The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,92
smell, coffee. A fresh smell. No perfume, no lipstick on the collar. Nothing in the pockets.
There’s probably a simple explanation. Maybe he met with a potential client he wanted to impress. Didn’t say anything to me because the client hasn’t decided yet, or worse, decided to go with someone else.
My fists clench, balling up the fabric, my right wrist giving a twinge of pain. All I have to do is ask him who the meeting was with, but I’m afraid he might not answer the way I want him to and it’ll turn into another argument. I’ll unleash all my frustration and anger about the Chevy, the person in our house, the person who wants to hurt me, on him, and I won’t be able to take it back. I feel it all, a huge weight atop me, a mound of dirt, pressing me down. I’ll say things I’ll regret. Or I’ll say something I should keep to myself. I shake out the jacket and return it to its hanger, making sure it’s in the same spot it was before, then move to my side of the closet.
My Jeep looks even worse in the daylight. I follow the speed limit, checking my mirrors frequently, eyeing every grayish-blue car, hands like vice grips on the wheel. No cars follow me or get too close, but I drive a wide circle through the neighborhood around Silverstone before pulling into the lot and I practically run to the door. They sky is still overcast, but there’s a brightness at the edges hinting at a clearing in the near future.
Nicole’s office door is shut, thankfully, and I’m unlocking mine when my phone rings. Alexa. My mouth goes dry. I think about letting it go to voice mail, but not answering will look more suspicious.
In lieu of a polite greeting, she says, “Did you see the news about Lauren?”
No point in pretending. “Yes, I saw it. Regardless of what she did, it’s awful.”
She makes a sound I can’t decipher. I lock the door behind me and set my bag on the floor beside my desk.
Another sound, this one her throat clearing. “What were you doing at my office?”
I steady myself with a palm on the wall. A three-second blink. “I stopped in to see you, that’s all.”
“While I’m in Florida.”
“I know, I completely forgot,” I say. I try to make my words convincing, but I’ve a suspicion I fail. This is Alexa, after all.
“It’s a little strange, don’t you think? Your visit and then Lauren dies?”
My knees feel like marshmallow and I stumble to my chair. She can’t possibly think I had something to do with it. She knows me. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything, hopefully, only that the timing seems strange. Strange, too, Corinne finding one of my filing cabinets unlocked.”
“Alexa,” I say. “How would I unlock your cabinet?”
Silence on the other end. If she knows about the lock defect, my comment is a moot point, but either she doesn’t know or doesn’t want to say it aloud.
The anxiety I’m feeling gives way to a rush of hot anger heavily laced with guilt. “If you want to know if I hurt Lauren, why not just ask?” I say, unable to keep out my emotions. “Here, let me state it for the record. I. Did. Not. Hurt. Her.”
“Heather—”
“No,” I snap. “That’s what you wanted to know, so now you do. And if that’s all you wanted, I have to get ready for my patients.”
As soon as she says a weary goodbye, I disconnect the call. Is she going to contact the police? Is Corinne? If either one mentions the unlocked cabinet, the cops might decide I’m a serious suspect. And if they contact me, what will I say? My fingers dig into the chair’s arms. I’ll tell the fucking truth. I did not kill her.
No, only her daughter.
I cover my mouth to hold in a broken laugh that turns into a wheezing sort of cough. When I get myself under control, my wrist is aching again and it’s nearly time for my morning session. I swallow two Advil, grab a notebook and pen, and hightail it to the session room. It’s way too warm, and while everyone gets settled in their chairs, I adjust the temperature. Samantha’s sitting next to Abby again, with Hannah, the oldest in the group, on her other side.
“Today we’re going to talk about changes,” I say, balancing my notebook on my knees. “Specifically the changes you’ll need to