Page 5 of The Guilty One

“No, just…just meet me at the house, will you? I’m going to call his boss and see if he’s been in the office today or where he’s supposed to be. I’ll let you know when we find him.”

My mother-in-law’s voice is soft when she speaks. “Where are the boys?”

“My mom is picking them up. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“We’ll go to her house then,” she says. “We should be together. All of us. Until we sort this out.”

I nod, though she can’t see me. “Okay.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Lane says.

I end the call and search for Tate’s office number. His boss is rarely in, but at least I’ll be able to get a hold of someone who can help me track him down.

“Morris Realty, Dustin speaking, how can we help you find a home today?” comes the chipper voice through the line over the distinct sound of typing.

“Dustin, this is Celine Thompson, Tate’s wife. I was wondering if he was in the office today or if you might know where he’s supposed to be right now.”

“Heya, Celine,” he sings. “Long time, no see. Let me just check and see if he’s in. I don’t think I’ve seen him, but sometimes he likes to sneak in on me.” The typing continues, then stops abruptly. “Oh shoot, that’s right.”

“What’s wrong?” My blood chills in my veins.

“Well, hang on just a second for me. Hmm…yeah, let me just see something.” He pauses, then sucks in a breath. “I swear I’ve gotten my days all mixed up before. My head is usually all over the place, so maybe I have this wrong, but it says here…yeah, it says Tate’s out on vacation this week. Does that sound right?”

The officers meet my eyes across the table as I swallow, my throat dry. Nothing about this sounds right at all.

CHAPTER THREE

CELINE

When I finally leave the police station, the world is dark around me. I’ve spoken to every contact in my phone who would possibly know where Tate is, but no one gave us anything to go on.

To my surprise, his boss confirmed he took the week off for a last-minute vacation I had no knowledge of.

Which means every day this week he’s left to go to work, and I have no idea where he ended up.

The police are holding on to his phone for now, searching it for anything that might help us, but I think we’re all just sort of at a loss.

I vacillate between anger that he was lying to me this week, fear that something might be really wrong, and a state of overwhelm because I now have to deal with the police investigation, our car insurance, and telling the family and our boys something I don’t understand myself, all while worrying about where he might be.

The tracking app on my phone shows that he went into work this morning and left around noon, but his coworkers have said he wasn’t there. So where is he? Why did he take the week off? Who was the man driving his car? Why did he have his wallet and phone? And, maybe most peculiar, why do they share the same tattoo design, both on their right shoulders?

I’m no closer to having any answers when I arrive at my parents’ house. The front door swings open at once, and both sets of parents flood out. My father is solemn, but everyone else has tears in their swollen, red eyes.

I step out of the car, trying desperately to hold it together, though I know it’s no use.

“Where is he?” his mom demands, pulling me into a tight hug. “What did you find out? We went to the police station, but they wouldn’t tell us anything.”

When she leans back to look at me, I shake my head. “I…I don’t know if there’s anything to tell. No one knows where he is. I’ve called everyone I can think of to call. We can’t find him.” I glance toward the house. “Where are the boys?”

“Watching television,” my mom says. “Your dad gave them some ice cream. They don’t know what’s going on. We haven’t told them. Well, we didn’t know what to tell them anyway. Lane and Daphne filled us in some, but…” She pauses, the skin around her eyes wrinkling with worry. “What’s happening? What do you mean you can’t find him?”

“The police called me today at work because they said Tate was involved in a car crash. They said…they told me he’d died in a crash…but when I got there, the photos they showed me weren’t him.”

“Photos?” Daphne asks, drying her eyes as more continue to fall. “What do you mean? They didn’t let you see him?”

“Apparently that’s how it works. It’s supposed to…I don’t know, make it easier on the family or something. Not having to…” I pause, collecting myself before I fall apart. “They just had photos,” I say finally. “But…it was someone else. Someone else had been driving his car. Whoever it was, he had his cell phone and wallet, too.”

“He was robbed,” Lane says, his voice a low whisper. “Is that what they’re thinking? They wouldn’t tell us a thing. Took our numbers and said they’d be in touch.” He scoffs. “How can they do that?”

---