The Housewife(69)

“Same,” she says. “Where’s Roy?”

Where’s Roy? “He went to the police station. They wanted to talk to him about Veronica. He should be back soon.”

She tilts her head at me. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

I take a sharp breath. “I just want to get it done, you know?”

“Yes. Forgive me. Just give me a minute.”

“No problem.”

She walks through to the adjoining bedroom. I pull out my phone and let out a loud puff of frustration. “Darn. Something’s come up.”

Marie puts her head around the door. “What happened?”

It’s a testimony to how few friends or hobbies I have in my life that the only excuse I can come up with is, “It’s Meredith.”

“What’s happened to Meredith?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s important. I have to go. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Two hours?”

I raise one shoulder and let it fall. “Can’t be helped.”

“But can’t it wait?”

“I’m afraid not.” I walk backward to the door.

She juts her chin at the first aid kit supplies on the coffee table. “But your hand? ”

“I’ll do it when I get back.” At the door, I stop. “By the way, what kind of nurse were you?”

“Cosmetic surgery. Why?”

I tap the doorjamb and force a smile. “No reason. You’re very good, that’s all.”

I run downstairs to my room, close the door, and lean against it. My mind is spinning. How is it possible that…

Then I remember something. I dig under the mattress for Deb’s appointment book, flick through the pages quickly. I land on the page where she scrawled—with some difficulty—2210 Horizon Oak Circle 305. Thousand Oaks.

That’s the clinic. And I would bet my bottom dollar that’s where Marie was fired from. Deb didn’t go there to get any work done. She went there to find out about Marie.

She’d figured it out.

That means she must have gotten out.

I don’t know if he’ll fall for the paper clip part. I hope so.

I zero in on the next page.

ITS HIM DOING IT.

Except that’s not what it says, I see that now. I bring the page up close and squint at it. It’s the scratch of the pen that got me. She was trying to write, but she didn’t have the strength, and it left marks that meant nothing. The ones that matter spell: ITS M DOING IT.

She was warning someone, someone who might follow in her footsteps. If I die, It’s M. M for Marie.

I hear something. A door closing. Is it coming from downstairs? Is Roy home? I run to the bathroom, lock the door, and sit on the edge of the bathtub.

I’m not ready for Roy. I stand, my ear to the door and wait. He’ll go into his office, surely, and I can slip out unnoticed. But then…

Someone’s up here. In the bedroom. I can hear them moving around, breathing.

So Roy came up here first.

I close my eyes. I’m going to have to face him. I may as well get it over with.

I open the door a crack. I’ve only opened it by a hair when I realize.

It’s not Roy, standing in front of my dresser, rummaging through my drawers.

It’s Marie.





43





I keep the door barely ajar, holding my breath. She sits down in my chair, still in her bathrobe, and starts brushing her hair with my hairbrush. She does this for a while, and I’m thinking that maybe I’m not the biggest nutjob in this house, so there’s that. She puts down the hairbrush then idly picks up my things, glancing at them before putting them down again. Jars of face cream, my makeup bag, a box of lipsticks, earrings in a ceramic dish. She settles on a jar of pro-collagen moisturizer, dips her fingers into it, and rubs it in her cheeks, her forehead, her chin.

It should go without saying that I am never, ever touching that jar again.

“Hello, Roy,” she says in a suggestive voice, screwing the lid back on the jar. “You’re home, darling. I’ve just made the most exquisite dish for you. Are you hungry? ”

A wave of nausea hits me. What is she doing?

She continues talking to herself in a weird, breathy voice. “Thank you, Roy. Yes, I’d love to go to the gala this evening. How wonderful!” She laughs prettily. “What shall I wear? Oh, you’re so naughty, my darling!”

She picks up a tube of mascara and applies it. “Yes, Roy darling, the Hamptons would be lovely this summer. It’s been so long. You’re always so busy, my darling. A second honeymoon? How thoughtful!” She puts on my lipstick, then some blush.

I don’t know what to do. She’s clearly insane, and I’m stuck in the bathroom, without my phone and with no idea what she’s going to do next. Is she going to come into the bathroom?

I look around for a weapon. The only thing that remotely qualifies is the toilet brush. I grab it and return to the door.

Marie is no longer sitting at my dresser, and for a moment I think she’s left the room, but then she comes out of my closet. She’s carrying something in both arms, something white, bulbous, and enormous.

She can’t. Please God.