Page 31 of Over the Edge

“Thanks again for the lift, Madeleine.”

“Happy to do it. I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

Lindsey didn’t dawdle on her trek to the door through the darkness. Once in the condo, she made a beeline for the kitchen and deactivated the security system she’d installed the week she’d moved in. After setting her satchel of supplies beside the counter, she filled a mug with milk, added the other ingredients for hot chocolate, and slid it in the microwave for a fast version of her favorite comfort drink.

While she waited for it to heat, she wandered over to the photo that had graced her fridge door for six years, taken on the trip she’d made to Antigua with Clair.

What an amazing vacation that had been, as their two smiling faces confirmed.

Vision misting, Lindsey adjusted the BFF magnet that held the snapshot in place.

How would she ever have gotten through the rough patches with her parents during her high school years if she hadn’t had her best friend’s support and friendship?

The kind of support and friendship that would also have helped her weather the stress that had been her lot for almost two years.

At a summons from the microwave, Lindsey retraced her steps and retrieved her hot chocolate.

The truth was, the hole left in her life by the loss of Clair’s gentle spirit, fierce loyalty, kind heart, and deep well of compassion would never be filled.

What a tragedy that countless young people in desperate need of her special empathy had been deprived of the wonderful advice she would have offered in her role as a high school counselor.

Thanks to Jack Tucker.

Lindsey took a sip of the sweet, warm drink, trying without success to dispel the bitter taste on her tongue.

At least she shouldn’t have to see him again. Her role in the murder investigation ought to be finished. She’d already told him everything she knew, except for whatever vague memory had tried to surface in Dr. Oliver’s office. No doubt a minor detail that wasn’t pertinent anyway. If she did remember it, she could always send an email to the address on the card he’d given her.

For now, though, she had other priorities.

Like finding transportation until her Focus turned up—or biting the bullet and buying a new used car if it didn’t.

And praying no more adversity was lurking in her immediate future.

SLEEPING ALONE WHILEYOUwere still technically a bride was the pits. And Chad’s excuse for moving to the couch was losing its credibility. The cold he’d claimed was coming on since the day of the murder had never materialized beyond a few minor sniffles that didn’t seem genuine.

Dara pulled the covers up to her chin and stared at the dark ceiling in the post-midnight hour, as she had for the past five nights.

Based on the half-moon shadows beneath Chad’s lower lashes, and the thrashing sounds that often wafted down the hall from the living room to the bedroom, he wasn’t sleeping any better than she was.

Instead of waiting for him to tell her what was going on, should she confront him about the excuse he was using to keep his distance?

But what if that backfired? What if he shut down more than he already had?

Pressure building behind her eyes, Dara threw back the covers, swung her feet to the floor, and began to pace.

How could a marriage that had started out with such love and trust and devotion take such a sudden, negative turn?

In the living room, Chad began to toss again—and all at once he cried out. As if he was in pain.

Heart pounding, Dara dashed out of the bedroom and down the hall.

At the door to the living room, she halted, taking in the scene in the glow from the lamp Chad must have forgotten to turn off.

The covers were in disarray, and the sleeve of Chad’s T-shirt had ridden up to his shoulder as he grunted and writhed on the couch, arms flailing.

He was having a nightmare. Like the ones he’d had in the early days of their marriage that had slowly abated.

Now, they were back with a vengeance.

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