Page 28 of The Girl and the Lies

“Neither have I,” Carla says.

“How well did you know Gideon Bell?” I ask.

“We’ve both worked with him for a couple of years,” Marshall says. “We’ve hung out with him in group settings with other people from work, so I’d say we were friends, but we weren’t really close. It isn’t as easy being friends with someone who isn’t married. He was just at a different place in his life.”

“I understand,” I say. “So he wouldn’t have had reason to tell you if he was worried about someone in particular, like if he had suspicions about who might be sending the threats?”

“I don’t know if I would say he would have no reason to,” Marshall says. “He knew that Carla and I had gotten them too, and if I had suspected someone, I think I would have said something to him about it. Comparing notes, so to speak. If he did have any suspicions, he never said anything to me.”

I notice Carla getting emotional, tears starting to well in her eyes, and she brushes her hand in front of her face like she’s embarrassed to be crying.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“There’s no reason to say you’re sorry,” I tell her. “Someone you knew was murdered. That’s plenty cause to feel emotional.”

“He was just a really good guy,” she says. “He was always kind to everyone and tried to help out any way that he could. I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him. And it just really scares me to think that this person is following through with the threats that they’ve sent. Does it mean that…”

“Stop, honey,” Marshall says, pulling his wife up against his side for a tight hug. “You can’t let yourself think that way. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She nods tearfully and looks up at him with a soft smile. “I know.”

I thank them both for letting me come to the house and give them a business card so they can get in touch with me if they think of anything else. Marshall walks me to the door with a steely look in his eyes.

“My wife is terrified,” he says. “She’s already quit and won’t go anywhere near the offices, but I don’t think that’s enough. I think I’m going to have to put in my notice so that she will feel more secure.”

“You need to do what you feel is right,” I tell him. “Whatever is going to make this easier for you. Just know that I’m doing everything in my power to find out who is doing this.”

“Thank you.”

I make it back to Bellamy and Eric’s house as they are finishing eating.

“There’s plenty,” Bellamy tells me when I walk in. “Grab a plate.”

“Thanks,” I tell her, breathing in the rich scent of her lasagna as I drop my bag in the living room and head for the kitchen.

She comes in carrying dishes as I cut a chunk out of the baking dish and put it on a plate to zap it in the microwave.

“There’s a salad in the fridge too,” she says. “I made too much, so you have to eat some of it.”

“I will,” I assure her.

I grab a bowl from the cabinet and get the salad out of the refrigerator.

“How did it go today?” she asks.

I barely register the words. My mind is in the bag in the living room, lingering in my notes.

“Hmm?” I say, realizing she said something but not really knowing what she said.

“I asked how it went today,” she says. “You went and talked to more people, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It went… It went. I still don’t feel like I’m on any definite path, but I got some insights that were interesting.”

“You’re thinking about something,” she says.

The microwave dings, and I take my plate of lasagna out. Carrying it and my salad into the dining room, I set them on the table and look back at Bellamy.

“I am,” I say.

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