Page 13 of The Couple's Secret
The sun was coming up as Josie let herself into her backyard. Once she had removed her Tyvek suit, the full effect of her stench had nearly knocked her off her feet, not to mention everyone around her. Hummel had joked that Noah might ask for a divorce once he got a whiff of her. Then Noah had shown up to relieve her and Gretchen and pretended to go along with Hummel’s suggestion. Josie had let her colleagues have a good laugh at her expense because after the night they’d had, they sorely needed it. Still, none of them had dived into the river and disturbed the thick, slimy film enveloping Tobias Lachlan’s sedan. She hadn’t gone home to change mostly because she had nothing to change into. Instead, she’d air-dried before slipping on her crime scene gear. Then she’d sweated for hours while hauling buckets of mud and remains before night fell and the air turned cold.
Now, she latched the fence behind her and started toward the back door, wondering if she’d be able to get the odor out of the upholstery in her car. A few shafts of sunlight slanted into the yard, landing directly on one of the large wooden sculptures lined up in what used to be a flowerbed. Josie paused to admire the way the morning light illuminated every small detail of the intricate carving. It was one of her favorites, a dragon. Dexter McMann had made his living as an artist, sculpting animals and mythical creatures out of cut tree trunks, although to Josie it always looked more like he’d simply set free what lay trapped beneath the bark. All of his creations were startlingly lifelike.
It had taken Josie a full month before she could come into the yard without feeling watched. After Dex’s death, his house had been sold. The proceeds were put into a trust for Wren. They could have sold his sculptures, but Wren had wanted to keep them. Every person Josie and Noah knew had balked at this idea. Their yard was a decent size, but it wasn’t huge. Plus, moving the ten pieces from Dex’s property to theirs had been costly and difficult, requiring heavy equipment and city permits. The sculptures took up nearly half the yard and Noah had had to put up wire fencing to keep Trout from relieving himself on them. All of it was worth it to see the look of joy and relief on Wren’s face when she came home from her new school and saw them out back.
Josie had no regrets.
“Oh wow, you stink.” Dressed in pajama pants and one of her dad’s old T-shirts, Wren sat at the outdoor table on their patio, knees drawn to her chest. She wrinkled her nose as Josie got closer. “I’m sorry. That was so rude. But… wow.”
Josie laughed and tried to run her fingers through her hair, but it was stiff and matted. “I’m aware.”
Wren studied her and Josie’s breath caught in her throat when she realized the girl’s guard was down—at least for a moment.
“I’m not trying to be mean, but did you fall into a dumpster or something?”
It was the most she’d said to Josie in weeks, and she could tell by Wren’s wide, curious gaze and her interested tone that she really wasn’t trying to be impolite.
“A dumpster might have smelled better,” Josie said, looking down at Noah’s long, wrinkled shirt, now streaked with dirt.
Wren laughed and Josie’s chest felt full, expanding with nervousness and a weird kind of hope. Was this progress, or had she just caught Wren at a weak moment? Josie mentally prepared herself for the inevitable shutdown.
“Hey, is that Noah’s shirt?”
“Uh, yeah.” This was the perfect opportunity to discuss the lip gloss massacre and yet, it would ruin this light moment between them. This glorious glimpse of what things could be like if Wren would just open up. Every fiber of Josie’s being screamed at her to forget about her ruined work attire and lean into this fleeting feeling that Wren might actually let her in one day.
But she couldn’t.
Dex hadn’t given her custody of Wren so she could silently stand on the sidelines hoping that one day the girl would like her. Josie didn’t know much about parenting, but she knew it shouldn’t look like that.
Why was doing the right thing always so damn uncomfortable?
“Wren,” said Josie, keeping her voice firm and even. “I had to wear Noah’s shirt because when I took my work clothes out of the dryer, they were all stained. You accidentally left your lip gloss inside a pair of your shorts in the washer from the last time you did your laundry. They got mixed in with my stuff when I switched my clothes to the dryer. Unfortunately, the shorts couldn’t be saved either. I can get you a new pair. Also, I—I’d appreciate it if, in the future, you could take a little extra time to check your pockets.”
Waiting for a response felt like cranking the arm on one of those jack-in-the-box toys and wondering if the stupid thing was going to pop out every time you made a complete rotation.
Wren bit her lower lip. Her eyes drifted down to the surface of the table where her closed sketchbook rested. She touched the pencil on top of it, rolling it under her fingertips. “Okay,” she said.
The tension in Josie’s shoulders loosened just a bit. “Great.”
“I’m really sorry,” Wren added.
“No need to apologize,” Josie said in a lighter tone. “It was an accident. Just be mindful of it in the future. That’s all.”
She was probably pressing her luck, asking to be punched in the face by the imaginary jack-in-the-box, but she forged ahead anyway. “Also, we need to talk about privacy. Did you go through my nightstand?”
Josie waited for a denial because that seemed like exactly what a teenager in this situation would do. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d interviewed or interrogated a teenage suspect who owned up to what they’d done—at least not the first five times they were asked. Instead, Wren remained silent. She picked up her pencil, squeezing it in her palm. Drawing her knees closer to her chest, she curled in on herself, ducking her face behind her knees.
“Wren?”
She tucked the pencil in the space between her legs and her torso, then picked up the sketchbook and did the same. This wasn’t just shutting down. This was something else altogether.
From the back door came Trout’s mournful whine. When neither of them walked over and opened the door right away, he began scratching frantically at the screen. It wasn’t his typical I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom scratching. He was upset. Needing to get to them. No, not to them. To Wren.
She was afraid.
Josie went to the door and let Trout out. Just as she suspected, he made a beeline for Wren, pacing around the legs of her chair, whimpering. When he jumped up, bracing one paw on the edge of the seat and hitting her with his other paw, she petted his head. It didn’t help. He’d always been uncannily in tune with Josie’s emotions, growing agitated or distraught at the smallest shift, often signaling her turmoil before it was ever noticeable to anyone else. Since Wren arrived, he’d bonded to her in the same way. With a small bark, he looked at Josie pointedly, as if to tell her to do something about this.
“Wren.” Josie softened her tone and pulled out the nearest chair. “You don’t have to— I just wanted to talk about the rules.”
