Page 15 of The Vanishing Wife
“Can you give me the location?” A brightness infused the detective’s voice. Detective Moore most likely had that pad and pen she carried with her at the ready.
“Yes.” Elyse recalled the exact address from the piece of mail she’d pocketed this morning, the one she’d memorized over and over. “11103 Mobile Street. It’s a beach house. Tan siding, a big pool built into the deck.”
The more details she could convince the detective she could recall seemed the best route. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was overly familiar with the house at this point. Just not from her memories before the attack.
“There was a man. I still can’t picture his face.” That part was true. Neither her memories nor her surveillance of Samuel Thornton had given her much detail. “But I think he lives there. I think… I think he pushed me over the railing. That must be when I lost my phone.”
The high-pitched sound of water hitting tile cut short from the other room. Wesley had finished his shower faster than she’d estimated. She had to wrap this up or explain what she’d been doing behind her husband’s back. And there wasn’t anything for her to explain. Not yet.
“So you can’t be sure it was the homeowner who confronted you, as you told me yesterday morning?” the detective asked. “The man who was yelling at you?”
“I can’t imagine who else it might be.” The words left her mouth sharper than she’d intended. She wanted to be the cooperative witness, the victim that would help law enforcement get to the truth. Elyse moved into the hallway. She closed the door behind her to ensure Wesley couldn’t overhear, but there was no way he wouldn’t notice his phone missing from the dresser. It was essentially glued to his hand throughout the day other than during his morning swim laps, his afternoon showers, and their nightly sex. Movement registered from downstairs. Seemed Ava had finally gotten around to foraging for food.
“Okay. I appreciate the information.” The detective had lost that brightness in her voice. Did she not believe what Elyse had told her? Or did she just not care? “I will look into this as soon as I can and call you with an update. Can I reach you at this number?”
“No.” Panic raised her voice an octave. “I’ll just… I’ll meet you there.”
Detective Moore’s protests barely reached her ears as Elyse ended the call. Almost instantly, an incoming number registered on the screen, but she sent it to voicemail and hurriedly scrolled to the call log to clear out the evidence of their conversation. Noticing several outgoing calls to a repeated number. Each made between ten at night and four in the morning over the past few days.
While she’d been asleep.
Another vain attempt from Detective Moore filled the screen, and Elyse canceled the call a second time. She deleted the calls she’d made and received and slipped back into the bedroom to replace Wesley’s phone.
Just as he stepped from the bathroom, freshly shaven, smelling of his soap and shampoo. A small tug hooked into her stomach at the sight of him. Handsome as ever, even more so than when they’d first met. Because of the life experiences they’d shared together. The ups and downs. The bond they’d built. But that didn’t seem to be enough for him. “Were you talking to someone?”
“Just Ava. She finally decided to grace us with her presence.” She could ask him about the middle-of-the-night calls, but what would be the point? Detective Moore would be on her way to the beach house on Mobile Street, and Elyse intended to be there when she questioned the homeowner. “I’m going to stop by the library to grab the books they have on hold for me. Do you want me to pick anything up?”
“No. Thanks.” His dark gaze cut to his phone as the screen lit up. And in that moment he was gone. He grabbed it from the dresser. Already disconnected from the conversation.
“All right.” She headed for the door, but there was something in her chest that wouldn’t let go. Elyse turned, her hand on the doorknob. “I love you.”
There wasn’t an answer. Wesley was already engaged with a digital conversation she couldn’t compare to in importance. His inattention hurt—more than she wanted to admit—but she also knew it was part of him.
Elyse jogged down the stairs into the entryway and collected her purse.
“Where are you going?” Ava shuffled across the uneven floorboards with a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other. Her daughter had taken on all the characteristics Elyse loved about herself—the dark hair, the honey-brown eyes, and straight nose—and unfairly magnified them times a hundred. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”
“I’ll be back soon. Just headed to the library. Need anything?” Elyse didn’t have long to get to the beach house to meet Detective Moore.
“Gross. Nobody uses the library anymore, Mom.” Her daughter shuffled back down the hall toward the kitchen, the stained hems of her pajama pants dragging.
“What’s wrong with the library?” Elyse didn’t expect an answer, and she didn’t get one. Instead, she got behind the wheel of the SUV and navigated back to the Branyon Backcountry Trail. A spot opened just as she arrived. Right beside a Gulf Shores PD patrol car.
Detective Moore was already here.
Her jeans rubbed in all the wrong places as the humidity settled in, but she couldn’t afford to slow down either. Faster than she expected, the dunes came into sight. Elyse didn’t bother checking for cyclists or runners to notice she’d stepped off the trail. Two figures took shape in front of the beach house. This was it. This was when she’d get the truth.
Recognition flared as she closed in on Detective Moore. The man had yet to notice her until the investigator broke conversation. “Mrs. Portman, you aren’t supposed to be here.”
The homeowner—presumably Samuel Thornton—turned to face her. A deep crease divided the man’s forehead in half horizontally, putting him somewhere late thirties, early forties. Older than her. Ear-length blond hair curled at the ends. Almost flippantly, but Elyse had the feeling Samuel Thornton was anything but flippant. A full beard and worn smile lines added to his grunge appearance in a work shirt and jeans. “Who are you?”
The yelling at the back of her brain had started again. Hey! What are you doing here? You’re trespassing on my property. Pain thundered through her head. Right over her eyebrow, as though she were reliving it all over again. “That’s him. He’s the one who attacked me.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Thornton’s expression contorted with panic. Survival. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
Detective Moore set a hand on Elyse’s shoulder while turning to face the man at her back.
“I can prove it.” Elyse maneuvered free of the detective’s hold and bolted for the wood-slatted path leading beneath the house. She spotted the mound where she’d buried her broken phone and collapsed onto both knees. Then started digging.