Page 37 of Happy Wife

“When I met Will, I didn’t own a single thing that needed to be dry-cleaned,” I say, numb. “I wanted Will to know that I could be a good wife, so I took his shirts to a dry cleaner I had seen downtown. I didn’t know what I was doing. There were a bunch of shirts, and the dry cleaner wrote his last name on all the tags with a Sharpie. I panicked. I figured he would kill me because the marker looked pretty ghastly. It bled through some of the fabrics. Even though, in theory, no one should see the inside of his shirt but me, the dry cleaner, or Alma.” I stop and stare at the shirt. “He had to throw out some of the Sharpied clothes. But he loves this shirt, so he wears it anyway.”

Shit, Will. What does this mean?

Ardell clears his throat. “Do you remember what he was wearing the night of the party?”

“This shirt.”

The air hangs in the room, and he doesn’t look surprised.

“What does this prove?” I demand, feeling denial creep in. I don’t want to be here. Don’t want Will to be gone. I have to find something that will explain it away. “He easily could have taken it off and left it on the boat. It’s windy down by the dock. The wind could have blown it into the water.” I remember how I had helped him unbutton it by the pool. Ardell studies me, and I’m suddenly aware I’m being evaluated. The look on his face keeps me from sharing that I’m not even sure he went down to the dock that night. Mia has her sweatshirt, and I don’t know what that means. I retreat further into disbelief. “He leaves things on the boat all the time.”

But my protests are flimsy, and I am sure we are both chewing on the same questions.

Did he drop the shirt? Did he fall in? Is he…dead?

I don’t know the answers, and I’m feeling claustrophobic and a little dizzy.

Ardell pushes his chair back and stands up. “We just needed you to confirm that the shirt was Will’s.”

“And now what? Is there any evidence on it? Anything that tells us where my husband is?” I am standing and don’t remember getting up, and the heat coming out in my words is unintentional. Ardell registers all of it.

“Nora, we’re not quite sure what it means, but thank you for confirming that the shirt was Will’s. We’re digging. We won’t stop until we find him. No matter what that means.”

Something about that last sentence sets me off. I feel lightheaded, and I’m starting to see stars in my vision. I need to get out of the room. Quickly.

I grab my phone and head for the door, but Ardell stops me. “Nora, I need you to think really hard if you can remember anything else from that night, even if you didn’t tell us the first time around. We won’t be mad; we just really want to find Will.”

I decide to pull out the Post-it I’ve been carrying around in my purse. “I want to talk about Dean Morrison.” The corners of the small note have rounded a little from being handled over the last few days.

Ardell sits back in his chair. “That guy that ran into Carol’s fence?”

“Yes. Will had his phone number.” I point to the note. “Do you think it means anything?”

“That’s what you found?” Este sounds shocked.

I shoot her a look as something like hope or dread starts climbing up my back.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, Nora. The theory on that guy is he had a coronary and ran off the road. They’re still waiting on the autopsy, but there’s nothing else there. Maybe Will talked to him, but lawyers talk to everybody. I’m sure you know that.” Ardell moves to stand. “Try to keep thinking and see if anything else comes up. I’ll check in when I know more.”

I cut through the door, feeling like the walls are narrowingaround me. Ardell shutting down my belief that Dean could be a lead stymies me from sharing that Mia wasn’t the one who called Will the night of the party. All of this means something. It has to. But I don’t trust Ardell to figure it out.

I dart through the lobby, Este on my heels, and push out the industrial doors to the parking lot. Este is talking to me, but I can’t hear anything past the blood rushing in my ears. When the heat hits me, I instantly stop and put my hands on my knees, trying to steady the hyperventilation, but I’m not sure it’s working. I feel woozy, like I’m somewhere between floating and falling. Este gets me into her car.

“Este, do you think there’s a chance I’m in danger?” I ask.

“You’ve had a long day, Nora. Let’s just get you home.”

My stomach aches, and I curl into a ball in the car seat.

The only person who would know what to do right now is Will.

As we pull out of the station, I swear that I see the weird gray sedan again.

Chapter18

Before

9:20a.m.

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