Page 16 of The Guilty One

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Each time, I’m met with the same error message.

Invalid credentials. Please try again.

“Did the police get into his computer?”

“I’m not really sure,” he says. “I wasn’t in here with them. Tim was. No one has his password, though, obviously, so if they did, they must’ve done some system override thing.”

I sigh, gathering my face in my hands. The last thing I need to do is fall apart right now, but that’s exactly what I feel is coming. “Is Tim with someone?” I ask.

“Uh…” Dustin’s eyes shift toward the door again. “His next meeting isn’t until ten.”

“That’s plenty of time.” I stand up and cross the room, marching out of the office on the way to see Tate’s boss. When I reach his door, he’s on the phone, his loud voice booming across the office, as muffled as a pilot’s voice before takeoff through the thick glass windows and closed door.

I knock softly, and when he eventually looks up, I wave.

His face visibly pales, and he says something into the phone before placing it down and standing up. Seconds later, he pulls the door open and stares at me. “Celine.” The word is an apology, though I have no idea what he’s apologizing for.

“I need you to tell me what you told the police about Tate.”

He steps back, running a hand over his flat stomach. “Please. Come inside.”

I do as he says, stepping into the office and taking a seat in front of his desk.

When he sits down in front of me, he smooths his hands out over the desk. “We’re all just so sorry to hear about this mess with Tate.”

“Dustin said he told you he was on vacation this week. And the detective on the case mentioned that you said he didn’t tell you about needing time off until last week.”

He nods, running a hand over his chin. “Yeah, yeah. That’s right. He mentioned you guys had some home projects you were hoping to get done and they couldn’t wait any longer.”

I rub my lips together. “But his phone showed he came here all week. That he was here all day Monday and Tuesday and then left around noon yesterday, just before the crash.”

Tim’s face falls slightly. “Well, I’m not sure what to say about that. I only know what I told the police, which is that I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Did he take trips like this often?”

“Vacations?”

I nod.

“No, just once a year. Every summer, like clockwork. This was the first time he’d asked for time off when the kids were in school. I just thought…well, everybody needs extra time off now and again, and he’s more than earned it. Plus, if you guys are fixing the place up to sell…” He gives a crooked grin that falls away quickly when I don’t return it.

Every summer, we spend a week at his parents’ beach house in Wilmington, NC. He hasn’t lied a single time. This isn’t common for him. So what changed? Why did he lie now? What is going on?

I keep going back to the text message, but his explanation made sense. I don’t want to believe he lied about that too, but now? What am I supposed to think? I have to question everything, doubt everything, and I hate it more than I can say.

I hate the person this situation is turning me into.

“Was he acting strangely?” I ask. “Did anything seem off about him?” These are the same questions I’ve been asking myself. The questions I desperately want answers to but can’t seem to find. Because as far as I could tell, aside from the weird “Tell her” text message, nothing about my husband’s behavior was off in the days or weeks leading up to his disappearance.

“No, nothing. He was his same old self, just like I told that detective. He’d been completely normal. No red flags.”

I fold my hands together. “Last week he told me he’d had an appraisal come in low on a project one of your investment clients had sunk quite a bit of money into. He was really nervous to tell her because he said she was one of your biggest clients. The buyer’s agent had texted him about telling the client their offer was going to change pretty drastically. I know it made him stressed out, and he was worried he’d lose their business. Do you know anything about that?”

His eyes drift around the room, clearly buying himself time to think, but eventually they find me again. “I can’t say that it rings a bell off the top of my head, but none of the guys keep me up to date on every project, so?—”

“It sounded like this would’ve been a major project.”

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