Leigh hadn’t panicked inside Reggie Paltz’s office. She had gone into a sort of fugue state—still physically there but somehow not there, her soul hovering above the room, seeing everything but not feeling anything.
Below, she had watched the other Leigh look at her watch, register surprise at the time. She had made an excuse about having a meeting downtown. Andrew and Reggie had both stood when she did. Other Leigh had lifted her purse onto her shoulder. Reggie had returned his attention to his laptop. Andrew had watched her every move. Like a fluorescent tube flickering back on, he’d turned all cow-eyed and innocent again. His words had come rushing at her like a fire hose. I’m sorry you have to leave I thought we were just getting into things should I give you a call or will I see you at the meeting with Cole tomorrow afternoon?
Floating against the ceiling, Leigh had watched her other self make promises or excuses, she wasn’t sure which because she couldn’t hear her own voice. Then her fingers had looped her mask around her ears. Then she was waving goodbye. Then she was walking through to the outer office.
Her other self continued to project an outward calm. She had stopped to get some hand sanitizer. She had looked at the empty Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup that had been taken out of the trash and placed prominently on the counter. Then she was walking down the hall. Then she was going down the stairs. She had opened the glass door. She had walked out onto the concrete stoop. Navigated her way down the crumbling stairs. Looked out at the parking lot.
Sidney Winslow was smoking a cigarette. Her mouth had twisted in disgust when she’d seen Leigh. She had thumbed off some ash, leaned back against a low sports car.
Andrew’s car.
Leigh had staggered forward, reeling from the impact of her soul slamming back into her body. She was herself again, one person, one woman who had just heard a sadistic rapist all but confess that he not only knew that Leigh had been involved in Buddy’s murder, but that he was also refining the same technique on his own victims.
Any deeper, and he would’ve cut open the femoral artery.
“Hey, bitch.” Sidney had aggressively pushed herself away from the car. “ I don’t appreciate you making it out like my own damn fiancé can’t trust me.”
Leigh had said nothing, just stared at the stupid girl. Her heart was jackrabbiting. Her flesh was hot and cold at the same time. Her stomach had filled with razor blades. It was Andrew’s car that was setting her off.
He drove a yellow Corvette.
The same color, the same body style, as the one that Buddy had driven.
Suddenly, Leigh heard a loud horn. The Audi shook violently as a truck swerved by. She looked in the side mirror. Her back tire was on the line. Instead of moving, she watched the traffic coming toward her, silently daring someone—anyone—to hit her. More horns. Another truck another sedan another SUV but no flash of yellow from Buddy’s Corvette.
Andrew.
He would never be Trevor to her again. The thirty-three-year-old man was not the creepy five-year-old who used to jump out from behind the couch to scare her. Leigh could still remember the invisible tears the little boy had wiped away when she’d screamed at him to stop. Andrew clearly knew some details about his father’s death, but how? What had they done to give themselves away? What stupid mistake had Leigh made that night that somehow, eventually, had allowed Andrew to put together the pieces?
If you were going to commit a terrible crime, a crime that would destroy another person’s life, would you know how to get away with it?
Leigh sniffed, and a chunk of something thick and putrid slid down her throat. She looked for a tissue in her purse. Couldn’t find one. Dumped her purse onto the passenger seat. Everything scattered. She saw the pack of tissue obscuring a distinctive orange pill bottle.
Valium.
Everyone had needed something to get through the last year. Leigh didn’t drink. She hated feeling out of control, but she hated not sleeping even more. During the drawn-out election insanity, she had gotten a script for Valium. The doctor had called them Pandemic Pleasers.
Sleepy medicine.
That’s what Buddy had called Andrew’s NyQuil. Every time Buddy got home and Andrew was still awake, he would tell Leigh, Hey doll I can’t put up with his shit tonight, do me a favor before you go and give the kid his sleepy medicine.
Leigh could hear Buddy’s distinctive baritone as if he were sitting in the back seat of her car. Unbidden, she conjured the feel of his fumbling hands rubbing her shoulders. Leigh’s own hands started trembling so badly that she had to use her teeth to open the cap on the Valium. Three orange tablets scattered onto her palm. She tossed them all back, dry-swallowing them like candy.