I watched Marcy walk by the window at the side of my door. A slow walk. I got up and lowered the blinds. In doing so, I noticed that my hands were trembling. I looked at the man who’d planted himself in the chair in my office like he was a suicide bomber and he was about to detonate both of us.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“Once I found Connor Moss at the Blue Door, it was two clicks of a mouse to unearth that he’s married to you. You’re all over the Internet, Mrs. Moss. Seriously, though, a busboy?”

My hands were still shaking, so I hid them under my desk.

“He’s the headwaiter,” I said, again defending Connor.

Adam rolled his eyes.

“I know my husband had an affair,” I told him. “It was a while ago. It’s over. I’m sorry that you came to see me about something that is already handled. I’m sorry for any part Connor played in your marriage, but it’s done.”

He let a beat of silence fill the air as he walked over to the window to look out at the view.

“Her name is Aubrey,” he said, without looking at me.

“That’s nice, but I don’t have any quarrel with Mrs. Warner. I hope you can work things out and get on with your life.”

He turned to face me. “Aubrey is your husband’s daughter’s name.”

And there it was. The end of everything I thought the world and life with Connor could be.

Aubrey was Connor’s daughter’s name.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

LEE

It’s almost one a.m. on the last day of June when my phone pulses on the nightstand next to me. I reach over Millicent, who somehow always manages to sleep next to my face. The name on the screen hits me like a jolt of caffeine from the bottom of a church-basement percolator. I think only a beat about whether I should pick up or not.

“Adam?” I ask in a whisper voice.

Silence.

I repeat his name.

Finally a response.

“Kind of late to call,” he says.

“You shouldn’t call me,” I tell him as my feet find the floor.

“I guess not,” he says.

I wait for more, but there’s silence once more on the line. Is he drunk? I wonder.

“The investigation is open,” I say, filling the empty space. “That means everything you say could become part of the case.”

“Yeah,” he finally says, “I guess so.”

“Have you been drinking, Adam?”

“Little bit.”

His words are slurred and “guess so” comes at me like a single word. I suspect his drinking was more than a “little bit.”

“I think you should hang up,” I tell him.

“I’m not calling about Sophie,” he says.

I don’t know where this is going, but his words come at me like a warning.