Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,49

it and passed it to her. “Sorry. I didn’t see it there.”

She slipped the Tiffany bag to her good wrist and took the small black camera case from him.

His brow furrowed. “Is it okay?”

“I’m sure it is. The case is padded.”

“Phew! I’m here to fix stuff, not break it. I’ll just grab my tools and get to work.”

“Thanks.” Once he turned toward his truck, she looked at the camera in her hand. Dave had proven to be a virtual treasure trove. Her insides quivered with excitement. The camera had to be Hugh’s. He’d brought it when they’d gone to the horse races the week before last. Had it fallen from his pocket? Did he even know it was missing?

As much as she wanted to scroll through the pictures right there in the middle of the driveway, she needed to do this in private.

Once inside, she took Hugh’s camera and linked it to her laptop with the cord that had been tucked in the case. Download all items? it asked.

“But of course. I’d love to,” she said aloud as she clicked yes.

And just like that, his entire collection of photos started their voyage to her laptop. A dialogue box popped up, alerting her that thirty minutes remained. “No rush,” she said to the screen. “I have all day.” She opened a new tab and typed Patrick Sharp into the search bar. In seconds, she had his phone number and email address, and she typed them both into the notes section of her phone.

Of course Jonathan would find a way to wreak havoc on her home life. Bad things always came in threes. First her wrist, then Hugh, and now Jonathan selling her home. She wished a Wreck Center actually existed. Shattering something—or someone, for that matter—would be quite satisfying right now.

But she would be fine. It’s about being three steps ahead at all times, she thought. It was that simple. Nothing could break her. She was a survivor. Her dad had made damn sure of that. Tears made her vision blur, but she squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let them fall.

Sylvia’s knees rested on the stained blue corduroy sofa as she stared out the living room window counting cars, telling herself the fifth one would be her dad’s car. And then the tenth, the fifteenth . . . the thirtieth. But theirs wasn’t a busy street. The thirtieth car never came. And her dad’s dented blue Chevy never did either. She waited until the streetlights flickered on. Fear ate at her little body as she wondered what had happened.

She counted to fifty, just like he’d told her to. Usually when they played hide-and-seek, she counted only to twenty, but today, he’d said fifty was better. She skipped from her small room to the tiny family area, calling, “I’ll find you, Daddy!” after those fifty seconds. But he wasn’t in any of his usual hiding places.

After shouting for him, she cautiously stuck her head outside to look in the tiny garage. His car wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t supposed to leave the apartment, so why would he drive to a hiding spot?

She thought and thought. Her dad had to run errands a lot. Maybe someone had called him and needed him right away, and he’d left, forgetting all about the game. She decided that must’ve been what happened, so she crept onto the sofa to wait. When it started to get dark, her stomach ached with fear. She picked up the phone to call the number her mom had made her memorize after the divorce. It was the pager number she used at the hospital where she was a nurse. She wasn’t supposed to call it except in an emergency.

She tapped the buttons for her dad’s phone number followed by the tic-tac-toe sign, then hung up, just like she’d practiced, and climbed back onto the sofa. She pressed her hands and face to the glass, straining to see in the darkness. There were no neighbors to run to, because she didn’t know the neighbors. This wasn’t her home. It was the apartment her dad had moved into after the divorce. Her mom hated it. “It’s in a shitty part of town,” she’d said. The side of her mouth would twitch up in disgust, instantly injecting anxiety into Sylvia’s veins.

By the time her mom called back, Sylvia could speak only in sobs. Her mom said so many bad words, it made her cry even harder. She hadn’t meant to make her mom