Marshall pushed my phone toward me, gentle and encouraging. He wanted me to stop waiting. He wanted me to answer my husband. His grave expression told me that soon, in hours or minutes, I would have to open up my blinds and let the truth in.

“Bree,” he began, but I turned away. Refused to look at him.

That was when the calypso ringtone started playing with thin, metallic urgency, rattling the cheap phone. It was the sweetest song I’d ever heard.

10

Gabrielle startled, staring at the phone with wide, haunted eyes. I felt blinding hope and terror, both so strong that they threatened to crush me between them.

Marshall was suddenly right beside me, his deep blue eyes blazing, energized. “Keep her talking.”

“Why? We can’t trace it,” Gabrielle said. “We need the cops! I told you!”

“Hush,” I ordered them both, dropping to my knees beside the coffee table.

“Any information could help us,” Marshall said, so fast that the words almost ran together. He was pulling out his own iPhone. He poked at it, then set it next to the chiming burner phone. I could see it was recording.

I nodded, then hit the button to put the phone on speaker.

“Hello?” My voice cracked, so that the greeting was hardly recognizable. “Hello?”

I could hear her breathing. That was all. Just her. No baby sounds.

“I wasn’t going to call,” she said.

“I know.” I felt as if I were a glass vase that had already shattered, and yet all my pieces were still stacked onto each other into my usual shape. The lightest touch and I would fall into a million jangling shards. “But you did. You did call, and I’m so grateful.”

Her voice turned a little grudging. “He’s a good baby.”

She used the present tense, as if Robert were right there with her. Hope squeezed my ribs shut tight, until it was hard for me to breathe. Until it was hard for my heart to keep on beating.

“He is. He is a very good baby.”

I still could not hear him, though. I strained, listening. The silence wasn’t really silence. It was white noise, tinny and airy, same as on our last call. If I had to guess, I would say she had not moved again. Marshall ducked his chin at me, encouraging. He had a little notebook and a pencil in his hands. I hadn’t noticed him get those things. Maybe he’d had them with him the whole time, tucked away in his inside jacket pocket, as if he were still a cop.

“What was really in those capsules?” I asked. “Because I know it wasn’t roofies.”

“Hmm,” she said, her thoughtful noise. “Cyanide, mostly. Or something close to it. I’m not a chemist.” Her voice took on a hungry tone. “I take it you saw what happened? To Mr. Shaw?”