Page 104 of This is Why We Lied

Frank leaned back on the couch with a heavy sigh. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. “My parents were both alcoholics. I don’t know what it is about me, but I can pick up on it when someone is troubled. It’s like a sixth sense.”

Will understood. He had grown up surrounded by addicts. His first wife still had a passion for opioids. He was hyper-aware of anyone showing the same patterns.

“Anyway, that’s what my Spidey-senses told me. That Mercy was troubled.”

Monica coughed from the bedroom. Frank’s head turned as he listened again. Will felt sorry for the man. It was an incredibly stressful way to live. Will still got inexplicably anxious if Sara’s lips so much as touched a glass of wine.

Frank said, “Maybe that’s why I kept such a wide berth. With Mercy, I mean. I didn’t want to get tangled up in her drama. I guess I have enough on my hands. You know, Monica wasn’t like this when our son was alive. She was funny and easy-going and she put up with me, which is saying a lot. I know I’m a handful. Nicholas was our shining ray of joy. Then the leukemia took him from us and … Our therapist says everyone handles grief in their own way. I really thought coming up here would give us a reset, you know? Believe it or not, before Nicholas died, Monica seldom drank. She liked an occasional margarita, but she knew about my parents, so …”

Will knew the compassionate thing to do was let the man talk. Frank was clearly alone inside of his wife’s addiction. But this was a murder investigation, not therapy. He’d let Frank do some busy work, but that didn’t take him off Will’s list of suspects.

“Sorry.” Frank’s Spidey-sense picked up on Will’s impatience. He stood up from the couch. “I know I talk too much. Thanks for listening. Let me know what I can—”

Monica coughed from the other room again. Will noticed the worry on Frank’s face. The man had clearly seen a hangover before, but there was something that told Will this time was different.

He asked, “What’s going on, Frank?”

Frank glanced back at the bedroom door, keeping his voice low. “Believe it or not, last night wasn’t that bad. She had a lot, but not as much as usual.”

“And?”

“I don’t think it’s an emergency, but—” Frank shrugged. “She keeps throwing up. I’ve gone through all the Coke in the fridge. I brought some toast from the kitchen. She can’t keep anything down.”

Will wished this conversation had happened twenty minutes ago. Sara had already left the hospital in the second UTV. “My wife is a doctor. I’ll make sure she checks on Monica as soon as she gets here.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Frank was too relieved to ask how Sara had gone from being a chemistry teacher to a doctor. “Like I said, I don’t think it’s an emergency.”

His minimizing cut at Will’s better angels. He put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “We’ll get her some help, Frank. I promise.”

“Thanks.” Frank gave an awkward smile. “I know it’s crazy, but maybe you understand. I think you understand. I saw you and Sara together, and it reminded me, you know? She’s worth fighting for. I really, really love my wife.”

Will watched Frank’s eyes fill with tears. He was saved coming up with something thoughtful to say when Monica coughed again. Her footsteps banged across the floor as she ran for the toilet.

“Excuse me.” Frank disappeared into the bedroom.

Will didn’t leave. He looked around. The couch and chairs. The coffee table. Frank had cleaned up. Nothing looked out of place. Will did a quick search, checking under the cushions, rifling the shelves and drawers in the tiny kitchen, because Frank seemed like a nice guy but he was also a lonely, grief-stricken husband who was looking to save his marriage—exactly the type of guest that Mercy had probably hooked up with before.

Frank had left the bedroom door ajar. Will used the toe of his boot to push it open the rest of the way. The room was empty. Frank was in the bathroom with Monica. Will stepped inside. Their clothes were still folded in their suitcases. He found a stack of books, mostly thrillers. The usual digital devices. The bed was unmade. The fitted sheet had soaked through with sweat. There was a used trash can on the floor by the bed.

No bloody clothes. No knife handle with the blade broken off.

Will backed out of the room. He looked at his watch. He wouldn’t feel right until Sara was standing in front of him. At the very least, she could give him that look like he was an idiot for not taking pain medication for his hand.

Which was a valid look, but it wouldn’t change the situation.

Cecil was still glaring when Will walked out of the cottage. Will spotted a sign with a plate and silverware beside an arrow. This had to be the Chow Trail. Will recognized the zigzag shape from last night. The crushed stone was flattened in parallel rows from Cecil’s wheelchair.

Will put a zig between himself and the house before he looked at the guest list Frank had given him. He could easily make out some of the names, but that was only because he already knew them. The last names were a different story. He found a tree stump to sit on. He placed the paper on his lap, inserted his earbuds. He used his phone’s camera to scan the names, then loaded the scan into his text-to-speech app.

Frank and Monica Johnson

Drew Conklin and Keisha Murray

Gordon Wylie and Landry Peterson

Sydney Flynn and Max Brouwer

Will set up a hot spot with the satellite phone and sent the list to Amanda so she could run background and criminal checks. The upload took almost a full minute. He waited until she had texted back a check mark that the information was received. Then he waited to see if she texted anything else. Half of him was relieved when the three dancing dots disappeared.

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