The Housewife(52)

It makes me soften toward Marie as I lock the door. I’m about to go back toward the stairs when I remember there’s another room on this floor, at the opposite end of the corridor. We didn’t go inside when Roy showed me the house.

“It’s just an old attic space under the eaves,” he’d said. “Typical in these old Spanish colonial houses. Too small to do anything with.”

I take off my shoes and pad down to it. It’s locked, but I have the keys. I try them one by one until, bingo.

My heart is racing as I slowly open the door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and make out the dusty, whitewashed walls, the sloping roof with its exposed beams, the single bed…the wooden chair.

“Jodie? You’re up there?”

I close the door and race down the stairs, still holding my shoes, and I don’t put them back on until I get back to my bedroom.

“Coming!”

“Have you seen my Montblanc pen?” he shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

“In the living room, on the bookshelf,” I shout back.

I sit on the bed and press my fingers against my temples.

My heart is racing. I feel sick. So that’s where he kept her, locked up, alone. And that’s why he gave Marie a week’s leave. Marie would have heard her otherwise. And Marie would surely have helped her. And then he killed her, the day Marie came home so someone else would find her.

I am so close to exposing him. I can taste it. But first, I need to take care of Veronica.





31





I reheat chicken cacciatore and prepare a simple green salad. Then I crush the five pills I swiped from Marie into the half bottle of red wine that’s left from last night. I dip my lips in it, just to check. It definitely tastes more bitter than usual. I smother the green salad with vinegar. I’ll blame the taste on that, if he asks.

I walk into the dining room with the steaming plates. Roy is already seated, scrolling through his phone.

“I would have prepared something nicer, but I didn’t have the time. I hope it’s all right.”

I set down the plates, then serve the wine. Roy looks at me with a vague, beatific look on his face before poking at a bit of chicken with his fork.

“Did you have a good day?” I ask.

“Mmm. ”

“That’s nice. Here, have some salad.”

I pile it on his plate. He lifts his hand.

“That’s enough salad, thank you.”

“I know how much you like it. And how is the chicken?”

“Delicious.” He takes a sip of wine.

“Is the wine all right?”

“Very nice.”

We eat mostly in silence, peppered only by my innocuous questions. What a wild wind that was today, wasn’t it? Did you know they’re now stocking Australian wines at the grocery? By the way, that book you gave me? Gripping. I couldn’t put it down.

Then he says, “I’ve got some work to do before I go to bed. I’ll be in my office.”

I put my napkin down on the table. “I’m actually very tired. I think I’ll go up now.”

I leave the washing up to Marie after all and go up the stairs.

I wait for twenty minutes, then I go back downstairs quietly and find Roy snoring in his armchair, a book on his lap, his head lolled to the side. His phone is on the arm of the chair. I pick it up slowly, swipe my finger up the screen, and point it at his face.

Magic.

I scroll through his contacts until I find Veronica’s home address under Vee. She lives in Sherman Oaks, which is only about ten minutes from here. I check the time. 8:35 p.m. I type a text from Roy’s phone.

I can come earlier. Say in half an hour ?

I can’t wait. I have so much to tell you. XX

I delete the texts and put the phone back where it was. I realize that if Veronica is expecting Roy and I turn up instead, it’s unlikely she will let me inside her house. Therefore, I need a disguise.

Roy’s baseball cap is hanging by the front door. I grab it, along with his sunglasses, even though it’s obviously dark out. I also grab his leather jacket and gloves from the closet and the keys to his Lexus.

To improve my chances in convincing her to leave Roy alone, I decide to bring our wedding album. Anyone looking through those tender photographs would have to agree that we make a beautiful couple, and what kind of heartless person would want to break up a love story like that?

I get changed into jeans and sneakers, then shrug on Roy’s leather jacket. I am swimming in it, but it can’t be helped and it’s better than nothing. I put on his baseball cap and then, on impulse, I leave my own phone in a drawer in the kitchen.





Fifteen minutes later, I stand outside a small house at the end of a cul-de-sac high up off Beverly Glen Canyon.

The porch light comes on as I slowly drive up the driveway. I turn off the motor, readjust my cap, grab my wedding album, and step out of the car just as a tall, thin woman opens the front door.

She smiles. “Roy?”

I’m going to be sick. I take off the stupid sunglasses.

“What the hell, Erin?”





32





We are both in shock. Then she takes a step back and I use the opportunity to walk in and close the door behind me.