Page 81 of The Followers

Scott glanced behind him, too. “We’re done here.”

“But wait, I still don’t understand...”

“What’s to understand?” he said, his voice rising. “Your friend has been lying to you since the day you met her. And yes,” he glared at Liv, “I know what I did. Believe me, I know. But I won’t allow you to ruin my daughter’s life.”

He grabbed Molly by the upper arm, his grip painful, and steered her out the door.

“Wait,” she said, trying to twist away. “I want to talk about this.”

But Scott marched her down the walk to the car, where Ella stared wide-eyed from the back seat.

“You’re hurting me,” Molly whispered to Scott, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t comprehend how had they gotten to this moment. Just an hour earlier they’d decided to go slowly, to move carefully. How had her husband changed from that quiet, thoughtful person to this angry man with an iron grip on her arm?

At least she hadn’t told Liv about the things she’d found in the Westfalia, the ones that linked Scott directly to the murder. At least she didn’t know that.

Although, Molly realized, she had no idea what Liv knew.

“Hang on,” she said to Scott. “I want to talk with her.”

Scott’s grip didn’t relax a millimeter. “Get in the car.”

forty-three

Something’s going on in your house tonight.

According to your normal work schedule, you should be off on a three-day river run. But instead, you’re home. Sitting in the backyard by yourself.

That’s strange. You’ve changed your schedule in the past—that time you took your wife away for the weekend—but you aren’t with her now. She’s upstairs in her office, but she’s not working.

She’s watching you. Silhouetted against the yellow glow of her window. I can’t see her expression, but she seems tense.

Something has happened between you. Your fault, I’m guessing, based on how much you’ve had to drink tonight. In all the time I’ve been watching you, I haven’t taken you for much of a drinker. What did you do to your poor, sweet wife, Sam?

Not that your marriage problems matter to me. Even if you’re drunk, tonight isn’t the right time for me to make my move. I’ve worked out a plan, but I need the conditions to be just right.

First: I need your wife alone, or with the younger girl.

Second: I need you, Sam, out of the house—but not on a river rafting trip. I need you fairly close by.

And third: I need your German Shepherd gone. That damn dog won’t let me get within fifty feet of your wife without waking up the entire neighborhood.

forty-four

When your world has changed, your only option is to change with it.

—An Invincible Summer: A Memoir

Liv opened her eyes to the sound of a knock on her front door.

Shit. She rolled over to glance at her phone—7:04 a.m. She’d overslept, unable to fall asleep after the confrontation with Scott and Molly. She kept seeing the look on Scott’s face—worse, on Molly’s—and worst of all, on Ella’s. The shocked confusion morphed into shocked betrayal.

Another knock at her front door made her bolt upright. Jeremiah. They were supposed to go on a run together.

“Liv?” His muffled voice carried from her front door.

She couldn’t face him, not today, so she picked up her phone and sent him a text, then sank back into bed:

Not feeling well.