on Dean’s business card and squint through the rain-smeared windshield. I scan the garage numbers as I roll by.
1A…1B…
Accelerating the Lexus slowly, listening to the scrape of wipers against glass, I count aloud until I reach 3B, Dean’s garage. The stall reserved for his Mustang is empty. Does he park inside the garage? Or is he gone? I hesitate for a moment. There’s only one way to find out.
Leaving the car idling, I cradle my stomach and step outside. I’m drenched in the seconds it takes to reach the covered carport. Fat raindrops smack against the roof and drown out the rumble of my car’s engine as I fumble for the handle on the bottom of the garage door.
Even though I doubt it’ll be unlocked, I give the knob a hard yank and gasp as it rolls up. I duck inside, peeling strands of wet hair from my cheeks and eyes. The space is empty and dark, the only light coming from the Lexus’s headlights. It reeks of oil. Cabinets on the back wall reach from floor to ceiling. A single lock threads through the handles. No car.
Dean’s not home.
Where could he be?
I can’t let Michael down now. I run back and climb into the warm interior of Joanna’s car. It smells strangely familiar tonight, the way her bedroom had when I’d first gone in, and I realize I never gave much thought to ghosts before.
But I believe in them now.
And I believe they can be exterminated.
When I get Michael out of jail, and we’re together with our baby, he’ll understand what lengths I went through to be with him. To give him the future he’s always wanted.
When this is over, I’ll overshadow Joanna completely.
After rummaging through my purse for my cell, I check the business card lying on the seat and dial Dean’s number. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Dean, this is Colleen,” I say, a tremor in my voice. “God, I don’t know what to do. They arrested Michael for Joanna’s murder, but I—I think I know how she was killed, and Michael didn’t do it. Can you meet me at Ravenwood in an hour? Please? I really need to talk to you in person. One hour, all right?”
And then, necessities in hand, I scurry into Dean’s garage before I lose the courage to follow through with this.
* * *
As I wait for Dean at Ravenwood, I put the kettle on the stove and think about what I’ve learned this past week. Michael’s lifestyle seemed so enticing from the outside—luxurious cars, a beautiful home, a successful business—but now, I couldn’t care less about how glamorous my life could be. Without Michael, those things aren’t worth the dirt that’ll cover Joanna’s grave.
Pulling two mugs from the cabinet, I watch for the headlights of Dean’s car to sweep across the windows. A part of me fears he won’t show, but I know what Dean cares most about—who he cares most about. Dean needs to keep everything perfectly on schedule and consistent: his sacred breakfast routine, his carefully prepared dishes. But he couldn’t place Joanna in the neat, orderly box of his life, especially when their affair didn’t go as he’d planned. So she paid for it.
Soon, everyone will know how vile Dean truly is, how deep his obsession with Joanna ran.
It’s time to prove he’s not only skilled with a knife, but with a shovel.
When lights beam into the kitchen, I take a shaky breath. I press the record button on my phone. This is what I have to do. Sliding my phone into my back pocket, I return to my position behind the counter and fill the two mugs with boiling water.
I hear his car door slam shut, and when I don’t see his form cross the window, I realize he’s planning on entering through the back, as he always does.
Moving fast, I drop a tea bag into each mug and then doctor them to