The bad feeling in the pit of David’s stomach was getting worse. There weren’t a lot of guys who had that kind of piercing. “Did you confront her?”
“When I said Bishop’s name, the blood rushed out of her face, and she wouldn’t look at me anymore. She’d been downright hostile just a second before, ready to fight, but at that point she grabbed Jeremy and ran out of here.”
David wanted to continue denying that Lynnette was capable of any such thing. But love triangles created strong emotions, which sometimes led to unconscionable actions. He’d seen it too many times. Was he caught up in the same kind of thing that had caused that woman astronaut to drive across the country to kill her rival? No one had expected that from her, either.
“We tied Bishop to Noah,” he said.
Skye shook her head. “That was a loose connection at best, certainly nothing incriminating.”
He couldn’t argue. She was right. And Lynnette had known about Oliver Burke getting out of prison. She was also privy to information about the original case, at least all the stuff he could talk about. No one would better understand how that threatening call and a note signed “O.B.” would send David scrambling to pin it on Oliver. Lynnette had been setting him up to believe it was Oliver so that when Skye died, he’d automatically take the investigation in that direction. It was smart.
And evil…
“Does she have access to your contact records?” Skye asked.
Of course. He’d lived with Lynnette on and off over the past three years. She could easily have gotten Skye’s telephone number and address from his phone. He charged it on the nightstand when he slept. She could’ve gone through it while he was in the shower, eating, on the home phone. The opportunities would’ve been endless….
Slumping into a chair, he kneaded his forehead with one hand. Lynnette’s complicity made too much sense to disbelieve it. But he was praying, for Jeremy’s sake, that there was another explanation.
He didn’t want to go after his ex-wife for attempted murder. But if she’d done what Skye thought she had, he’d have no choice.
When Jane opened her eyes, she was relieved to see that Kate was still sleeping. The run-down motel room smelled of mold and who knew what else—considering the women hanging around when they’d arrived last night, Jane didn’t even want to contemplate the origin of those smells—but at least the place provided a roof over their heads while she tried to figure out what to do next. She’d managed to slip out of her in-laws’ place with Kate before anyone realized it, but now that she was facing a new day, she was beginning to doubt the perceptions and panic that had led her here.
She’d gone to Safeway and used her credit card to purchase a few necessities, then she’d stopped at the bank and gotten a six-hundred-dollar cash advance, which put her at her limit.
Six hundred dollars wouldn’t get her very far. And she was beginning to wonder about the fairness of her actions. Now Oliver would have no money. She wasn’t sure he deserved any. She’d been the one to earn it. But he’d earned all their money before, and she’d been perfectly happy to spend it. If, by chance, she was wrong, if he was as innocent as he claimed, she’d just left him without wife, daughter or money, which would make it that much more difficult for him to get back on his feet.
Was she being too hard on him? There were moments it certainly felt that way. Especially when she focused on her own shortcomings. She’d cheated on him, after all. With his own brother. Maybe she was trying to shrug off her own guilt by imagining something much worse in him. Confused and hurt as she was by what Noah had done, she supposed that was plausible.
She had no proof that Oliver was a murderer. She’d found nothing incriminating when she’d searched the house. Sure, she had his notebook. But she’d known about it long before she’d decided to run. Oliver had always kept a journal, and he’d always written in the same code he was using for this one. As a very private person, he liked knowing no one would be able to read his words, but that didn’t mean he was guilty of what Detective Willis believed. He was very sensitive. Writing things down helped him deal with his emotions. And it wasn’t even all that weird that he’d keep a picture of Skye Kellerman. They both hated her, didn’t they? They were both furious about her ability to spin the situation to her advantage.
Had she misjudged Oliver? Noah seemed to think so.
Jane had to cover her mouth to stifle a sob at the thought of how Noah had treated her. He should’ve told her what he intended to do. Instead, he’d made a terrible, hurtful mess of everything.
But she wasn’t handling things so well, either. Perhaps he was doing the best he could, just like her. She was acting a little crazy. She’d been in an emotional tailspin ever since she’d learned that Oliver was getting out of prison.
Could she trust her own head? Her own emotions?
Oliver had acted oddly, distant, when they’d made love, but he hadn’t been brutal or violent. Not exactly. Of course, she told herself, being with him would feel strange after three years. Maybe she’d bailed out before giving their post-prison marriage a chance. They used to have something special, a good relationship, a strong family, the American Dream. He wanted to rebuild all that. Didn’t she?
She studied the water damage that stained one corner of the ceiling. Or did she prefer this?
“Before Skye, everything was fine,” she murmured. After Skye, there’d been nothing but grief. That meant it was Skye and not Oliver, right?
Noah thought so. So did Betty and Maurice. And those were the people she’d always been able to trust. Even now their words echoed in her mind: You’re acting crazy…. He’s innocent….
The back-and-forth argument was giving her a headache. She wanted to get up and pace, but she didn’t move for fear she’d wake Kate and have her daughter’s questions to answer in addition to her own. She had no idea what they were going to do, where they should go, whom they could trust.
She had to do something, though. They couldn’t stay here forever. It was already close to eleven. Checkout was at noon.
Moving as quietly as possible, she crept out of bed, pulled her address book from her purse and scanned the contents. She must know someone who could put her up for a few days while she figured out what to do. Didn’t she?
No, she realized with a depressed slump of her shoulders, not really. Most of the people listed in that book were friends from before. Jane wasn’t even sure why she still had their contact information. To prove she’d once had ties with the rich and influential? Probably, because the only person she felt safe enough to call was someone she’d met last year, someone who didn’t have any more resources than she did. Danielle.