Page 67 of The Perfect Marriage

“Nice to hear your voice, Sarah,” he says.

Great, we’re back on a first-name basis. “What can I do for you, Sheriff Stevens?”

“I’m just calling to let you know the DNA results came back on Jesse. He’s not a match.”

Shit. How could it not be him? I was convinced it was him. If not him, then who? Maybe this third set of DNA has nothing to do with the case; maybe it does. But I will never be okay not knowing. I have to figure out what the fuck I’m still missing.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Now what?”

“Not a whole lot I can do since the case is closed, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you and let you know if I find or hear anything.”

“Thanks,” I say feeling defeated.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. I know things have been… difficult, but if you need anything, please let me know.”

“Yeah. Thanks, sheriff,” I say, and I hang up the phone. I slam my fist against the desk. I can’t deal with his back-and-forth, wishy-washy thing we have going on. I’m not sure what his angle is. Is he trying to help me or is he trying to help himself? I can’t worry about him though. I’m running out of time, and I’m not any closer to getting the answers I desperately need.

40

Adam Morgan

Ispent most of last night drunk dialing, so much so that I have to call some of those numbers again. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t even help myself. Rebecca is supposed to stop over this morning or at least that’s what I remember her telling me last night. I could be wrong though. Regardless, I have five phone calls left to make, and I best do that before she arrives.

I woke up and showered for the first time in days, trimmed up my beard (I decided to keep it), and got dressed in somewhat presentable clothing, jeans, and a T-shirt. There’s a fresh pot of coffee, and I’ve just sat down on the couch with the telephone in front of me.

I dial the first number, and I get the voicemail for a woman who says her name is Gretchen. I cross that number off the list.

I phone the second number and a woman answers. She doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I cross her name off the list.

I dial the third number, and a man picks up. He also has no idea who I’m referring to. He’s a bit rude and hangs up on me.

The fourth number is an old man who has a hard time speaking. He sounds like he has had a laryngectomy. I hang up on him as he tries to tell me his life story. He’s old and lonely, and it sounds like he’s in the same boat as me—we don’t have enough time.

The fifth and last number answers on nearly the first ring. He answers so fast that I miss his name—I’m thinking Rob. But I can’t be sure. Since I don’t pick up what he says, I immediately go into explaining.

“Hi. I’m looking for Nicholas Miller. He’s the brother of Greg Miller and brother-in-law to Kelly Summers. My name is Adam Morgan. I desperately need to speak with Nicholas. It’s a matter of life or death,” I say. This is my last call. I hope to God this person knows him. If not, Rebecca didn’t get me all the names, or I fucked up when I was drinking and dialing. God. I’m such an idiot. I’m out of breath. I’ve broken out in a sweat.

“Wrong number,” he says, and then he abruptly hangs up.

I slam the phone down. “FUCK!” I slam it down a few more times. How is this happening? I hope Rebecca found something. She had to have found something. I slam the phone down again and punch at the coffee table. I get up and pour myself a cup of coffee and return to the couch. I wish this were scotch. I take a drink before the coffee has cooled, and it burns my tongue and throat. It’s not the same feeling as scotch. It’s painful. But it makes me feel alive. I pick up the papers and scan through them, hoping that one phone number will stand out. Obviously, none of them do. I toss the papers back on the coffee table and take another drink of scalding coffee.

I have to get a hold of Rebecca. I need her here. I can’t do this without her. I need to know that she’s found something. She’s my last hope. I pick up the phone and put the receiver to my ear, but there’s no dial tone. The line is dead. I tap the switch hook several times, trying to get a dial tone, but nothing.Shit, I broke the damn thing.I lean back into the couch, covering my face with my hands, pulling at my skin. This can’t be happening. This can’t be my life.

There’s a knock at the door. I jump up and jog to it, swinging it open immediately. It’s Rebecca, and I couldn’t be happier to see her. I give her a hug, and it’s awkward, but I don’t care. She kind of pushes me away, and we break the embrace.

“What’s gotten into you?” She shrugs me off and pushes past me. She tosses her bag on the couch and helps herself to my cup of coffee.

“Please tell me you found something.”

“Maybe.” She takes a seat.

“What do you mean maybe?” I pace the living room waiting for her response. This is it.

She’s my last hope. I’m running out of time, and Sarah and I are clearly not on the same page. She’s chasing some Jesse guy and thinks my theory is completely off-key. I broke the phone. I can’t leave this God-forsaken lake house, and my trial starts in nine fucking days. Rebecca takes a few sips of my coffee and places the cup on the table. She pulls a stack of file folders from her bag, separates three from the stack and tosses them on the coffee table.

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