by Pamela Crane
But the Best Man wasn’t always at his best.
“I was pissed for a long time. Not necessarily over Felicity, but because Oliver had the balls to swoop in and take my girl. But eventually I saw they were good for each other, a better match than I was with her, anyway. In the end, I got my revenge, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Revenge?” That wasn’t a word that fit Cody.
“Not like it was intended. It was a couple years after they got married, about a year before Vera came along, when Oliver was working nonstop, so consumed by his job and business trips that he’d leave Felicity home alone for days and weeks on end. She was constantly coming to me to vent or complain, y’know? She didn’t want to tell Mom or Dad, because she was sure they’d side with Oliver, but she was lonely and depressed and needy. Eventually she had enough and wanted to separate. All this time she had been trying to get pregnant but it’s kind of hard to do when your husband’s never around.”
I had a bad feeling I knew where this was going.
“That’s when one night, after they had a huge blow-up fight, she showed up on my doorstep with wine and a sob story, begging for a listening ear. That was our thing back when we first met—I listened. She always told me that it made me different from all the other men, that I genuinely heard her, that I cared. I was the shoulder she could cry on. That’s a death sentence for a guy, though. Guys don’t want to be the shoulder; we want to be the arms carrying the girl to bed.”
I nodded. I understood all about putting men in the Friend Zone a little too well. Though why couldn’t men be happy being either?
“She loved Oliver, but he was killing their marriage. Well, anyway, a listening ear turned into a one-night fling, but we both knew the next morning that she needed to tell Oliver and see if they could fix things or if she should walk away.”
And there it was. The bomb.
“In a way, that was the catalyst for Oliver to get his priorities straight. He cut back his work hours, put their house up for sale to start fresh, and Felicity had Vera. I’m not saying it wasn’t rough working my ass off to get back in Oliver’s good graces—I still am—but eventually we worked it out. My mom, however, never quite forgave me for what I did to my brother. I can still today hear whispers of her resentment.”
I could see the regret, the guilt, the self-loathing all over him. He reeked of it. He also reeked of something else. Something he wasn’t telling me.
“What do you mean by you’re still working to stay in Oliver’s good graces?”
His face flushed. Uh-oh. I had stumbled upon that something.
“Nothing really. I’m just always going to be indebted to him. But all of that is ancient history. I don’t care about the past. All I care about is my future—with you.”
Outside the living room window the morning sky bloomed in a riot of reds and pinks. We had talked all night, something we hadn’t done since our early months of dating.
“I appreciate you telling me everything. I’m glad we have that kind of honesty in our marriage. And with everything Felicity has gone through, I’m giving her a pass this time. I’d prefer if we could keep all of this just between us.” And Debra, I didn’t add. “But Cody, if you ever do anything like this to me again, I’m out. Done. Do you understand?”
He leaned across the sofa to hug me, but I held my hand out to stop him. I pinned him with a glare.
“No. I’m not ready for that yet. I forgive you, but I don’t want to be near you right now. You have a lot of making up to do first.”
He nodded understanding.
“Does Oliver know?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“He should probably know the truth.”
No, I was pretty certain this would be Oliver’s tipping point. Missing teen, sick child, and cheating wife? There was only so much two shoulders could carry.
“That’s between them, Cody. If Oliver finds this out right now, it’s not just his marriage that you’re messing with, but the whole family. Do you think he’ll ever be able to trust you again? Even if he keeps his wife, he’ll lose his brother. You need to stay out of it.”
“Secrets aren’t good, Marin. They’re toxic. And I know you’re hiding something from me too. I can feel the schism between us. It’s been growing for the past couple weeks.”
I knew I had been slipping. It was hard to wear a mask all the time.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m willing to put everything out there for you. Please do the same for me. I can handle whatever it is.”
No, he really couldn’t.
Hazy morning light crept along the windowsill, revealing the chips of paint that needed a touch-up. The house embodied my family, falling apart, dripping with secrets like that leaky kitchen plumbing, groaning for repairs to the rotting floorboards. But it was ours, and although a mess, I wasn’t ready to give up on it.
“I’ve told you everything I was hiding, Cody. About seeing Vera the night she disappeared. There’s nothing else to say.”
That seemed to satisfy him…momentarily.
“So all of our secrets and lies and stuff are out in the open now, right?” He swallowed, tempering all those worrisome thoughts that boggled his brain any time he was afraid I was about to pull the rug out from under him. “Because now is the time to say whatever else needs to be said if we have any chance at moving forward.”
Forward with Cody was the only direction I wanted to go.
I sighed, then said, “Well, there is one more thing you need to know…”
Chapter 29
Felicity
“I have good news and bad news.” Detective Montgomery sat across from me in what the stained-glass couple would have called a parlor, but what I called a living room. A cup of coffee—no cream or sugar, thanks—steamed in front of her seat, while a cup of tea—more cream and sugar, thanks—was nearly empty in front of me. The empathy in her tone, the softness of her expression, the slight lean forward and pat on my arm—the combination told me everything I didn’t want to know.
