“It started as a joke,” she said. “I swear. We just wanted to scare her. We thought that call was funny.”
“Funny,” he repeated, the word like acid on his tongue.
“Things got out of control, I admit. But…but Bishop didn’t end up hurting her, so…so it doesn’t matter. She’s fine. Let it go.”
In a way, David wished he could. But a man had been killed as a result of Lynnette’s actions. Skye could’ve been killed. “You need to confess and get some help. If you cooperate, it’ll go easier on you,” he said gently. Who would’ve thought he’d be having this conversation with his ex-wife? “I’ll do everything I can.”
Her mouth sagged open. “You mean it,” she whispered. “You’re going to turn me in, knowing I’m sick, knowing I couldn’t help it.”
“You could’ve helped it.” Kneeling, he pulled Jeremy into his arms and gave his son a tight squeeze. “Don’t worry about anything,” he told him. “You’ll live with me until your mom can come home, okay? Everyone’ll be fine.”
Jeremy’s eyes moved uncertainly between them. “How long will Mommy be gone?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then you’ll have it all, won’t you!” Lynnette shouted. “You’ll have my son and the whore you’ve wanted all along!” Darting back into the house, she slammed and locked the door.
David frowned as he stood there. He had a key, but he wasn’t about to chase Lynnette and force her into his car in front of Jeremy. He refused to put his son through that kind of trauma.
He needed to take Jeremy away and have someone from the station get over here, in case she tried to harm herself.
Taking his phone from his pocket, he called Tiny.
Jane needed a cigarette. She’d smoked her last around 4:00 a.m. as she sat staring out the filthy motel window. She should’ve bought a pack at the grocery store last night or on her way home, but she hadn’t dared spend the five bucks. Now she had nicotine withdrawal to cope with—as well as the anxiety of returning to a house she’d ransacked looking for proof that her husband was a killer.
“Stay in the car,” she told Kate as she parked in the driveway. Because the truck was there, she assumed Oliver was home, and she didn’t want her daughter to witness their first encounter. She had no idea how her husband might react. She’d never seen him really angry—he usually became sullen and withdrew until he’d worked through whatever it was—but they’d never been this estranged.
Kate’s hand was already on the door handle. “Why? I want to change my clothes and brush my teeth. It’s Saturday. I get to play with Lara.”
Lara was the girl down the street.
In the rearview mirror, Jane spotted the damage she’d done to her neighbor’s car and felt even more foolish. What had she been thinking yesterday? She’d just… freaked out. All because she didn’t enjoy her first sexual encounter with Oliver since prison. But now she was at least halfway convinced it was her own fault for being so unreceptive to him.
“I just need to talk to Daddy for a minute. Then I’ll come and get you.”
Kate pouted, but she let go of the handle and slumped back against the seat. “Hurry up, Mommy.”
“I will.” Swallowing hard, Jane got out. She was hoping the neighbor whose car she’d hit wouldn’t spot her until she’d talked to Oliver; when no one came rushing across the street, she felt slightly heartened.
Taking a deep breath, she approached the door.
It was locked.
Removing the house key from her purse, she let herself in. Then she stood staring at the mess. It was worse than the way she’d left it. Oliver had dumped everything out of their suitcase and strewn their clothes all over the living room. Their family picture was broken and lying on the floor. Someone had smashed the kitchen window, leaving glass glittering on the linoleum. A dining chair lay turned on its side.
Obviously, he’d reacted violently to what had happened last night.
Feeling even guiltier, Jane made her way silently toward the bedroom. He must care about her if leaving him had upset him this much. Surely, she could rekindle the feelings she’d once had so they could start anew. Even if Noah or his parents had told Oliver about the affair, she’d apologize the way Oliver had once apologized to her—after the incident with Skye. They’d put it all behind them. She wouldn’t be able to see Noah for a long time. She knew that what he’d done would hurt for years. But she had Kate to think about. And the future. She had to begin moving in a positive direction.
The door was closed. Expecting to find Oliver asleep, she turned the handle and swung the door wide.
Oliver was in bed. He had the blinds drawn and the blankets pulled up over his head.
Stepping closer, Jane murmured his name. “Oliver? Oliver, it’s me. I’m sorry.” When he didn’t move, she raised her voice. “Oliver?”
Again, there was no response, so she pulled back the covers—and felt her stomach lurch. It wasn’t her husband in the bed. It was Noah.
And he was dead.
24
Oliver watched Jane through the crack in the closet door. The handle of the knife was growing sticky and unpleasant as Noah’s blood began to dry. He didn’t like the sensation. He longed to wash up and scrub his nails, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t reveal himself to Jane—yet. He’d never killed in the light of day before, had never had this much time. Except for thinking about how this would affect his parents and Wendy, the whole thing had been far too easy and…rather anticlimactic.
Until he’d heard Jane’s keys in the front door.
Would she fawn over her lover? Cry?
Closing one eye, he leaned a little closer to the opening. There she was, chalk-white, ready to faint.
Oliver couldn’t help smiling as he contemplated the surprise he had waiting for her….
Jane didn’t know what to do, whom to call. She was breaking into a cold sweat, hyperventilating.
Backing away from the bed, she closed her eyes and turned her face to the wall, but the image was imprinted on her brain. Noah… He must have confessed to Oliver, and Oliver had done this.
But how?
Creeping back to the bed, she used her forefinger and thumb like pincers to peel away the covers she’d dropped a moment before. She didn’t want to encounter Noah’s blood. She was afraid it’d still feel warm. This couldn’t have happened long ago. It looked, even smelled, fresh.