Page 14 of The Guilty One

“I hope Dad gets home soon,” Finley says. “I want to tell him about my dream.”

“I hope so too, pumpkin.” I stand and pick up his empty bowl, kissing his cheek and then Ryker’s, and take their dishes to the sink. “You boys should get your shoes on, okay? Grandma and Grandpa will get you to school, and then I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Moments later, on their way out the door, Finley turns back to me, studying me with an incredulous expression.

“What is it, bud?”

He hesitates again. “When…um, when we get home today, you’ll be here, right?”

A ball of dough lodges in my throat as I drop to my knees in front of him. “Yes. Yes, Mommy will be here. I promise.” I squeeze him tight, blinking back tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” He hugs my neck, then slips away, taking my mom’s hand on the way to the car. I watch as they buckle the boys in and then disappear down the driveway with tears pouring down my cheeks. With Tate gone, everything feels more consequential. Dramatic. Real.

As if I’m saying goodbye to them forever just because they’ve left my sight.

I force the thought away—I’m being ridiculous. I’m not saying goodbye. They’ll be back this afternoon. I’m simply sending them to school so they aren’t subjected to the same turmoil and stress I will be dealing with today. And every day, for that matter, until we learn the truth about where Tate is and what is going on.

And that’s what I’ll be dedicating today to. But first I head back to our bedroom, where I find my phone and look up Margie’s number in my contacts. When her cell phone goes to a voicemail box that’s full, I assume she didn’t answer because she’s at the shop already and call that number instead.

“Thanks for calling The Bold Bean, this is Jerry. How can I help you?” comes the voice of one of the newest employees.

“Jerry, this is Celine Thompson. Is Margie there?”

“Well, howdy there, Celine.” For no apparent reason, while at work, the kid talks like he’s a sixty-year-old cowboy rather than a twenty-one-year-old skateboarder, but we’ve all learned to ignore it. “She sure is. Let me track ’er down for ya, okay? Just a second.”

Within literal seconds, Margie is on the line. “Celine? What’s going on? Are you coming in today?”

“No. I’m sorry, but I need to take the day off,” I tell her. “All the stuff with my husband and the police is still going on, and…” I come up with a lie on the spot. “I need to go down to the police station later and talk to them some more.”

“Do you need the whole day off?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. I’m the best employee she has, present moment excluded. The only one who has been there more than a year. I know there’s no chance she’s going to fire me or make me upset. “I’m not sure how long it’s going to take, and besides that, we have a lot going on. Actually, I think I’d better go ahead and take the week off. Tate’s missing, and I’m not really in a state to work.”

She doesn’t bother to hide her sigh, but eventually she says, “Whatever you need, honey. Just keep me updated, okay? I’ll cover what I can and have Sophie or Jerry pick up the rest. They need the hours anyway. But if you want to come back earlier, just let me know.”

“Right. I will. Okay, well, thanks.”

“Yep.” We haven’t even ended the call when I hear her saying, “What can I get for ya, honey?”

With that taken care of, I hurry to our closet and change into my clothes for the day. I’m going to get answers today, one way or another.

* * *

Less than an hour later, I pull up in front of Tate’s office. Morris Realty is a real estate firm that sits in the heart of downtown, in a building eight stories high and full of different businesses, all employing mostly men with perfectly coiffed hair and freshly whitened teeth.

Tate’s office is on the third floor, but when I enter, I’m stopped at the door by a guard who asks where I’m going and searches my bag. When he’s done and I’m cleared, I make my way up to the office and spot Dustin behind the large, circular desk in the center of the room.

His uneasy grin tells me he hasn’t forgotten our phone call from yesterday.

“Hi, Celine.” He stands, moving the headset mic away from in front of his mouth. “We weren’t expecting you. How are you?” He walks around the desk and stops in front of me with an empathetic stare. I like Dustin, really I do. He and his husband are the two people I always spend the most time talking to at the office parties. But at this exact moment? I want to claw his eyeballs out with my bare hands.

“I need to be let inside Tate’s office, please.”

He clasps his hands together in front of him. “Right. Sure.” Stepping back, he makes his way around the desk and grabs a set of keys from his top drawer, then leads the way down the hall. I’m surprised it’s this easy, honestly. “The police were here yesterday evening,” he tells me, almost conspiratorially.

“They were?” I try to sound shocked, hoping Dustin will tell me something Detective Monroe left out.

He nods, stopping at the door and sliding the key into the lock.

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