Page 46 of I Know She Was There

“Look, I can explain.”

“Oh, I think you’ve said enough for one day.” He shoved the door open with his left forearm. With his other hand, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him.

“Hey, what is this? What are you doing?”

“You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice steely.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. Not until I see Emmy.”

“I’m bringing you to her now.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” If he’d let me have Emmy early, I’d follow wherever he led, no matter how angry he appeared.

“You beat all, you know that?” he yelled, marching me across the front yard. “Telling Nelson that Tasha and I are having an affair.” He opened the front passenger door of the Impala and shoved me in, slamming the door after me.

I vaguely recalled a man’s strangled voice emanating from my cell phone speaker, asking me what I was talking about. Had I phoned Nelson from the hotel after I’d taken my pills? Reported his wife’s misdeeds? My face infused with red; my chest tightened as a thought—or was it a memory?—came to me: why would Tasha risk her life with her handsome, successful husband to sign on for an existence of money-grubbing and penny-pinching with Tim? He swung the driver’s-side door viciously open, glaring at me as he got in.

“Youarehaving an affair with Tasha Turner, I saw you,” I said, the truth hitting me all over again. Like a gut punch to the solar plexus. Making breathing impossible. “And there’s Muzzy, too. You were just with her?—”

“Muzzy?” He settled behind the wheel and looked at me, unfiltered disgust in his eyes, reminding me of the time he’d stepped on a water bug in a pizza parlor we’d been lunching in, years earlier. He’d had the same look on his face then, wiping his sneaker against the floor to dislodge the guts. “What the hell are you talking about? Muzzy Owen moved away months ago. Her husband got transferred.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb with a screech.

“Moved away?” For an instant, the world went gray, and I forgot to breathe. I blinked and stared at Tim, thankful when the mist cleared, colors and shapes pixelating back into my husband. “That can’t be true.” But as I recalled her empty yard, the off-kilter trampoline, I knew it was. I swallowed, my throat raw. It felt as though Tim had just told me someone dear to me had died. And, in a way, he had. My relationship with Muzzy had lived out its life cycle and now I’d never get the chance to tell her how sorry I was for helplessly looking on as Brandon floated half-dead in the pond. All my plotting to win back her trust—all my useless lingering in front of her former house—had been in vain.

“Oh, it’s true, and I’m sure she couldn’t wait to get out of this town, and away from you.”

I stared at Tim’s profile as he drove, his lips turned down in a mean frown, a rhythmic bulge along his jaw as he gnashed his teeth.

“You’re awfully judgmental for a cheater,” I said, my cold tone betraying a sudden hatred for the man who was my husband. “Are you going to deny it?”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t know how you come up with this crap, Caroline. Do you stay up nights devising ways to torture me?”

“Stay up nights torturingyou?” My brows shot up. “Let me tell you something, buddy, I never sleep, and you’re the reason why. You left us, and now you’re seeing all these women, even Tasha Turner—I heard what you said to her last night.”

“Bullshit.” He spared me a quick glance before looking back at the road. A part of my brain realized he was driving too fast. He could easily lose control of the car. Was that his plan? To end us in a fiery car crash now that he’d been exposed? I couldn’t let that happen. We couldn’t leave Emmy an orphan.

“Oh yeah, was it bullshit that the two of you were in the parking lot talking about—look out!” I closed my eyes, preparing for impact with the shaggy black dog who’d ventured onto the street, directly into our path.

Tim veered the Impala violently to the left, into the other lane, which was, thankfully, devoid of cars. As my arm smashed up against his, I popped my eyes open, noting that we’d missed the mutt by mere inches. I could feel my pulse pattering along the surface of my skin all up and down my arms.

“Not another word from you, Caroline,” he growled. “I’ve got to focus on the road.”

You said it!

When he pulled into the church parking lot, I stared at the sign out front: “Spots still available for Creative Kids Day Care.”He’d signed Emmy up for day care without consulting me? Did he think I was unable to provide our daughter with adequate care? I opened my mouth to ask, but he was already pushing me out of the car.

“Don’t manhandle me,” I snapped. “And what is all this?” I pointed to the day-care sign at the front of the church.

“Just come with me,” he said, pulling me along so we were walking parallel to the church on our left and a cemetery on our right.

I dug my heels in. “Where are you taking me? I want Emmy.”

Tim didn’t say anything, just kept dragging me along. I’d hardly ever seen him so angry. We neared the building and I tried to stop, but Tim kept walking, yanking me forward.

“I have to do this, Caroline. It’s the only way,” he said, conviction layering over his angry tone. “You’ve given me no other option.”

We walked on, now only the cemetery to our right and a deeply wooded area directly in front of us. Was he taking me into the woods? To do the thing hehadto do?

I stumbled as if my feet had instantly grown two sizes larger, preventing me from walking properly. Mary’s account of a man searching through my dark house the other night cycled through my mind in a terrifying loop. What if the intruder was Tim? He could have taken the nail fragment.The only thing he’d need. The proof of his crime.

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