My Lovely Wife

The card is what she used to make all those paper cuts. I am as sure of this as I have been about anything.

* * *

• • •

Hidden Oaks is not an easy place to hide. People notice new cars, especially the ones that just show up and park. They do not notice runners or walkers. People are always starting and stopping exercise programs, so on any given day there could be ten people out or none. A few are always out, like Millicent, but most come and go.

With the same baseball cap, more facial hair, baggy sweatpants, and a big T-shirt—thanks to Kekona, who owns an extraordinary amount of oversize clothing—I leave out the back door of her house, jump the fence, and jog out to the road.

It has been only a week since I disappeared, and the press is still everywhere. It would be impossible for Millicent and the kids to live normal lives right now. She can’t go to work and the kids can’t go to school, but I want to know if Millicent ever leaves the house. It would be a lot easier to get that emergency card if she takes the car out of the garage and parks it somewhere I can access.

Just about anything can go wrong with this idea. Maybe she has thoroughly cleaned that card, so there’s no DNA on it at all—not from her or any of the women. Or maybe she got rid of it, threw it away or burned it up.

For my sake, I hope not.

I may not know everything she does, or everything she has done, but I know who she is on the inside. She keeps that card to remind her of us. And to remind herself of what she did to those women. Millicent enjoys it. I know that now.

Will the police believe me if I bring them that card? If it has DNA from one or more of the dead women and from Millicent, but not mine? Probably not.

Will they believe me if I also tell them about the building Millicent bought with three LLCs, about Denise and Owen’s sister, and if I showed them my schedule when all of these women disappeared? I was always home. And I have no idea what the kids will say about those nights.

No, they wouldn’t believe me. With my DNA in the basement and multiple people identifying me as Tobias, not to mention Millicent’s performance, they won’t believe I’m innocent for a second. But they might believe Millicent and I killed those women together, which would keep my children safe.

It’s the only chance I have. Not just to save myself but to put her where she belongs. In jail or in hell—either one works for me, as long as it is nowhere near my children.

I jog down the block parallel to my house, watching for Millicent’s car through the paths between the houses. On my second pass, I jog down the street she would turn on to go toward the school.

As expected, I never see her car.

Throughout the day, I check back but never see her leave. I just can’t be sure. It would be so much easier if I had left the tracker on her car. Still, I try, because I have to. Jogging and walking have become my new hobby. Too bad I couldn’t adopt that dog at the shelter. It would be handy to have one right now.

I call Andy. He sounds surprised to hear from me. Maybe surprised I am alive.

“I just have a question,” I say.

“Hit me.”

I ask if Millicent ever leaves the house. “I assume she isn’t even going to work,” I say.

He hesitates before answering. “I don’t think so. Neighbors have been bringing food by every day. It’s all over the place. I think they’re hunkered down, avoiding the media.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Why?” he says.

“Doesn’t matter. Thanks again. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

He clears his throat.

“What?” I say.

“I have to ask you not to call again.” When I say nothing, he keeps talking. “It’s the DNA. This whole thing has just become so much bigger than—”

“I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

“I do believe you,” he says. “I just can’t keep—”

“I know. I won’t call again.”

He hangs up.

The only surprise is that he stayed by me as long as he did. I didn’t deserve his friendship. Not after Trista.

The sun has started to set, and I decide to make one last pass by the house before trying to go in. All I have to do is get into the garage, to her car, but it has to be after Millicent is asleep.

And I have keys.

* * *

• • •

Fifteen minutes later, I pass by on the parallel block and look for anything unusual. Like an unmarked police car because they are waiting for me to do exactly what I am about to do. Nothing. No unusual cars, no work trucks. There is nothing I don’t recognize in the neighborhood. Except me, the bearded guy who jogs too much. It’s surprising no one has stopped me yet.

I head back to Kekona’s using different streets. It’s the long way, but I used the short way earlier. By the time I make it to the edge of the circular drive up to her house, I stop dead.

A town car is in front.

The driver pulls a suitcase out of the trunk.

I hear her voice. Kekona is home.

Seventy

She’ll know. They will all know.

It will take Kekona seconds to realize someone has been staying in her house. The police will know it is me within another few seconds. My car is in the garage. My fingerprints are everywhere. So is my DNA, and Millicent’s tablet is right on the kitchen table.

Oh, and my wallet. I did not take it with me on the jog. It’s also on the kitchen table.

I go back the way I came and jog all the way out to the least expensive houses in the Oaks. Here, there is a small greenspace, away from the children’s park, where I stop near a group of trees and pretend to stretch.

I’ve got nowhere to go. No Andy to call or phone to call him with. No money, no friends, and almost a total lack of hope. But I do have keys. They are the only thing in my pocket.

Tonight was going to be the night anyway, the night I go into the garage to get the emergency card. In that respect, nothing has changed. What has changed is that I need a place to hide until Millicent is asleep.

My first thought is the club. Plenty of small rooms and closets to hang out in until well after dark. Getting in and out is the problem. Too many cameras.

The golf course is empty at night, but it’s filled with wide-open spaces visible from the road.

I’ll never find an unlocked car, not in Hidden Oaks. Here, everyone has modern, expensive cars, the kind with computers that do everything, including lock the doors.

For a moment, I consider hiding under a car. I’m just afraid someone will get in and start it.

In the distance, sirens. They are coming this way, but not to me. To Kekona’s.

My options are dwindling, and I have to move. I can’t just stay in this little greenspace forever. Not unless I bury myself.

I even consider hiding in my own backyard. And then, I do.

* * *

• • •

Everything looks different from above. The neighborhood, the cars, the sky. My house. My kitchen, where the light is on.

Millicent.

She is the one who convinced me to climb a tree. It was not something I thought I would do again, but here I am, hidden within the big oak tree at the back of our yard. Far enough from the house that no one heard the leaves rustling as I climbed up it.