Page 101 of High Society

He leans forward, expectantly. “And?”

“Coincidentally—or not—one of the last phone calls she placed was to your office.”

Aaron chuckles. “Of course. Why wouldn’t she call me?”

She views him stone-faced. “Liisa called your office the day she disappeared.”

His eyes go wide and his nostrils flare. “She absolutely did not!”

Holly folds her arms across her chest. “It was there in black-and-white. Liisa also placed several calls to unlisted numbers. I assume some of those were to your cell phone. A burner phone, maybe?”

“Nonsense!” He taps the table aggressively with his finger. “I haven’t spoken to Liisa Koskinen in fifteen years.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

“When did this supposed call happen?”

“The day before yesterday. In the early afternoon.”

“Tuesday! My hospital teaching day!” he trumpets. “My assistant, Amy, isn’t even in the office on Tuesdays. And how long did the call last?”

“Less than a minute,” she concedes.

“Because it would have gone straight to voicemail. And I promise you, if Liisa did call, she sure as hell didn’t leave a message. Amy would’ve told me.”

“Why would Liisa even try to call you?”

“How should I know? I have no idea what any of this has to do with me.”

Neither Aaron’s voice nor his body language suggests he’s hiding anything. His outrage comes across as genuine. But then again, she reminds herself, as a seasoned therapist, he would know how to feign sincerity better than most.

“A quick Google search would’ve told Liisa I was your husband,” he continues. “It was in all the articles. Maybe, in desperation, she thought she could reach you through me?”

“Reach me for what, Aaron? Liisa and I had just spoken that morning.”

“But you told me she stormed out. Distraught. Maybe after she calmed down—”

“What? She thought the best way to reach me was through my husband, whom she hadn’t spoken to in fifteen-plus years?”

“I can’t explain it, Holly. I didn’t even know about this call until now.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “But I suppose it explains why that detective was looking for me earlier.”

“Detective Rivers?”

“I think so, yes.”

“When was this?”

“Around five-ish. I got a message from Amy. I just assumed it had to be about Graham.” Aaron laughs bitterly. “I was going to call him back in the morning.”

Of course, Aaron would assume the detective was calling about Graham, but Holly doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t want it to ruin tonight, Holl.”

She doesn’t know what to think. But she isn’t ready to take him at his word, either. He has always had that effect on her—the ability to sow doubt when she thought her mind was already made up. She rises from the table. “I need a little time and space to think.”

He doesn’t get up. “Space,” he mutters. “You always use that word when you’re running away from me. From us.”

Holly is unmoved. “Do you have any idea how sketchy this all sounds? My client—who might be abducted, on the run, or even dead—calls my husband’s office only hours before she disappears?”

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