Page 66 of The Girl and the Lies

I’m driving myself crazy going over everything about Sabrina Ward’s death, trying to find anything to answer the suspicion crawling up the back of my neck. I know Ander has a strong alibi. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said there were at least a dozen people who could vouch for his whereabouts at the time his wife was murdered. And because of the fitness tracker I pointed out to Detective Fuller at the crime scene, we know the exact moment when her heart stopped beating—a moment when Ander couldn’t possibly have been in the house with her.

I can’t stop thinking about the adultery website and the double life Ander was living. Just because he was cheating on his wife obviously doesn’t make him a killer, but the extent of the lies and depth of the betrayal to not just Sabrina but everyone who looked at him as a pinnacle of what the ministry stands for has my fingertips tingling.

“It wasn’t just her,” I mutter.

“What?” Bellamy asks. She settles into a recliner, coiling her legs under her and bobbing the tea bag in her mug as she eyes me with a curious expression.

“Oh, I was just thinking about Sabrina Ward’s murder. Her husband has an airtight alibi. He was literally standing there with law enforcement a whole town over at the moment his wife was killed. But he was living this whole double life that was so far removed from everything he pretended to believe before and even after she was killed. Something about that whole situation is really bothering me. But then I have to remind myself that she’s not the only victim. She’s not even the first victim. Gideon Bell was murdered and Jesse Kristoff was attacked days before she was killed, and the threats had been going out long before that. And then there was Marshall.”

I stop myself as I’m looking at the notes I took about my conversation with Marshall and then later after his attack.

“And his wife, Carla.” I look at Bellamy. “They were both supposed to be home at a given time and weren’t unexpectedly, and in that time, their spouses were attacked. Sabrina was killed, and Marshall barely survived.”

“You think something might have been going on between the two of them?” she asks.

“Ander was active on a website for married people looking to cheat on their spouses. It’s not that far of a leap to think that he possibly brought that inclination into the real world and was having an affair with Carla,” I say.

Even as I say it, the unfolding thought isn’t fully sitting right with me.

“But I don’t know how that could have worked out. I saw Sabrina’s body and the damage done to her. I highly doubt a woman Carla’s size could have done that to her. And when Carla’s apartment was broken into, she seemed genuinely terrified.”

I brush my hand back over my hair and push a breath through my lips.

“I’m going up to the hospital in the morning to see if I can talk to Marshall. I’ll have to talk to him about this.”

Bellamy stands up and hands me the mug. “Here, you take this. I’m going to make another cup. We’re going to ignore everything on the table for an hour and watch some TV that requires absolutely no thought. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful,” I tell her.

She walks out of the room, and my eyes drop back to the notes on the table. There’s something here. Something that links Gideon’s murder, Jesse’s attack, and the attempted attack on Mila to Sabrina and Marshall. I keep going over everything until Bellamy is back and she turns my attention to the TV.

Even as we’re laughing our way through the show, my mind is still racing. I have to figure this out. The threat to Mila written on her wall wasn’t hollow. There could be more bloodshed if I don’t bring this to a close.

The next morning I call Carla as I’m drinking my coffee.

“How is everything going with Marshall?” I ask, not giving away any of my thoughts from last night.

“He woke up and is doing really well,” she tells me, sounding relieved. “I told him that you want to talk to him, and he said that he’s ready to talk whenever you want to come to the hospital.”

“That’s great to hear,” I say. “I’m going to get ready and make my way over there. It shouldn’t be more than an hour. Will you still be there?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Good. I need to talk to you,” I say.

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Did you find out something?” she asks.

“I’d rather talk to you about this in person. I’ll be there soon,” I say.

I get off the phone and finish my coffee before having a quick breakfast and getting dressed. The drive has become familiar, and I find myself in the hospital lot without even thinking about it. With the threatening note I found on my windshield in my mind, I park closer to the entrance to the hospital and go inside. The elevator brings me up to the floor where Marshall’s room is, and when the doors open, I see Carla standing in a small room set aside for families to wait. She’s on the phone, her head tucked down as she talks in hushed tones. She looks up when the doors ding open.

“I have to go,” she says. “I’ll call you back. Bye.”

She ends the call and holds the phone up as she walks out of the room.

“Updating Marshall’s family on how he’s doing. They wanted to come out here, but they couldn’t make it work out. They’re going to come next week though, so they can be with him when he’s at home.”

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