Tessa hesitates, then admits, “No. That’s all they knew.”
“We should find her. If she was the last person who saw Regina—” I scoot my chair toward the table, causing the small box of Regina’s belongings to slide off my lap and scatter. The tangle of jewelry spills from its plastic baggie, the shampoo bottles lie capsized, the self-help book flips open where a piece of paper is lodged between the pages.
The barista, who’s wiping down the table next to us, notices the items fall to the floor.
“Here, I’ve got that for you.” He bends down with the cartilage of someone in their twenties and swoops everything into the box, putting it on the table between us.
“Regina left these at Maisy’s,” I tell Tessa as I retrieve the sheet of folded paper from the hardback book. Tessa leans toward me to survey the list of dates, times, and locations scrawled across the crinkled sheet:Expo Hall,Downtown Lofts,Rabblerouser’s,Contessa’s,Lollygag,South Sea,Love Self-Tape,Starfish.
“What do you think they were?” Tessa asks.
“AA meetings.” Immediately, I know I’m right. Regina was still in treatment, still judicious about her sobriety.
Tessa motions to the baggie of jewelry. I nod my approval, and she riffles through it.
“Alexis Bittar.” Tessa holds up a neon-green plastic earring, the bottom curve shaped to look like it’s dripping gold paint. “It’s plastic, Lucite, but it’s not cheap.” I must be making a confused face because she clarifies, “I’m a jeweler.” But really I’m wondering how Regina had earrings that Tessa, with her band of sapphires and an engagement ring that must be three carats, would describe asnot cheap.
Regina’s leather coat is draped over the chair beside mine like she’s stepped away momentarily and will soon return with a logical explanation for how she paid for these earrings. I reach into the pocket of her jacket, remembering the other earring I found, one that was certainlynot cheap.
I place the earring on the table before Tessa. “What about this?”
Tessa stands so forcefully, her chair falls behind her, clanging on the ground.
“Where did you get that?” she asks breathlessly.
“It was in Regina’s coat pocket.”
My body grows ice cold. I know what she’s going to say before she utters, “It’s mine. I mean, it’s one of my designs. I made it.”
It’s Tessa’s design? Now I’m confused. Well, not confused. Disgusted. What kind of sick, twisted monster gifts his girlfriend a pair of earrings his wife designed?
The kind that kills.
“I’ve got to go.” Tessa squats to pick the chair up from the floor, then grabs her purse from the back of it.
“Tessa, are you okay?” At last she’s putting the pieces together. I stand, too, start returning the jewelry to the baggie. “Let me come with you.”
“It’s better if I go alone.”
“Tessa, please, I don’t think it’s—”
“I’ll call you later,” she says, halfway to the door.
I dart after her. She’s faster than I’d expect. Outside, I scan the crowds congesting the sidewalks, not seeing her anywhere. Every fiber in me knows it was her husband. She can’t confront him alone. But she’s already gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Tessa
She had my earrings. Why did Regina have my earrings?
I mull this over as I drive to Beverly Hills. I don’t do much retail anymore, only a few high-end stores when they request a line or commissions are slow. I designed this style for Ezra Linsky & Sons. Each pair’s priced at $5,000, on the lower end for my work—still more than most people can afford. Certainly more than a tutor and freelance writer could spend on a pair of earrings.
Then my mind goes somewhere it shouldn’t, somewhere I don’t want to follow. Gabe’s the sole link between my earrings, my son, and my home. Is it possible ... Could Gabe have bought my earrings for Regina?
As quickly as the notion materializes, I discount it. It’s twisted and weird, buying your wife’s art for another woman. Besides, Gabe doesn’t cheat. I know that’s what every naive wife says. In my case, it’s true. His father cheated. Then denied it. Then took it out on Gabe’s mother when she caught him. Then took it out on Gabe when he tried to defend her. My father didn’t cheat. He was just never a part of our lives. My mother didn’t drink because he left. He left because she drank. It turns you one of two ways when you come from families like ours—either decidedly against having children, or all in on creating the family you never had.Gabe and I dove in. Iron strong. It’s how I know he’d never cheat. Still, the fact remains: Regina had my earrings.
I pull up outside the unassuming white building on Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills. I press the buzzer for Ezra Linsky & Sons. I should have called first. They’re by appointment only. If they have no appointments, no one will be upstairs. I wait as it rings, willing someone to answer.