“We weren’t able to trace the call made to your dog grooming store. It was likely made from a burner phone, so unfortunately we’re at a dead end with that.”
I had anticipated as much. “What about with the girl you found in the river? Any idea when we’ll know for sure who she is?”
“Like I told you before, the pathologist is pretty sure it’s not Vera. But it’s our top priority to confirm the identity.” Pat pat.
“I’m hoping that’s all the bad news?” I wondered aloud.
“Yes.” She picked up her coffee and sipped. “The good news—while we hadn’t had success earlier in tracing Vera’s phone while it was turned off, we did follow up on that after you and I spoke. This time we were able to locate the cell phone and the user that your husband has been texting with.”
“And?” The creepy fifty-year-old orthodontist who lived in his mother’s basement and collected used retainers from his victims popped back into my head.
“And we paid a visit and spoke with her in person.”
“It’s a her?”
“Yes, a girl and her mother.”
So Oliver was right.
“Do you think there’s any connection between her and Vera?”
The detective set her mug down, and here came that not-as-comforting pat on the arm. In fact, it was downright infuriating. “The girl is exactly who the texts say they’re from—a twelve-year-old who lost her father in a car accident. She had found the phone in the woods, and when Oliver first texted her, she took it as some kind of sign that her dad was contacting her from heaven.”
Just like Oliver, the girl thought it was a connection beyond the grave. It would have been magical if it wasn’t so tragic.
“I spoke to the girl and her mother, and I retrieved the phone, which unfortunately had been completely factory reset. So we couldn’t pull anything, no app history or o
nline searches that would help in finding Vera. But like I said, I’m pretty confident there’s no connection between the girl and Vera.”
“Where did you say she found the phone?” I asked.
Detective Montgomery checked her little black notepad that she had on her every time I saw her. “In the woods on Marigold Street.”
Marigold Street. Why did that sound so familiar?
This couldn’t be so simple that she just happened upon my daughter’s phone. I didn’t believe in coincidences. There was always a connection.
“Does that street name mean something to you, Felicity?” Detective Montgomery was reading me.
I nodded. “I can’t think of why, but if it comes to me, I’ll let you know.”
“Hey, I get it. You want to think this is a clue linking to Vera, but in this case, there is nothing to lead us to believe the family knows of Vera’s whereabouts. The girl doesn’t go to Vera’s school, they run in completely different circles, and this girl is clearly still a child. There’s no connection, Felicity.”
She was right. What would a twelve-year-old have to do with my fifteen-year-old? I was so furious and sad and disappointed in myself for ever believing that this could be it, the glimmer of light at the end of that endlessly dark tunnel. It was snuffed out and I was still stuck in the dark.
Detective Montgomery, clutching her black notepad, got up and headed for the door.
“Detective, would it be possible for me to get the girl’s name and number? I think it would mean a lot to Oliver to at least say goodbye.”
“Sure, I think she would appreciate that. Oliver comforted her and helped her through her loss, from what it sounded like. In fact, she had asked if she’d ever hear from him again, so I’m sure a text would mean a lot.” The detective tore a paper from her pad and scribbled a name and number on it:
Tasha Briggs
I held myself together until after Detective Montgomery left. Then I let it all crush me. The defeat. The desperation. I alternated between screaming at the empty walls and sobbing into my sleeves until the kids got home from school. Then I held myself together again until after Oliver got home from work and the kids were in bed, alternating between pacing the bedroom floor and conjuring up a link between Tasha and Vera.
There was none. Just like there was no link between Vera and Marigold Street.
While Oliver brushed his teeth, I fell into bed, exhausted from too much thinking about Vera, Sydney, my marriage, the kiss, the dog crap all over the floor, the page from Vera’s journal, the voicemail threat. Every hope swept over me like fresh air I could breathe. Every closed door sucked the air right back out. I stared at the vaulted bedroom ceiling, tracing the opulent moldings from corner to corner.
Oliver walked to the window, focused on something beyond the glass. “You know what we have to do, don’t you?”
“I can’t.” I turned on my stomach, pressed my face into my pillow to shut out the conversation.
“Felicity, I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m going to turn myself in. I already made sure you’re okay financially before I do so. I was thinking about doing it tomorrow. Get it over with.”
Flipping over, I peeled my face off the pillowcase, sticky with salty tears, and looked up at him.
“No. Absolutely not. And you know why.”
“Honey, I will take responsibility for everything. Nothing will fall on you. I’ll do the jail time. I’ll do whatever I need to in order to protect you. But we can’t hide it anymore, Felicity. We’re out of options. It’s the only chance to bring Vera home…if she’s still out there.”
The question of what if she wasn’t still out there? had been growing more each day. What if the detective was wrong and Vera was the body they’d found—and Oliver went to jail for nothing? I couldn’t lose them both. There was no way I’d survive that kind of news without him.
“Not yet,” I begged. “Not until we know for sure who they found in the river. Please.”
“It’s not Vera. Detective Montgomery already pretty much confirmed it.”
“Why do you have to rush into a confession? Can’t we think about it first?”
