It takes us several trips to unload everything from the car. Today was my first deep dive into retail therapy. And if these results are any indication, I’ve wasted several years and thousands of dollars on the regular kind. Amber is happy. Lily coos. Wait. Make thatLilyis happy.Ambercoos.
I’m cooing too. With Ben going away, I’ll be able to search the house for something that will incriminate him. In the course of my FBI work, I’ve gotten warrants to search some odd places—tree trunks, litter boxes, even a coffin or two. But once Ben is gone, I can search everydrawer and closet in the house for secret panels. (Okay, I’ve been reading too many mystery novels. But still.)
Amber unwraps the packages and I strap Lily into her highchair. Did I mention she’s really getting into exotic foods now? Forget cottage cheese and yogurt. Now we’re doing guacamole, red pepper hummus, and veggie frittatas that she squishes with her fingers. I sit next to her, constantly bending down to pick up the food she drops, hoping my back muscles are going to cut me some slack.
Then the doorbell rings. No one is there when I open the door, but an envelope has been left on the welcome mat. I pick it up and bring it to Amber.
She opens it. “Oh, look,” she says. “Someone dropped off some pictures.” Then she gasps. “It’s Lily!”
Amber screams. Startled, Lily begins to cry. Amber lifts her up out of the highchair and hugs her, dropping the photos.
I pick them up. They’re pictures taken at Bella’s birthday party. It’s the usual shots—the party girl with friends, the birthday cake, the mountain of presents on the gift table. But one is a photo of me and Lily, clearly a candid of the two of us. The top of my head is out of the frame, and I’m looking off into the distance, watching something or maybe just eavesdropping. Lily, in her Snugli, is looking straight at the camera. At least I think she is.
Someone has scratched her face off.
Now I’m frightened too. Who took this picture? Andwhen? I have no memory of anyone stalking us, photographing us. Could someone have faked this using AI technology? No. This was definitely taken at the party. I see the massive food table in the background. I am wearing my uniform and Lily is in her yellow party dress, the clothes we wore that afternoon. This photo is real.
I tell Amber to call Ben but she’s too upset to do it, so I call him. He can hear Amber sobbing in the background and insists I put her on the phone, but she won’t talk to him. She’s out of control, hysterical, holding tight to Lily as if both their lives depend on it.
“She wants you to come home,” I tell Ben. “She needs you here.”
A pause. Then: “I can’t right now,” he says. “But tell her I’ll be there as soon as—”
I hang up on him. I shouldn’t have done that. He’s notmyhusband. But I did it anyway.
I’m remembering what that officer said on the Day of the Snake:Is somebody maybe trying to send a message?
Clearly, the answer is yes.
Maybe Metcalf was right. Forget about all the other people in Ben’s gallery who might be in cahoots with the cartel and trying to betray him. Ben knows exactly what this is all about. On myBillboardlist of Top 100 Suspects, Ben has bounced back up to Number One.
Amber takes Lily upstairs. I go around the house and make sure all the doors are double-locked and the alarmsystem is on. Then I close all the first-floor windows and pull down all the shades. I know I’m on a fool’s errand. The side of the house facing the water is all glass.
Anybody who wants to send a message in person just needs a large rock.
CHAPTER 46
WHEN I HEAR BEN’S CAR pulling into the driveway, I raise the shade on a living-room window to watch him.
He gets out and looks around. To see if he was being followed? Maybe. He waits a beat before entering. Then he storms through the front door. The alarm beeps. He turns it off.
“Where are they?” he asks. His face is red, angry.
“They’re both upstairs.”
“I mean thepictures!” he yells. “Where are the [expletive]pictures?”
I hand him the envelope. He studies it, then shakes the photos onto the kitchen table and rifles through them. Hefinds the one of me and Lily. What’s going through his mind? He’s breathing heavily.
“It was taken at the party,” I say.
“I can see that,” he says. “But when? Before I got there?”
“I have no idea.” Anyone with a cell phone could have zoomed in on me and Lily without attracting notice. Especially if the subject (me) was concentrating more on listening than watching.
Amber must have heard Ben’s car in the driveway too. She walks down the stairs, holding the baby. Amber’s hair is wild, uncombed. She’s been lying in bed with Lily cradled in her arms this whole time. And she looks exhausted. Too exhausted for a major battle. But I guess if you’re married, you can always summon the strength.
“You didn’t call the police, did you?” Ben asks her. NotAre you okay?
