over articles online, trying to find a mention of Josalyn, though Winnie wasn’t certain who to look for. A girl...? A homeless woman...? A prostitute...? She’d been all those things under Winnie’s care, but she’d also been something else—a very vulnerable, likable girl. There was nothing in the news or online about any of the above, nor did the news report a missing infant. A child no one knew existed had simply ceased to exist. She could have let it go, but her need to know what happened to Josalyn was consuming. Eventually she’d done the only thing she could—asked Nigel for help.
“Why can’t you leave it alone?”
“Don’t you want to know so we can be—”
“What, Winnie?” He had a look of disgust on his face. “Better prepared to lie our way out of it?”
She’d seen red then; it was like he wanted her to go to prison. “Well, yes, Nigel,” she’d snapped. “I don’t want to go to prison. Do you want me to go to prison?” She’d placed both hands on her belly, which had swollen to the size of a melon. He’d caved. Nigel had no intention of raising a baby alone. Together, they’d decided that Nigel would go to Mike, Shelly’s husband. Not only did Mike really like Nigel, he was of those “bros before hoes” types. If Nigel asked his cop brother-in-law to dig up some dirt on someone or look up police reports, he would. And if he asked him to keep it a secret, he’d do that, too—the more beers Nigel was able to get in him the better.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” she said firmly, masking her fear with her deep disdain for this woman who’d shown up on her doorstep to start a war.
“Of course you don’t.” Terry Russel smiled bitterly. “But I have it right here if you need to see it.” She pulled a piece of folded paper from the side pocket of her handbag and held it out to Winnie. She stared down at the white square in horror. She had no intention of touching that thing. She shook her head, not taking her eyes from the woman’s face. She didn’t have to read it; she knew exactly what it said. How could this woman have it? And she didn’t want Terry Russel thinking she was entertaining the garbage coming out of her mouth either. But it’s not garbage is it, Winnie? said a voice from deep inside her.
She tried again. “I need you to leave right now.” If the woman didn’t get out of her home in twenty seconds, she was going to remove her herself. But Terry Russel looked as if her own spool of sanity was unraveling. Winnie had seen that look plenty—often in the mirror. With a sinking feeling in her belly, she realized that she wasn’t going to get rid of Terry Russel that easily.
Terry, seeing something waver in Winnie’s eyes, pulled back her upper lip and said from between her teeth, “Where is my daughter’s baby? Where is Josalyn’s son?”
Winnie’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t have said a word if she’d wanted to. Was this woman saying—did this woman think—she was still trying to piece together what was happening, that there was a stranger in her house accusing her loudly of something as her son was doing his homework upstairs. Samuel. Terry thought that Samuel—
“You took my daughter’s child!” Terry Russel wasn’t shouting, but her voice was so cold she didn’t have to.
“He’s...not her son!” Winnie gasped. “You crazy old bitch. Get out of my house!”
She hadn’t called anyone a bitch since she was eighteen, and then it had been because her best friend had slept with her boyfriend. It flew out of her mouth with enough venom to stop Terry Russel in her kitten-heeled tracks. But then—oddly—Terry’s head pivoted right, like she’d seen something outside the open door. Winnie thought that she was imagining the whites of Terry’s eyes growing larger with each passing second, but then the woman’s mouth opened and she let out a little gurgle of surprise.
And then it happened: the scene shifted, and the villains rearranged themselves into a new order. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than ten seconds to play out, but to Winnie, everything happened excruciatingly slowly.
A noise preceded her husband, a guttural, wet moaning that raised the hairs on Winnie’s neck. He moved into view in slow, laborious steps, like he was pulling something behind him. Winnie saw his brow,