Page 65 of That's Not My Name

I spin back around. “Actually, with all the packing and prep to go home, you’ve got enough on your plate today. Let me do the dishes.”

He tips his head to the side. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Mary. Thank you.”

I take his place at the sink, and he heads straight for the front door. “I’ll get a box for you. Shouldn’t take too long to load up. We packed light thanks to your little detour.”

He winks. I try not to flinch.

The second I hear the crunching of gravel under his boots, I race over to the burn pile and snatch up the piece of paper. I need to know what made him so livid, because it sure as hell has nothing to do with minivans or fundraisers. I tuck it into my bra and run back to the sink, washing everything as fast as I can. Wayne reappears as I’m rinsing off the sausage pan and holds a microwave-sized box out to me. “This should be perfect. You don’t have much.”

I dry my hands and take it straight to my room with a mumbled thank you, but my mind is on the scratchy paper pressing against my chest. The mystery of Officer Bowman’s visit literally itching at me. I drop the box on the bed, dump all my Nana’s purchases into it, and then I listen. I hear him sliding something around in his room. Hangers in the closet, maybe? I kick my door halfway closed, hiding the paper behind the box as I smooth it flat on my blanket.

Ben Hooper’s kind, neighborly face stares back at me, under big red letters.

MISSING.

It’s a “Have you seen me?” type flier for the old man next door. Name. Date of birth. Height, weight, eye color. And the last time he was seen. On an afternoon walk. Two days ago.

My breath comes too fast. Hissing in and out of my lungs.

I see Bowman in the driveway, asking Wayne to call if he happens to seehim.

He was talking about our neighbor.

Breath. Breath. Breath. Breath.

I hear Wayne apologizing for not being any help. Because we haven’t had a chance to unpack, much less meet any of the neighbors.

Breath. Breath. Breath. Breath.

I see Ben’s face, smiling in the driveway as he stares at me.You know, something about you looks so familiar. I can’t put my finger on it.

Breath. Breath. Breath. Breath. Breath. Breath.

Wayne saying,She has one of those faces.

And then I can’t breathe at all.

A sweet old man meets us by the side of the road, looks at me like he’s trying to place me, and then vanishes before he ever makes it home? The flier said he went missing on his afternoon walk, not later that night. During. Which means he disappeared between talking with us and returning to his house next door.

Once again, Wayne lied. And immediately made plans to leave…

I really shouldn’t have let Bowman leave. I automatically turn to my nightstand, looking for his business card. It’s gone.

Maybe everythingisn’tokay.

Maybe it never was.

NINETEEN

DREW

The doors to the precinct shut behind me with the finality of a gavel. I look over my shoulder and Sheriff Roane is glowering at me through the glass. I give him the finger and stomp off.

How could he do this to Lola? How could he put her in danger like this? Who the fuck cares what I stole if the evidence proves she is alive? Not to mention, if she was in Waybrooke twenty-four hours ago and I was here, wouldn’t that clear my name? Roane said I’m his last suspect, but wouldn’t this recording prove that’s not true?

Hell, the call from Waybrooke could have been your doing for all I know.

I run my hand down my face. That’s how he can ignore it so easily. Roane never wanted to investigate a serious crime; he wanted to find a runaway, and when that didn’t work out, he went straight to “lock up the boyfriend.” This recording doesn’t fit his narrative.

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