Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,83

we come up here, if you didn’t think there was a chance he was alive? You wanted proof, one way or the other, and now you have it.”

Abby couldn’t take it in, what Hank was saying.

“Look, you told me you didn’t stay at home all the time after the flood last April. You stayed with your mom or with your friend at her ranch. Your husband could have snuck back. He could have gotten his jacket. Maybe he got other stuff. You ever check?”

“Not really,” Abby said. She told him how she’d found a window open once, and, on a couple of other occasions, lights had been inexplicably turned on. “The last time I came home, the back door was ajar.”

Hank kept nodding, kept repeating, “It was him.”

Abby ignored Hank. “The jacket was in the closet in May,” she said, trying to sort it out. “I found it and I found this.” She dug into the inside pocket and pulled out Nick’s checkbook, waving it at Hank. “I hunted for this the other day. I needed a check to pay the plumber, and when it wasn’t there, in the closet, I thought I’d moved it myself.” Abby held the jacket away from her by its shoulders, staring at it as if it might offer an explanation. “Now it’s here and there’s no way it’s possible. No way,” she repeated.

Hank snorted. “Get a grip, woman! Don’t you see? Men do this shit all the time. They duck out on their old life, especially when it sucks the way your old man’s did. They fake their death, whatever it takes.”

“Nick’s life did not suck!”

“Hah! You’re the one who told me how down he was on himself, how he wasn’t acting right. Didn’t you say that? So he hooks up with Sondra at work, they get a thing going. Wouldn’t be the first time for her. Goddammit!”

“You honestly believe your wife and Nick have been together here, that they’re—”

“Fucking each other! You’re holding the fucking proof!” Hank stalked into the kitchen and out again. He returned to the window and leaned stiff-armed against the frame.

Abby dropped the jacket onto the sofa, dropped herself down beside it, dropped her face into her hands and tried to think. She had imagined it was the reporter, Nadine Betts, who was her intruder, and that had seemed preposterous, but to suppose it was Nick? That he had come home at some point between May and now and taken his jacket and possibly other belongings? How insane was it to believe that? Abby remembered her mother saying that when your mind is without an explanation, it will invent one. Is that what was happening? Were she and Hank inventing a story to suit facts that weren’t more than conjecture?

Abby uncovered her face. “You don’t think they’re here now, do you?”

“You see them anywhere? You see a car? Jesus Christ. They’re long gone. If they helped Sandoval rob that settlement fund, you can bet all three of them are out of the country by now.”

“What about Lindsey? Did they take her? Would they take her and leave Caitlin? You said Sondra was devoted to her. None of this makes any sense.”

“It makes perfect goddamn sense.”

Abby could see Hank had made up his mind.

“The cops were right about Sondra when they said she’d run off with some guy and made herself a new life. Your husband was the guy; he’s done the same thing. That jerk Sandoval, too.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Abby said, but now she felt uncertain. “We should call the police.” She looked around for her purse where she’d stowed her cell phone, and when she realized she’d left it in the car, she started for the door. “If it’s even remotely possible, what you’re saying—” Was it? “It means Lindsey is with them. She could be—Oh my God, Hank! She could be alive!”

Abby turned to him, feeling almost manic in her excitement, wanting to see his reaction. He met her gaze, but his expression was troubled, intense in a way that was unsettling. It was as if he didn’t see her.

“Hank?” she prompted.

He didn’t answer.

His breath was audible and the pulse she’d noticed earlier was jittering under the skin at the corner of his jaw again. She would think later she should have realized what was happening; she should have remembered what he told her about his temper. She might have remembered if he hadn’t turned away and rested his forehead against the window, if he hadn’t