Page 91 of The Lie Maker

“He was done. We were sorting out the last details about where to place him.”

“So they didn’t kill him to stop him from telling what he knows. They killed him to make a point,” I said. “A warning to others.”

Gwen nodded absently. She was still thinking.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m making a list in my head. People who knew where we were keeping Bill.”

“What about Scorsese?” I said.

Gwen shot me a puzzled look. “Who?” She’d forgotten that I’d referred to her driver by that name before.

“Sorry,” I said. “Private joke. Your driver. He reminds me of half a dozen characters from any Martin Scorsese mob picture.”

“Oh, no way,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Cayden’s totally trustworthy.”

Forty-Eight

Kyle Gartner was packing his bags.

“How long are you actually going to be gone?” asked his wife, Cecilia, walking into the bedroom. “You usually just do carry-on.”

Shit, he thought, looking at the oversized bag he was loading with socks and underwear and shirts and an extra pair of shoes.

“There might be a couple of meetings where I need a suit,” he said.

“You want some help? Anything you need me to press?”

“No,” he snapped. He softened his voice. “Thank you, but no, it’s okay. If I need anything touched up I can have it sent out.”

“So you’re back Wednesday?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Wednesday.”

He did not expect to be back on Wednesday. Or Thursday, or Friday, not even the following Wednesday. With his back to his wife, he ran his hand inside one of the pockets in the carry-on bag. Felt the bundles of cash. The extra passport that he would use later. The other phone, which he would start using in a day or so. He’d keep using his regular one until everything was underway.

Cecilia crossed her arms and remained standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?” he said, still not looking at her.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Where would he even begin?

He took another shirt out of a dresser and set it in the larger bag. “That’s ridiculous,” he said.

“I know your sister’s death hit you hard, that she’s been on your mind,” his wife said. “But this goes back to before that. You haven’t been yourself.”

He turned to face her and grinned. “Who have I been, then?”

She stood there, her eyes moistening. “I don’t feel like I know you anymore. I talk to you and it’s like you’re on the moon.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“I know you’ve stopped loving me.”

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