papers.
Could I go there tonight?
I'll see what I can do. Talk later. Xoxo
Xoxo
Cara breathed another sigh of relief. Not only was he taking it well, but he was getting a house on the lake for the two of them.
Planning
Lydia woke up to an empty bed. Dean was gone, but a single rose rested in his spot. She picked it up and smelled it. The scent was strong and sweet, lingering even after she put it back where she'd found it.
When they had returned home after dinner, Dean had kissed her neck again and they had their second marital encounter for the day… and the last three or four years. Lydia wasn't sure. She used to keep track of how long it had been since he started ignoring her, but after falling in love with Chad, she had not only stopped but forgotten the dates.
Lydia yawned and stretched. She tried to remember how long he would be gone this time. She wasn't sure he had even told her. That meant she would have to check the calendar. She got the chills and shivered just thinking about it.
Dean was being nice, but one thing she had learned was that meant nothing. He knew how to put on a show and make people think what he wanted them to. He was slick, and he knew it. That was how he had tricked her into marrying him. He wasn't the man he pretended to be.
The man from the previous day, that was who he pretended to be to get her to marry him. He had continued his charade until just past their first anniversary, giving her the first year of her dreams. The stage had been set. Lydia thought she had the perfect life—doting husband, beautiful house, and plenty of nice things.
Their relationship had turned sour quickly, surprising her. Lydia had spent hours trying to figure out what had gone wrong. What had been the real cause of their problems? The big thing was not being able to have a baby, but the truth was that when he agreed to travel for work—without asking her what she thought—that was when things changed, but on a smaller scale.
Lydia would never forget the day he told her about the traveling. The day she first caught a glimpse of his true colors. He had taken her to a restaurant, most likely to keep her from freaking out. They were at a busy seafood place, and the meal had just arrived. The buzz of the conversation all around made Lydia think she had heard him wrong.
"What did you say?" she asked. "It sounded like you said you agreed to take a traveling position."
Dean nodded. "I did. It's the promotion of my dreams."
She would have felt less hurt if he had slapped her across th
e face. "Why have I never heard anything about it?" She shook, but tried to hide it.
"I never thought it was a possibility. Weston Smith who has had the position for years announced that he wanted to settle in one place. Several other guys want this position, but I'm the highest seniority. If I want it, it's mine. No one higher up the chain wants it."
Lydia put her fork down, unable to eat anymore. "But still, why wouldn't you have said anything to me?"
"I told you. I didn't think it would ever happen. I want to go to the moon, too, but what's the point in discussing that? It's not going to happen."
"Is there anything else you're not telling me? Something that doesn't seem important, but could be if it actually happened?"
He smiled, practically looking smug. "With this position comes a raise. A huge one, Lyds. You're going to love the figures. My salary is going to more than double."
Lydia froze, holding his eye contact.
"It's true. We can get a house in that neighborhood you always drool over. I've already taken a peek, and there are two houses for sale right now. You could have your pick."
Dean always knew what to say to get what he wanted. He was right, she had been wanting to move into that area for as long as she could remember. Lydia had even offered to get a job so they could move in there, but Dean would have nothing to do with his wife working. It was a bragging point that she didn't have to.
It didn't matter what she wanted, just how things appeared.
"When do you start?" she asked.
"Next week. While I'm away, why don't you tour the available homes, and decide what you like best?" He smiled, melting her. He was giving her what she wanted, and he loved every minute of it.
Lydia knew what he was doing, but was too excited about the house. Moving into that neighborhood was something she had wanted so badly that she could feel it. Dean was giving it to her to soften the blow about his new job, and it worked exactly as he had planned.
The next time Lydia complained about him traveling, he took her car shopping. He thought he could buy her off, and for a little while, it worked. Until he ran out of things she wanted. Lydia had many things that made her friends green with envy. Expensive shoes and purses, imported furniture, and so much more.
Dean had been able to keep her happy—distracted was more accurate—for a while, until they started trying to have a baby. Once he couldn't give her what she wanted most, things turned sour fast.
Lydia sat up in bed, not wanting to think about it anymore. She picked up the rose and put it in a vase in the bathroom. Was a rose now supposed to keep her happy? If she couldn't come up with a good plan before he came back, she would have to pretend. At least she was good at that.
She went downstairs and checked his calendar. He was supposed to be gone exactly one week. Lydia wasn't sure that was enough time to get everything in order. A divorce would likely be time-consuming. She had seen several friends go through those, and there was always a huge hang-up every time.
Lydia made some organic oatmeal and thought about her chances. She didn't work, so really, everything they had was his. The house and the cars were in his name. He had said they needed to be, because he was the one with the income. She had credit cards, but he was the primary on all their accounts, and he could revoke her access at any time.
The longer she thought about it, the more discouraged she became. Lawyers would probably send her packing with just the clothes on her back. She had come in with nothing, she had gained nothing, and she would leave with exactly that. Unless she could prove his guilt or find a way to convince him to let her have more.
