His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

the new hotel, which seems to be only a few blocks from where I had dinner. The room is ninety-nine dollars tonight and tomorrow, and seventy-nine Sunday through Thursday. They charge me the full ninety-nine for tonight even though I just got here. But at least the place looks clean and safe, so I don’t negotiate. I pay cash for tonight and promise to give them a credit card to keep on file the next day, which Ellen, the lady behind the counter, accepts because it’s so late. And to be honest, I think my makeup is fading and she sees the black eye.

Sisterhood. She’s probably seen people check in late because they were running from something. I’m grateful for the second time that night and vow to get the prepaid credit cards first thing in the morning.

Thankfully, this place gives me a keycard instead of a metal key, and it has an elevator that takes me to the fifth floor. The top. The penthouse, I guess, even though I’m positive all the rooms are the same. Inside, the room is contemporary. Ugly carpet, but there are artsy pictures on the wall, not water stains like the last place. The bed looks big and comfortable with a white down duvet, and I can’t wait to sink into it.

It’s been a long day. I’ve only been away from Asshole for twenty-four hours.

I wonder if he’s caught on yet.

He doesn’t know the betrayal that’s about to fall upon him. The wave of accusation headed his way. I even gave my little evidence-planting buddy a burner phone to use for when I do call and text, so there is no proof that we’ve been in touch. I picture the Asshole, smug, assuming everyone is on his side.

They’re not.

He deserves every bit of the shitstorm that is about to come his way.

11

James

James’s best friend and civil litigator lawyer, Evan Soderberg, showed up at three p.m. and James walked him through the events of the day so far, starting with last night. Evan’s face crumpled when James told him the details of Tessa’s disappearance. He’d only met her a handful of times, but James knew he liked her.

Everyone liked Tessa. Even Evan’s parents. There was nothing not to like.

James grabbed two beers out of the refrigerator and set them down on the counter. At the kitchen table, Evan readjusted his glasses and let out a sigh. “I think you’re going to need a criminal defense attorney.”

“What?” James said. “I haven’t been charged with anything. I had nothing to do with this!”

If she ran, James knew why. But she wouldn’t run over something as silly as him “pointing” a gun at her.

Evan raised an eyebrow. “You know the husband is always the first suspect.”

“Suspect? They haven’t found a body, Evan. I don’t even want to think about that. Right now, she’s just—missing.”

“But there’s foul play involved. I’d bet my last paintbrush that they’re looking into you and everything about you.” Evan did watercolor paintings as a side hobby and took his brushes very seriously. “Interviewing everyone you know. Trying to build a case. You better be squeaky clean, bro.”

James knew what he meant, but was anyone squeaky clean? The doorbell rang again, Candy barked again, and James had already resigned to not answering the door. It was reporters. One after the other. All damn day. His exhilaration hearing the bell, thinking it was Solomon with information on Tessa, was replaced with him wanting to rip the damn thing out of the wall.

“You’ve got to help me prepare what to say.”

Evan took his glasses off and let them hit the glass table with a clank. He pinched the top of his nose, then rubbed his thick beard. “Just be honest.”

Easier said than done.

When five P.M. rolled around, James was showered and dressed and ready for the throngs of reporters outside his door. He wore tan slacks and a navy-blue V-neck sweater with a white collared shirt underneath. Respectable. An everyman. A loving husband with a missing wife.

He’d memorized his statement that Evan prepared, but still had it on a folded piece of paper in his hand. He didn’t want to reference it—it showed nervousness—but he needed it just in case he fumbled his words.

“You ready?” Evan asked.

With a deep breath, James opened his front door and immediately camera flashes went off in his face like an Alabama thunderstorm. People all talked at once, pointing microphones and cell phones and cameras toward him.

Evan stepped in front of him and put up his right hand, indicating he was about to speak.

“I’m Evan Soderberg, a close friend and attorney. I’ve advised my client to give a statement. There will be no questions answered.” He looked at James and nodded. “Go ahead.”

James had the speech in his left hand but didn’t open it. Instead, he cleared his throat and waited for silence. When he got it, he started.

“My name is James Montgomery. Yesterday, sometime before nine P.M., my wife, Tessa Smyth, went missing. I had an event with clients after work, and when I got home, there was broken glass in my kitchen and blood on the floor. Tessa’s personal belongings were still in the house. I immediately called the Valley Lake PD, who came to investigate with a forensics unit. So far, we have no idea of her whereabouts.”

He paused and people started shouting questions at him, which Evan told him to ignore, and then he continued.

“My wife Tessa is a beautiful person inside and out.” He produced his favorite wedding picture, the one of them staring into each other’s eyes and held it toward the cameras. “If anyone has seen her, please, contact the police department immediately. If anyone has her”—his voice cracked in his throat—“I’m begging you for her safe return. The Valley Lake PD has been nothing short of amazing, and I have full confidence in them to find out what happened to her, and I expect her safe return.”

They knew when his speech was over