Page 20 of The Note

“Am I losing my mind, or is that the guy from the rental car? On Friday. The asshole in the white car who stole our parking spot.”

May felt her breath catch in her throat as she realized that Lauren was right. The man in the picture looked an awful lot like the guy they had seen in Sag Harbor. “I’m ninety percent sure that’s him. We should call the police. There’s a number here.”

“Call them and say what?” Lauren asked, sounding wholly unconcerned as she reached for another pinch of cinnamon roll. “We don’t even know his name—except it’s on this flyer. We saw him on the street for like ten seconds.”

“We at least know he was in Sag Harbor at around five p.m. on Friday. They’re probably putting together a timeline of his whereabouts. You never know with a missing-person case what detail is going to crack the investigation wide open.”

“I’ve got to be honest,” Lauren said, “and no offense, I know you had your reasons for being a prosecutor, but I’m not in the habit of calling the police voluntarily.”

“Myreasons?” May said. “I wasn’t aware you thought my job was something I needed to justify.” She couldn’t remember ever speaking so sharply to Lauren.

“You may be used to getting the benefit of the doubt when you’re talking to cops, but let’s just say that’s not everyone’s experience. I grew up with a father and brothers. When I see police heading in my direction, I assume the worst.”

“Seriously? If we have information that might help—”

“The way I see it, it’s not my job to help some random dude. That man could be some Ponzi-scheming crook who ran off with his clients’ money for all we know. Or a drug dealer going through something with his supplier. No one asked us to get involved. Why do you assume he needs our help? Maybe you should ask yourself, after everything that happened, why and when you feel it so necessary to call the police.”

May felt like she’d been slapped across the face. The comment was an obvious reference to her phone call to police on the subway platform, the moment that had been captured in that awful video.

Kelsey cleared her throat. “You guys, this is getting a little intense. Can we—”

“Someone is looking for this guy,” May said. Her hand was trembling as she struggled to enter the number from the flyer into her cell phone. “I’m calling.”

“You know they’re going to run our names if you do that,” Lauren said.

“I don’t care,” May said. “We’ll tell them whatwe know. They’ll add his whereabouts with that woman in whatever timeline they’re putting together. Who we are is irrelevant.”

“You have no way of knowing that,” Lauren said. “If nothing else, some thirsty clerk at the police station could take to Twitter talking all about the three canceled friends holed up in a beach house together. DA Karen, the sidepiece symphony director, and the rich girl who hired a hit man.”

May was about to enter the final digit when Kelsey grabbed the phone from her hand. “You can’t call!”

“I will leave your names out of it if you want. It’s just one piece of information.”

“It’s not,” Kelsey said in a low voice. Her face was flushed.

“Are you worried because they’ll realize who you are?” May said. “This has nothing to do with Luke or his case.”

“It’s not that,” Kelsey said. She placed May’s phone on the kitchen island but kept her hand on top of it. “Do you remember those notes you wrote on the cocktail napkins? When we were in Sag Harbor?”

Lauren and May were silent. Of course they remembered.

“I left the note under their windshield wiper.”

“You what?” Lauren said.

“It was stupid.”

“Which note?” Lauren asked, her voice stern.

Kelsey avoided Lauren’s gaze and May could barely make out her response. “Yours.”

She meant Lauren’s.

He’s cheating. He always does.

Part Two

Our David Smith

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