Page 80 of The Perfect Divorce

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror. Sometimes I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. But today, I do.

“I’m sorry too,” I say.

Summer tells me she loves me, and I tell her I love her more. We break our embrace, and I wipe her wet eyes. She tries to return the favor, dabbing at mine, but I tell her it’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to see the tears.

The school bell rings. “Go on,” I say.

Summer nods and exits the vehicle, closing the door behind her before sprinting up the sidewalk. She turns and waves, and I wave back, smiling. Children are resilient. They go through change every day—their bodies growing, their brains developing—so they can accept it and adapt to it much faster than adults. She’ll be okay, just like I was.

My phone rings through the car, startling me. The nameBob Millerflashes across the dashboard screen.I put my SUV in Drive and pull away from the school, accepting the call.

I don’t even get a chance to say hello before his voice is roaring through the speakers. “You miserable bitch,” he spits.

“Good morning to you too, Bob.”

“You requested a protective order against me. Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

I pause briefly at a four-way stop sign.

“No, but I thinkyoumight be, which is why I filed it.”

He chuckles. It’s forced, more of a manic laugh. “You messed with the wrong person, Sarah.”

“No, Bob, you’re exactly who I wanted to mess with. Fuck around and find out, as the kids say.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I hope you’re ready for what’s coming next.” His tone is sinister, and the call immediately disconnects.

FORTY-ONE

SHERIFF HUDSON

Olson walks through the open door of my office carrying a package in her hands. She sets it down on my desk and takes a seat, staring at me without saying a word.

I eye the box, wrapped in craft paper and a single piece of twine tied into a bow at the top. “What’s this? Did you get me a present? Is it a cut of Wagyu!?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but no. It was slipped into the station’s drop box. Front desk handed it to me on my way in.” She lets out a sigh and asks, “Have we heard anything back on Scott Summers?”

“BCI is taking it over from here,” I say, studying the box on all sides, now wondering what its contents could be. The station has an anonymous drop box for people to leave any illicit drugs and prescriptions they find and want to turn in, but they’re never packaged like this.

“Well, is there anything else we can do?”

“Not really at this point. They’ve put out an APB on Summers, and his photo has been circulated to all police stations in the surrounding states. I’ll continue to be in contact with them, in case there’s anything we can help with. But right now, we’ve got our hands full as it is.”

There’s no address on the package, just the wordsAttn: Sheriff Hudsonscrawled across the top in black Sharpie.

“Should I be worried about opening this?” I arch my brow. My cop brain goes into overdrive with the possibilities of all the nasty things that could be in it. Anthrax, a pipe bomb, something worse.

“I had the guys run it through the X-ray scanner. I know what it is, but I don’t knowwhatit is.”

“Huh?” A look of confusion takes over my face. “You know what it is, but you don’t know what it is?”

“I know what the object is, but I don’t know why it’s in there, what makes it special, or why it’s been sent to you.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued, Olson. Would you like to do the honors?” I push the box toward her, all smiles.

“Nope.” She pushes it back. “I brought it to you for a reason.”

I nod, snap on a pair of gloves, and pull at the twine. The bow unravels easily. I slip my knife from my utility belt, flick it open, and carefully cut into the package. Inside the box is a cloth bag with a note tied around it. I unfold it and read the words out loud.

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