Police are appealing for help from the public as they continue to investigate the suspicious death. “It’s a particularly violent injury that led to the death,” they said. “We’ve obtained a number of statements from people in the neighborhood, but at this time we’re appealing to members of the public that may have been in the area.”
Slade and her husband lived at Black Wood House for two months. Residents admitted Slade argued with a neighbor at a town meeting two weeks before her disappearance. The neighbor’s identity has not been revealed. Slade and her husband, Joe Cosgrove, are still missing.
Chapter 23
The coffee room terrifies me. It’s too communal. My colleagues gather there in little flocks, chirping animatedly, even at 8:30a.m.It’s bright and cool, holding little but a microwave, sandwich press, kettle, and motivational poster hanging crookedly in a cheap frame:Seven Rules of Life. Many times, I’ve waited for the kettle to boil and read them all, eyes darting to the door, anxious and jittery that someone will come in and start a conversation. God, it’s exhausting being sociable.
This morning, Benita cradles a coffee mug, and Tim gulps his protein drink, while Emily chews on a piece of toast. The room smells of strong coffee and melted cheese, and instantly my stomach recoils like it’s been punched. I freeze at the door, terrified I’ll vomit all over the clean tiles. Only Emily seems to notice.
She calls out, “You okay?”
At the same moment Tim bellows out, “Ah, look what the cat dragged in!”
Piss off, Tim. Shakily, I step inside. I’ve got to go back to the doctor’s, I scold myself. I’m sick of being sick.
“Morning.” I try to smile, but it comes out a grimace. I walk stiffly to the kettle, my heels clacking on the tiles. Their watchful eyes burn into my blouse, and I hope they don’t notice that it’s the same one I wore yesterday. I’ve been slack on clothes washing lately—and any other dutythat doesn’t involve puking or drinking. I flip the kettle on with trembling hands, plaster a careful smile onto my face, and turn around.
Seven Rules of Life
1.Stand up straight with your shoulders back.
I instantly straighten my spine. “I hate Wednesdays,” Tim calls out like a shrieking cockatoo who’s not getting enough attention. Benita quietly brings her mug to her pink-frosted lips. Her hair is shoulder length and shiny, her blouse the color of an overripe peach. She’s the receptionist for Mercy Community, and I’ve always had the feeling she doesn’t like me. She sets her mug down in the sink, gives it a quick rinse.
“Wash up after yourselves, please,” Benita says, wiping down the counter with a damp sponge. “We’re struggling to find new cleaners.” She throws the sponge in the sink like she’s mad at it. “The last guy quit after three days.”
“Three days!” Tim whistles. “That’s a new record.”
Benita stretches, rubs the back of her neck. “Adria only hired him ’cause he’s Jeff’s cousin,” she says darkly.
A warning goes off in my brain. I fumble with the hot kettle, narrowly avoid spilling boiling water over my forearm. Behind me, Benita says a quick goodbye, and she’s halfway out the door when I call out desperately, “Benita!”
She spins around in surprise, and when she realizes it’s me who called out, she gives me an annoyed look that says,Oh God, not you.
“Do you mean Jeff Johnson?” My voice comes out high and nervous, and even Tim watches me carefully.
She shifts in her spot, glances at Emily and Tim like she’s asking them to bail her out of this. Tim’s interested in that “ooh, what’s going on here?” kind of way, and Emily taps her fingernail nervously against the mug handle.
When Benita realizes the others aren’t going to help, she gives me awithering look. “Yeah. He’s old friends with Adria. He asked if his cousin Chris could get a job cleaning the offices.”
My knees weaken, and blood pounds in my ears. “His cousin.” I lick my lips. “What does he look like?”
She sighs impatiently. “I dunno. Mid-twenties, tall.” She chews her lip. “He had a really dumb haircut.”
That’s him. The guy who was in my office and lied about it. That’s the guy who wouldn’t give me his name.
She eyes me suspiciously as if I’ve done something wrong. “Why?”
“Nothing.”
I say a shaky goodbye to my bewildered colleagues and brush past Benita at the door. Emily calls out, but I walk to my office and close the door.
Oh my God.
I slump into my chair, thinking hard. I try to remember everything about my skirmish with the cleaning guy.
Emily raps on the door, pokes her head in. “Hey, lovie, you okay?” She peers at me like a worried mother. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”
Not too long ago people used to ask me,Where’d you get your highlights done?Or,Love your nails. SNS, yeah?
