So I set the teakettle on the burner and poured a glass of wine. I glanced at the clock, hoping that Scott needed a quickie with Stephanie and would be home late. Pippa barked at the back door to be let inside, so I let her in, and as she slunk past me into the kitchen, I caught a whiff of her.
“Oh God, Pip, what did you roll in?” I asked, gagging a little as I flung the door back open and herded the shamed Italian greyhound back out onto the covered back porch. “Julia!”
I wasn’t about to bathe the dog when I hadn’t been the one to leave her out unattended all afternoon.
“What?” my daughter yelled.
“Come take care of Pippa!” I countered.
Pippa sat on my jute rug between my outdoor patio furniture, reeking. I did a scan of our backyard, looking for what offensive dead thing my dumb canine had rolled in. Didn’t see anything large and moldering on first glance. Julia Kate showed up at the door right as the teakettle chortled its readiness.
“Oh my God, what’s that smell?” Julia Kate asked, her face screwed into one of disgust.
“Your puppy. She’s going to need a bath. And she’s your responsibility.”
“Unh-uh, I’m not bathing her.” Julia Kate backed away.
I lasered her with my best no-nonsense mom glare. “Yeah. You are. Use the dog shampoo in the guest bath. Or you can find the dead animal she rolled in and bury it. Your choice.”
Julia Kate looked at Pippa and frowned. “Fine.”
I left my daughter to wrangle the bath-hating pup toward the guest wing and the shower with the handheld nozzle while I went on a hunt for dead things. Took me five minutes to find the dead baby bird that had served as eau de parfum for Pippa. I used a shovel and buried it deep under my camellia bush. With a sigh, I hurried back to the house and an angry teakettle. I washed my hands and picked up the envelope, trying to ascertain the best way to loosen the glue from the flap so I could open it. I checked the book, but obviously the author thought I should be able to figure this out on my own.
I held the envelope over the stream of steam, and in that moment, I realized that the envelope wasn’t special. I had a whole stack in my craft closet. The writing was in black Sharpie. All I had to do was get Ruby to write Scott’s name across the front. Or I could do it left-handed.
I switched the burner off and ripped into the envelope.
At first, I thought I had copies of the photos Juke had managed to get of Scott with Stephanie, because these, too, were taken at a distance.
But these weren’t of Scott.
These were of my daughter.
Julia Kate laughing at the outdoor picnic table at school. Julia Kate sipping a caramel macchiato at the Starbucks. Julia Kate swinging her tennis racket. Julia Kate in her pajamas on the back patio tossing a ball for Pippa.
My blood went cold; my knees collapsed.
I clung to the countertop like a mountain climber hanging on for dear life. Bitter acid rose in my throat as my mind scrabbled with what these photos meant.
They were a warning. For Scott. Donner Walker, or whoever was in bed with him, was using my baby to send a message. I allowed myself to sink to the floor, still somehow clasping the envelope in one hand, my stomach lurching at what I had just innocently—no, brazenly—stumbled into.
Oh my God, I had been treating this whole thing like a game.
These photos said differently. This was no longer about a mere divorce. No, Scott had mixed himself up with someone who needed him to understand what was at risk. Donner Walker was no mild-mannered businessman perpetrating a scam. He was a shark who needed my husband to keep his mouth closed and his illegal scheme afoot.
And here I was playing detective like some idiot who thought she had the skills to bring Scott to heel.
I managed to rise from the floor, though my legs were still shaking. I hurriedly shoved the photos into the envelope and picked up my wineglass, gulping it like it was Gatorade and not a really nice pinot grigio.
“Mom! Can you bring towels?” Julia Kate shouted from the closed door of the guest bathroom.
“Sure!” I croaked, tucking the envelope under my arm and hurrying to twist the lock on the side kitchen door and the back door before retreating to the laundry room with its comforting smell of fabric softener. I shoved the envelope under a stack of clean towels and grabbed some from those awaiting washing to use on Pippa. I hurried back, tossed them inside to where Julia was laughing at the dog trying to eat the soap bubbles, and picked up my cell phone.
I didn’t text. I called.
Ruby answered on the third ring. “Hey.”