Page 11 of Happy Wife

An onslaught of dread lands so heavy on my chest I can barely breathe, never mind speak.

What the fuck is happening?

“Let’s talk inside,” Este says, leading the way and waving her hands like a crossing guard.

But we don’t even make it past the threshold of the front door before Fritz is dialing someone.

“This is Frederick Hall,” he says. “I need to speak to Detective Ardell.”

Fritz walks down the hall toward Will’s home office, and I look at Este. “Is this happening? We’re calling the police now?”

Before Este can answer, Fritz comes back into the kitchen. “Detective Ardell is headed this way. Have you filed a report?”

“A report? No. I thought…” I’m struggling to catch up. “Why do we need that?”

I glance between Este and Fritz—my best friend and Will’s—wondering if I’ve ever seen them speak to each other before. They’re an odd pairing now. Fritz’s expression is pulled tight while Este keeps rolling her eyes at him as if he’s overdramatizing a whole lot of nothing. I’m still trying to get my mind around the fact that Will isn’t with Fritz.

“He’s been gone for thirty-six hours, and you haven’t thought to call the police?” Fritz demands.

What could I possibly say to this? Where the hell is he?

“Considering how often Will ghosts Nora for work, he’ll probably come waltzing through that door any second,” Este pipes up. “Plus, everyone knows you have to wait a couple days to report someone missing.”

“Where did you hear that?” Fritz snaps. “There’s no waiting period to report a missing person in Florida. And I’m telling you he didn’t ghost you for work. Iamwork, and he’s not there.” He’s roaring now. “He missed a seven-figure mediation this morning. That doesn’t happen.”

My heart begins to pound. Este’s head jerks back with a wince like she’s physically rejecting this information.

Mediation is Fritz’s love language—a chance to get paid on a case without having to work it up for trial. The irony is taking a settlement can leave money on the table. But it’s often less work. And he could bully the mediator for sport. A perfect day by his standards.

“Is his car here?” Fritz asks.

“Yes, but he Ubers to the office all the time. He says commuting eats into work.”

“Nora.” Fritz grabs my arm and squeezes it. “You should have called me.”

“Iwould’ve”—I shake my arm free from his grip—“if I thought there was a reason to. I figured you were with him. Which, considering the two weeks you two disappeared for that last legal conference, wouldn’t be totally unrealistic, right?” I glare at him. The anger is misplaced, but I dig in anyway. I’m terrified, and I don’t like what Fritz is implying.

“You really have never been able to let that go.”

“Two weeks in Hawaii to ‘learn about trucking law’? Why can’t lawyers have their conferences in the Midwest like normal people?”

Fritz bristles at the insinuation that they were just fucking off in Hawaii. But he’s a lawyer, so he doubles down and takes a step toward me, boxing me in between him and the refrigerator.

Este folds her arms. “Hey, Fritz, how about you give her a little space?”

Fritz doesn’t move. I take a defiant step toward him until we’re almost nose to nose, his breath hot on my face.

I won’t be threatened in my own home.

He looks down at me and sneers. “So, what? Will works long hours so you don’t have to give a shit where he is?”

“I knew where he was.”

“Which iswhere?” he shouts.

It doesn’t matter what I thought. Everything has changed in the last few minutes. I don’t get a word out before the doorbell chimes.

“I’ll get it.” Este looks relieved to have a reason to get out of the room, but Fritz is quick on her heels.

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