He wouldn't give her anything out of the kindness of his heart. If she confronted him with what little she knew, there would be nothing stopping him from killing her, too. Dean would know she had that information and could use it against him anytime. Even if that were a possibility, then she would be guilty of not turning in a killer.
She let out a long, frustrated breath. There had to be another option. Maybe she could set aside some cash, get away from him, and then send in an anonymous tip. Then she wouldn't be in the position to have to prove anything. The cops would be responsible for comparing his travels to the crimes committed.
Dean would probably know who ratted him out, even if she was gone. Lydia would have to make sure she was somewhere far away that he would never think to look. Going to her family was out, because that would be the first place he looked for her. What if he hurt them, trying to find her?
He wouldn't do that if the police were watching him. Once they knew he was a suspect in a string of killings, he would have to be on his best behavior. Lydia didn't have the luxury of worrying about her family. She needed to take care of herself. No matter what happened, Dean would know that she knew, or at least suspected something.
Did he already think she knew? Could he be planning her demise on the plane right then? Lydia's pulse pounded in her ears. There was only one thing she couldn't do—nothing. She had to do something, and the sooner the better. His recent kindness was nothing more than a show.
He knew he had screwed up big time, dropping the paper for her to find it. Whether he actually thought she knew anything, that was anyone's guess. And it wasn't something Lydia was going to wait around to find out about.
Lydia stayed in the chair just thinking. The rest of her breakfast went cold and she ignored several calls from Bri. She thought about all of her options, and eventually decided it was best to play detective.
What she really needed was proof. If she could prove to the cops that he was dangerous and killing people, they would have no choice but to lock him up. Then she wouldn't have to move or anything. She might have to get a real job, but that wouldn't be so bad. She had wanted to work when they first got married.
Working would be far better than living in fear, which is what would end up happening if she waited and did nothing. So far, he obviously hadn't killed her. She didn't know why, but she was going to use that to her advantage. If she needed to take a few months to piece everything together, then she would just pretend to be the happy housewife when he was home.
Her phone rang again, and it was Bri again. She threw it across to the living room where it bounced on the carpet several times. Lydia wasn't going to see some movie when she had real problems to figure out.
She grabbed a glass of wine and went onto the porch to sit in the sun. There was a week until Dean came back. That would give her some time, but not enough to get done everything she needed. If only he was going to be gone for two to three weeks like he often was. Why was he suddenly coming home more frequently—right after she had found his stuff?
Lydia didn't want to live on the run or in hiding. That was for the movies. No, she was a smart and capable woman. She would find enough proof to get him arrested, and then let the authorities do the rest.
Could she do that in a week? Maybe if he had left enough damning evidence in the house, but even if he had, how would she find it? It had been an accident that she even found the box in the floorboards. Their house was close to four thousand square feet if you counted the garage.
Lydia had her work cut out for her.
Preparing
Lydia wiped sweat from her forehead as she walked out of Dean's office. He'd been smart enough not to leave any incriminating evidence in the most obvious of places. That was where he spent most of his waking hours when he was home. There wasn't anything anywhere, not even a loose piece of carpet. Lydia had even searched every file on his computer, but chances were anything useful would be on his laptop, which always went with him.
She grabbed a glass of water and drank it down in a couple of gulps. Lydia filled the glass again, trying to decide where to look next. Her stomach rumbled, and she looked at the time. It was getting close to dinnertime. How had that happened? It must have taken her longer than she thought to go through the office. It certainly hadn't felt that long.
Her phone rang. She went over to where it had landed earlier
. It was Bri, and it looked like she had missed eight calls.
"Hi, Bri."
"So your phone does work."
"Sorry. I was…cleaning and lost track of time."
"Cleaning?" Bri didn't sound convinced.
"Sure. Don't you ever get into a streak where you just feel like you have to clean?"
"Yeah, but that usually involves making room so I can go shopping. You planning a trip to the mall?" Bri sounded hopeful.
"I just want to go through some stuff."
"So, I don't need to worry about you?"
That was a loaded question. "Nah. I'm fine."
"How's Dean?"
"I wouldn't know. He doesn't usually call when he's traveling. But he did leave a flower when he left this morning."
"Aww. That's so sweet. What changed?"
"I'm not really sure. Maybe he had a row with his girlfriend."
"So you don't think he's changed?"
"Not unless he quit traveling and spent all his time doting on me."
"We missed you today."
"Was the movie good?"
Bri paused. "We didn't see it. The girls and I just talked at the restaurant. Want to catch it tomorrow?"
Lydia held in a groan. "Maybe. Let me see how much cleaning I can get done tonight. I'm on a roll, and I don't want to stop if I can help it."
"Want some help?"
"No," Lydia said too fast. "I mean, you wouldn't have any fun. You hate to clean."
"You know me too well. But if you get bored or just want to talk, give me a call."
"Will do. Thanks for checking on me, Bri."
"What are friends for?"
The call ended, and Lydia let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't going to be able to keep a secret from Bri for long, but for the time being Lydia wasn't going to breathe a word of her suspicions to anyone.
Her stomach growled again. "I better eat before deciding what to go through next."
Dean's List Page 7