Page 37 of The Thinnest Air
Holding my breath, I make the call.
“McCormack.” He answers on the third ring, his voice groggy as he sucks a slow breath past the receiver, and I wonder if he always answers his personal phone like that.
“It’s Meredith.” I keep my voice down, padding across the house to the farthest corner, away from the twenty-foot ceiling in the foyer that makes everything echo. My intentions are innocent this time, but I don’t want to wake Andrew. “Meredith Price.”
“Right, right.” He pulls in another breath, and I hear the rustle of sheets in the background. He’s climbing out of bed.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s late.”
“Don’t worry about it. What’s going on?”
“I found an envelope in my mailbox today.” I tell him about the letter, about his business card and the advertisement from the coffee shop.
“Well ... fuck.” The phone swishes. He says something inaudible. It sounds like he’s up, walking around, stumbling through the dark and flicking on lights.
“But the reason I’m calling,” I say, “is I just saw a parked car outside my house. It was black. Four doors. It sped off before I could see anything else. Maybe it was nothing ... coincidence or something ... but it freaked me out. That’s why I called.”
“You want me to call down to the station? See who’s on duty and have them patrol your street?” he asks.
“That’d be nice,” I say. Andrew would never know, and the peace of mind just might help me get some sleep tonight.
“I’m on it.”
I love that he takes me seriously, that he doesn’t laugh or brush my fear off like I’m a child complaining about monsters under the bed.
Monsters are real.
They’re real, and they’re capable of doing the unspeakable.
And they don’t hide under beds or in closets—they hide in plain sight. You just don’t always notice them.
“You going to be okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, yeah.” I massage the back of my neck, pacing the main floor guest room I’ve sequestered myself in so I can talk on the phone.
“Get some rest, all right?”
I intended to sleep in here tonight, but the thought of being alone with some creep outside is almost worse than sleeping next to my insensitive husband.
I’m going to have to pick my poison.
And tonight, I choose Andrew.
CHAPTER 16
GREER
Day Four
The cab drops me off outside Glacier Park’s hole-in-the-wall police station, and I march toward the front desk like a woman on a mission.
And I am.
“I need to speak to Detective McCormack,” I tell the woman peering over the top of her glasses and trying to pretend like she isn’t minimizing her game of Spider Solitaire. “Immediately.”
She’s wearing red librarian frames, perhaps an attempt to be different or kitschy at a job that requires her to dress like everyone else. Her mouth forms a straight line. “I’m sorry. He’s not available. He’s out of the office. I can have you speak with Detective Bixby if you’d like.”
My lips turn down at the corners. “When will he be back?”