“For how much longer, Felicity? We’re out of time.”
A flash of light passed over his face, a headlight as someone crested the hill that led up our driveway.
“Are you expecting someone?” Oliver asked.
I bolted upright. “No. Not at this hour,” I said, flinging on my robe.
Bounding downstairs, I tripped on the runner, slid across the hardwood, knocked my hipbone against the banister, and smacked the door’s edge with my forehead in my haste to see whose unfamiliar car had crawled up my driveway, now idling near the llama-shaped bush.
I flicked on the floodlights.
“Hey!”
Never announce your presence when you’re trying to sneak up on someone. The lesson didn’t hit me until a hoodie dashed across the driveway.
“Stop! Please!” I scream-begged.
My legs pumped faster than they’d ever moved before. I fancied myself an Olympian in the 100m hurdles, vaulting over those topiaries like I had wings on my feet, closing the gap on the fleeing intruder until I was close enough to tackle him and rip off the hood in a stunning aha moment.
I closed the gap alright, but when I reached out to snag the retreating hoodie, I tripped and staggered several feet, arms frantically windmilling, before taking a header. I felt the air explode from my lungs as I hit the ground chest-first, jaw next, and slid to a crumpled stop. I spat out the mouthful of gravel I’d inhaled like a bulldozer, then sat up and scraped the dirt off my scraped knees while I got my breath back.
I was examining my poor toes—every one of the bare piggies got stubbed on the rocks—when I saw a pair of no-name high-tops rushing toward me out of the gloom.
“Oliver! Help! There’s a prowl—”
“Mrs. Portman! You okay?”
“Austin?” I looked up. The boy had thrown back his hoodie and stood over me, eyes bugged with concern.
Marigold Street! That’s where Detective Montgomery said the little girl found Vera’s phone. It all made sense now—Vera’s phone had been found near Austin’s house, the last place she’d been seen.
Austin held out his hand. I grabbed it and let him pull me to my feet. “That fall looked pretty bad,” he said.
I was already banged up from the car accident, and now this indignity. But I smiled and said, “I’ll live. But what are you doing here? And why did you run from me?”
“I came to drop something off, but when you came running out screaming, I freaked out. I didn’t want to get caught.”
“Get caught doing what?” Oliver’s voice boomed from behind me. My tardy white knight ambled up to us nonchalantly, cinching his robe.
“I’m fine, by the way,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”
“I came to give you this.” Austin handed me a scrap of paper. I instantly recognized it as another torn piece from Vera’s journal.
“Was that you who left me the other page on my car?”
Austin nodded meekly. “Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t bring it to you directly. I was afraid you’d turn me in, so after school I parked down the street and waited until I saw your car pass when you were going to dinner. I figured for sure no one would notice me if I slipped it under your wiper at the restaurant.”
“I guess you were right,” I said.
“How long were you sitting there watching for us?” Oliver asked. “You know that’s stalking, right? And do you even have a driver’s license?”
“I’ve got a permit. I was only waiting, like, an hour. I didn’t know how else to send it to you.”
“Have you ever heard of mail?” Oliver grumbled.
“Cut him a break, Oliver. Teens do impulsive stuff.” I lifted the page. “So why bring this one to the house now, Austin?”
“I couldn’t wait any longer. I just wanted it off my hand
s.”
Austin stepped around me, eyes wide with wonder at the monstrosity of our house on full display now that the lights lit it up. We got that a lot from new visitors.
“Vera had told me you lived in the Execution Estate, but I had no idea the house was so humongous! Can I see the room where the family got whacked?” Austin turned to Oliver with wild-eyed interest.
“No!” Oliver grumbled. “This is my—our—home, and you’re already trespassing.”
“Oh, come on.” Austin’s excitement picked up steam. “You know everyone still talks about what happened in this house. Do you ever see ghosts or hear strange noises?”
Yes, but I would never admit it out loud. It was hard enough keeping the rumors away from Sydney and Eliot’s curious little ears. It took months to wean Eliot out of my bed the first time he came home from school crying over one of his classmates’ Execution Estate ghost stories.
In the harsh floodlight, I skimmed Vera’s words. “Are there more of these?”
Austin shook his head. “It’s the last one I have.”
“How did you get this?”
He tossed his head, shifting his hair out of his eyes. “A few days before Vera ran away, she was at my house and I started looking through the entries. By then she had already told me her plan to find some dying long-lost relative, and I was afraid that if someone found this journal mentioning details about me, they’d think I was behind it. So I ripped out any entry that mentioned my name.”
Dying relative? Was that just another one of Vera’s lies, or was someone baiting her with a sob story?
“Really looking out for numero uno, aren’t you?” Oliver snapped.
“I had no choice! I’m the only protection my mom has from her psycho husband, and if something happened and I was taken away again, he’d end up killing her for sure. Besides, I told Vera not to go. We even had a huge fight about it the night she left because I told her that she hadn’t thought it through and she should just talk to you guys first, but she could be pretty hardheaded. Guess I don’t have to tell you guys that.”