Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,88
he considered whether it was her brother or her sister-in-law, but he hadn’t pushed her and she had chosen instead to push something else.
Now, thin-lipped, fingers gripping the coffee mug too tightly, she nodded.
His voice automatically lowered to make certain Clary couldn’t hear him. “Does Brent have any financial problems?”
“No. His business is very successful.”
“Do he and Anne spend a lot of money?”
“No.”
“But they both love Clary.”
She nodded emphatically.
“How long have you known Anne?”
“About a year.”
“And Brent’s known her a few months longer?” He waited for her nod. “Where did they meet?”
Even thinking Brent or Anne could be the one haunting her made Macy’s stomach roil. Talking about them, sharing personal things, made her face sweat. “At the hospital. Anne’s sister was also a patient there. They’d bump into each other in the lobby, the restaurant, share their woes, and they fell in love.” Yes, the hospital had had a full-service restaurant rather than a cafeteria.
“Do you know her maiden name?”
“Jones. Anne Jones.”
For an instant, his eyes almost rolled. Macy knew what he was thinking: such a common name. Easy to hide behind, easy to remember if it wasn’t really yours, far too hard to easily follow up on.
Then he schooled his expression, giving no hint what he thought of that. “What hospital?”
“Claremont House. It’s in Columbia. The five-star resort of mental institutions.”
“So Anne comes from money, too.”
Feeling the hated fluttering in her chest, Macy took her cup and stood up to pace the small room. It was a nervous behavior that made other people look at her suspiciously, but activity helped her with control. “I don’t know. Either that or really good insurance.”
“How is her sister? When did she get out?”
“I—” Macy swallowed. “I don’t know. Anne never talks about her to me.” In fact, she’d never heard Anne mention family at all. It was as if once she’d married Brent, his family became hers and hers no longer existed. “I need to take my medication.”
Silently Stephen rose and got the bottle off the top of the refrigerator, well out of Clary’s and Scooter’s reach, handing it to her.
She swallowed one pill with coffee, then shoved the bottle into her shorts pocket. “You can’t really suspect...Anne’s like a sister to me, a mother to Clary. She would never do anything to hurt me. And Brent—it’s just not in his character. He could no more terrorize me than you could.”
He blocked her way, took the coffee, then put his arms around her. “I’m just trying to figure this out. Last night, when I opened the door and found you standing there, so scared and shaken... It’s got to stop, Mace. Whoever’s doing this has to stop.”
She wondered which would be worse: being scared all the time, or finding out it was Brent or Anne manipulating her fear. She’d had her heart broken twice before. She didn’t want to go through it again. She just wanted to be like everyone else in the world.
“You and Clary are welcome to stay here as long as you want, but I’ve got to get going.”
He offered her the house key on his key ring, but she numbly shook her head. “We’ll go home. Brent and Anne will worry—” She broke off, and her mouth tightened. “We’ll go home,” she repeated.
* * *
Stephen kissed them both goodbye on the porch, watched Macy load Clary and Scooter into the van, then walked to his car parked next to the house. After following them to their house, he drove out of the neighborhood and headed for the interstate that would take him to Augusta, then Columbia.
He’d spent most of the night on the internet and found countless sites that covered Mark Howard’s death, his public life and his not-so-public activities, plenty of mentions of Macy, a fair number of Brent and virtually nothing about Anne. Of course, not knowing her maiden name hadn’t made the search easier—wouldn’t have made it easier now that he knew. The most he’d located about her was a blog belonging to a friend of Brent’s who’d held a party to celebrate his and Anne’s marriage. His lovely new wife from Columbia was the extent of her mention.
He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d also checked Macy’s cell phone. She’d left it lying on the night table when they went to bed. He hadn’t looked at her phone book or call records. He’d simply scrolled through the pictures, hundreds of them, and forwarded two good shots of Brent and Anne to his own