“Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but I really need you to look into Callie Jenkins further. You have to believe me; she returned to Margot’s lake house the night Abby went missing. She’s lying about being home all night with her husband. And he’s lying, too.”
“Is that all?” Flynn sounds annoyed.
A school bus trundles past me and I roll up my window so I can hear Flynn more clearly. My neck burns at his dismissive tone.
“No, that’s not all. I believe, and actually, Margot now believes, that Callie is the one who murdered Abby.” My voice rises in pitch with each syllable and I take a deep breath to try and steady my tone. “Look, I remembered something. Something important about that night. After I was finished shooting, it was Callie who took the shotgun from me—carefully, I might add—as if she were concerned about removing my prints from it.”
While the words stream from my mouth, I keep waiting to hear that click of recognition from Flynn across the line, but all I hear is the hiss of a sigh being released.
“Sophie, I was going to drop by and payyoua visit later this afternoon actually.”
My stomach curdles with anxiety as he says this. Why would he want to come see me? And god forbid he pays another visit to the house again.
“Well, I’m really glad I called, then, because I’m actually not at home at the moment. I’m staying at the Sunshine Inn.”
Again, an awkward pause I wait for him to fill. He doesn’t.
“Why were you coming by?”
“Callie Jenkins called me first thing this morning, Sophie. And she let me know what happened yesterday.”
What happened yesterday? Was she at the window, spying on me and Margot? Or did she tell Flynn she held me at gunpoint?
“So she told you she pulled a shotgun on me?”
“She explained, Sophie”—he says my name as if he’s talking to a confused child—“that you drove out there and threatened Margot. And yes, she informed me she pulled out a weapon but only because you were raging and she felt Mrs. Banks was in grave danger.”
“But—that’s bullshit, Mike! Yes, I drove out there, yes, I confronted Margot about framing me, but I was nowherecloseto being threatening! You know me, you know I’m not even capable of that—”
“Sophie, what Iknowabout you changes. Your story changessomuch. And I know that Mrs. Jenkins phoned me first thing this morning to see if I thought a restraining order needs to be issued—”
A wave of nausea rolls over me. I should tell Flynn about the drugging, but I don’t want to get into all of that. I don’t want to have to tell him about what happened next, with me and Margot.
“A restraining order?” My voice squawks out of me.
“Against you coming near Mrs. Banks.”
“I can guarantee you Margot doesnotwant a restraining order put on me.” I can feel her hands all over me again, her lips brushing against mine.
“Have you talked toherabout this? Can’t you see that Callie is setting me up here? She’s setting me up to look insane—”
“I haven’t reached Mrs. Banks yet this morning, but I’ll keep trying. And in the meantime, I’m warning you to stay away from her, and also, from Mrs. Jenkins.”
“But—”
“I’m telling you this to help you. You’re in way over your head here, and you’re already in deep water.” A hint of concern leaches into his voice. I can’t decide if it makes me feel worse or better. Worse, I think.
58
IT’S EVENING. SIXo’clock. I’ve been holed up in the room for most of the day. Fretting, sweating, and pacing over the thin beige carpet, checking my cell incessantly for a reply from Margot.
Nothing.
By three I was climbing out of my skin, and against my better judgment, I called her. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t take it any longer, so I clamped the phone to my skull as it rang.
After four rings, it rolled to voice mail. I started to leave a message, but panicked and hung up; with Margot, it’s better to be casual and not too needy.
And I’m trying my best not to overreact, but why hasn’t she responded to my text or called me back?
