But if I need to do the laundry to prove myself to her, hell, I’ll do it. I don’t mind. It’s easier than getting a dead rat out of a pipe.
I go out to the hallway where our washer and dryer are set up. I take the load out of the dryer—it’s mostly Claudia’s stuff. Shirts and scrubs. I almost think maybe I shouldn’t do it because I’ll fold her shirts wrong, and that will be another thing I did wrong today. You can’t win. But then I say to hell with it. Better to try.
I fold Claudia’s shirts the best I can. I build a little stack of them on our bed, and I’m almost proud of it. I recognize a lot of the shirts. She still has that shirt with the silhouette of the Eiffel tower on it. She wore that the day we met. I remember because I liked how she had the French name and the French shirt.
I just liked her though. Mostly that.
I do a good job with the folding. I mean, it’s a nice little pile of shirts. I think I folded them right. She’ll be happy. She’s got to be happy with this, for once.
Claudia keeps her shirts in the big dresser in our bedroom. I open up the drawer and push some of the clothing aside to make room for the neatly folded clean shirts. And that’s when something falls out of the pile of shirts that was already in the drawer.
It’s a phone.
I pick it up and turn it over in my hand. It’s a burner phone. One of those phones you get when you don’t want somebody to track you.
What the hell is my wife doing with a burner phone?
I flip it open. I notice a bunch of missed calls on the screen. I think about calling the number back, but I don’t. I want to know what the deal is with this phone first, before I start calling a number and acting like an idiot.
There are a bunch of text messages on the phone. All from the same number. I open up the most recent one:
I can’t wait to see you.
What the…？
I sink onto the bed as I read through the text messages one by one. It gets much worse.
She just went out. See you soon!
Rob won’t be home till late. Come over.
I can’t wait to get you naked.
You’re all I can think about.
Well, great. Claudia is messing around with another guy.
Am I surprised? I don’t even know. Am I pissed off? Hell yes. How could she? How could she do something like that to me? To us? I knew she wasn’t happy with me, but what the hell? We could’ve talked it out. Marriage counseling or some shit like that.
I squeeze the phone, feeling it almost crack in my hand. I want to throw it across the room and watch it shatter. I know I shouldn’t. This is the only evidence I have that she’s been messing around on me. But the urge is almost too strong.
And then the phone rings.
Chapter 38
It’s the same number that’s been texting her and calling her. The guy. He’s trying to reach her. She’s probably forgotten about some get-together they had because she’s been too focused on Quinn.
Some of my anger fades. Claudia is going through a lot right now with Derek being killed and Quinn maybe being held hostage. Not that it’s any excuse for what she did. But she’s already distraught.
That doesn’t mean I’m not going to answer this phone and tell this guy to stay the hell away from my wife. So I click the button to accept the call.
“Hello, asshole,” I say through my teeth.
There is a long pause on the other line. He’s probably shocked Claudia didn’t pick up and wondering if he should hang up. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to find him either way.
“Who am I speaking to?” a voice says. It’s a male voice, deep and overly formal. It’s not what I expected.
“I’m Claudia’s husband,” I say. “And you’re busted. I want you to leave her alone from now on. You got me?”
Another long pause. “This is Robert Delaney?”
“Yeah. Who’d you think it was?”
A throat clears on the other line. “Mr. Delaney, this is Officer Higgins. We found this phone number on a burner phone in the pocket of your brother-in-law, Derek Alexander.”
My world tilts sideways as my mouth drops open. “What?”
There is shuffling on the other line while I sit on the bed, gripping the phone so hard that it hurts my fingers. I’ve almost driven myself crazy by the time I hear another voice come on the line: “Mr. Delaney, this is Deputy Dwyer.”
Scott Dwyer has been on the police force since I’ve lived here. As far as I know, he’s a good man and a good cop. But none of that makes me feel any better.