“Okay.” I nod, trying to focus. Trying to think back to that day. Lacey had left my office at six thirty; I had left closer to eight, spending some time saving her notes, packing up my office, and taking that call from Aaron. Then I had made a stop at the CVS before pulling into my driveway, probably around eight thirty. That would have given Daniel two hours to grab Lacey from outside my office building, take her to wherever he was keeping her before he stashed her behind the dumpster, and get to the house before I made it home.
Was it possible?
“What did he do when he got there?”
Melissa shifts in her chair, hooking one foot behind the other. She’s tenser than she was when she walked in; she knows there’s something about these questions that’s personal.
“He went upstairs to freshen up; I think he took a shower and changed clothes. He said he’d been driving all day. Then he came back down just as we saw your headlights pull into the driveway. He poured a few glasses of wine and then … you walked in.”
I nod, smiling again to let her know I appreciate the information, even though inside, I feel like screaming. I remember that moment so perfectly. That moment I saw the sea of people part and Daniel emerge from the crowd. That moment he started walking toward me, wineglasses in hand, and the wave of relief that washed over my panic-stricken body the instant he snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me in. I remember the smell of his spiced body wash, his bleached white grin. I remember feeling so lucky, so goddamn lucky, in that exact moment with him by my side. But now … I can’t help but wonder what he had been doing immediately before that moment. If his soap smelled so strong because he had intentionally lathered it up to wash away the scent of something else. If the clothes he had been wearing before he changed were even in our house anymore, or if he had dumped them somewhere on the side of the road or burned them with matches, incinerating any evidence that could link him to his crimes. Were there traces of her somewhere on his skin as our naked bodies lay intertwined in bed that night—a strand of her hair, a drop of her blood, a ripped out fingernail embedded somewhere that had yet to be found? I wonder about Aubrey, about the night she went missing, and about what we might have done together after he got home. Did Daniel jump into the shower the same way he always did after returning home from a long, lonely drive? Did I decide to join him that night, peeling away his clothes for him as the bathroom fogged up with steam? Did I help him wash her away?
I pinch my nose, closing my eyes. The thought of it makes me sick.
“Chloe?” I hear Melissa’s voice, a soft, concerned whisper. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, lifting my head, smiling weakly. The heaviness of the situation settles over my shoulders. My inexplicit involvement reminds me of twenty years ago—of seeing and not realizing. Of unknowingly leading girls to a predator, or rather, leading a predator to them. I can’t help but wonder—if it weren’t for me, would they still be alive? All of them?
Suddenly, I feel tired. So, so tired. I barely slept at all last night, Daniel’s skin radiating like a furnace, warning me not to get too close. I glance down at my desk drawer, at the collection of pills waiting to be beckoned from the dark. I could tell Melissa to leave. I could close the curtains, escape it all. It’s not even seven a.m. yet—plenty of time to cancel the day’s appointments. But I can’t do that. I know I can’t.
“What does my calendar look like?”
Melissa reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone, navigating to her calendar app and skimming the day’s appointments.
“You’re pretty full,” she says. “Lots of reschedules from the other week.”
“Okay, what about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, you’re booked until four.”
I sigh, massaging my temples with my thumbs. I know what I need to do, I just don’t have the time to do it. I can’t keep cancelling on my clients, or else pretty soon, there won’t be any left.
But still, I picture my mother’s fingers dancing madly across my palm.
How do I prove it?
Daniel. The answer is Daniel.
“You’re pretty open on Thursday,” Melissa offers, using her forefinger to swipe at her screen. “Appointments in the morning, then nothing after noon.”
“Okay,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Block the rest of that day off for me, please. Friday, too. I need to take a trip.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I’m proud of you, babe.”