Chapter Fifty-Three
FIFTY-THREE
Nicole
Woody wasn’t in bed when Nicole woke up early Wednesday morning, but this time, there was a note.
Didn’t want to wake you. Meeting Maureen at her place for breakfast. Back soon.
It was, Nicole realized, the first time Woody and Maureen would share a meal together without her.
She hoped to God it would bear fruit. The previous day, Nicole’s sister had stayed with her in the hospital until she was discharged.
After stopping at Kinney Drugs for painkillers, Maureen had driven her home.
“What you’re going through,” she’d said in the car, “I get it in a way most people don’t.
This is my world, Nic. I can help you understand what’s happening to Woody. Let me be your guide.”
What I really need, Nicole had thought, is a fucking time machine.
The girls had been waiting at home when they arrived, which had left Nicole and Mac no choice but to explain the assault.
Then came Woody, his eyes puffed and red, and that was that.
Secrets weren’t an option anymore. Nicole, Maureen, and Woody told them everything, and the look on their faces had been gutting.
There had been questions, mostly from Alana.
Blair, for her part, was dry-eyed and disturbingly quiet.
Nicole didn’t know what to say. She still couldn’t believe the situation was real, but there was no denying one penetrating truth.
Nicole had become a target, and she feared that had everything to do with Woody.
As she watched her girls, she swore she’d find a way to stop the carnage.
Destroy the threat and repair the mistakes that had sent them down this nightmarish path.
Maureen’s quiet strength had helped to quell the girls’ anxiety.
She’d explained about the investigation, and coached them on how to get through it.
“Whatever happens,” Maureen had said, “this won’t last forever.
It’s going to be awful, but I promise you we’ll survive.
” All the while, the pressure of Nicole’s uncertainty over what was coming next squeezed her chest like a fist.
Pizza, for the second time in as many days, had provided some distraction, after which the girls had gone to their rooms under the guise of doing homework.
Nicole couldn’t bring herself to think about what was really happening behind those closed doors.
Who they might be talking to about the situation.
Whether they were afraid. When Nicole hugged her sister at the door, the exhaustion and trauma of the day nearly blinding, she’d felt pierced through with guilt.
Maureen had been right: they needed help, and had for a long time.
Should Nicole find Woody a lawyer? Write a statement for the press?
There was so much they didn’t understand about the situation they’d been thrust into.
“Of course I’ll help,” Maureen had said. “I’m always here for you, you know that. We’ll start first thing tomorrow. For now, just get a good night’s rest.”
Part of Nicole wished she’d gone to Watertown with Woody so she could hear what Maureen had to say post-interview, but her face burned and throbbed where an anonymous man had bounced it off a wall, and she wasn’t sure she possessed the courage to learn where things stood with the case.
There was no one around when she dragged herself downstairs to make coffee, though the door that led to the garage was cracked, a cool draft chilling her bare feet.
Those fucking boxes. She wanted to burn them all to ash and leave the useless crap inside scorched and twisted beyond repair.
At the same time, in the wake of the beating and Woody’s interrogation, the issue of the counterfeit goods felt small, akin to a mosquito buzzing near her ear while she bled out from a bullet wound.
Nicole pulled the door closed with a click and filled the machine’s tank.
As she waited for the pot to brew, she shook three painkillers from the bottle on the counter and chased them with tap water from the same bottle-green Coke glass she’d used on Saturday night.
When Woody had swiped it for her, he’d tucked the big, sticky thing in his pocket, later whipping it out like a magician’s rabbit in the diner parking lot.
She’d chided him for stealing, but he’d done it out of love.
That was Woody’s north star, the light that guided him in every decision he made for his family.
Over twenty-three years of marriage, he’d gotten almost all of them right.
Through the kitchen window, Nicole saw Stacy’s car pull into her driveway.
The doorbell had stopped working ages ago, which hardly mattered.
If anyone wanted to visit, they’d either knock or walk right in.
Stacy did neither. On the stoop, she stood motionless, a stoic figure separated from Nicole by a thin pane of glass.
When she opened the door, Stacy’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes roved over Nicole’s swollen face. “Jesus, Nic, are you OK?”
“I’ve been better.”
Stacy pulled her into a careful hug. “Blair texted me this morning. I told her not to worry about coming in today.”
Nicole had almost forgotten about the internship. She’d heard Blair leave earlier than usual, but hadn’t given her destin-ation a second thought. “Maybe Nash skipped today too,” she said now, thinking good. Blair needed to get her mind off of her parents’ mess.
Studying her face once more, Stacy said, “This is insane. Who did this to you?”
“I don’t know. I was attacked from behind. I’m pretty sure it was a man, but beyond that …” She shrugged.
“Fucking men.” Stacy steered Nicole to the couch. “Can I get you some water? A coffee?”
“I was just making some. Should be almost ready.”
“I’ve got you. Stay right there.” Stacy set her purse and phone on the coffee table, and made her way to the kitchen.
From the couch, Nicole watched Stacy pull out mugs from the cupboard. Seeing her there in her stylish work clothes, juxtaposed with the shabby wooden cabinets and stained countertop, flooded Nicole with shame.
From the fridge where she was searching for creamer, Stacy called, “Do the police have any leads?”
“I don’t think so. The home I was cleaning doesn’t have a video doorbell, and the house is on a dead-end road.”
“I just don’t understand,” she said. Nicole could hear the blessed sound of coffee splashing into a cup. “Why would someone want to do this to you?”
In the empty living room, just loud enough for Stacy to hear it, Nicole said, “I think I might know.”
There had been so many moments when Nicole had almost opened up and confessed to Stacy, denuding every facet of her marriage, Mikko, their savings, and the Rivermouth deal.
Stacy would find out eventually, wouldn’t she?
If it went the way Woody hoped, they’d have more money than they’d know what to do with.
Alana would go to a private college, and Blair could transfer to one of her dream schools.
Woody would want to upgrade to a newer, bigger boat, and they’d fix up the house.
Do all the things they’d been hoping to do if, by some miracle, a bag of money ever fell in their laps. Stacy would surely clue in.
The same was true if things went sideways.
If the money they’d invested didn’t start coming back to them soon, then in September, Blair would be working at the pizza place or nannying for a local mom while all her friends experienced their freshman year of college.
Nicole and Woody would have to sell the house, for which they’d get very little.
She didn’t like to think about what would happen after that.
To share all of this, though, Nicole would first need to reveal that they’d failed to provide the girls with the future they deserved.
Nicole hadn’t known Stacy for very long, but in many ways, she looked up to her.
Stacy was several years younger, but she had a good job and a great life with Caleb.
Once a year, she took him somewhere warm for a vacation, Myrtle Beach or Orlando or even the Bahamas.
Nicole had heard her complain about money, but she seemed to have enough, and she’d gotten it all on her own.
Over the past few days, Nicole had thought a lot about trust. It wasn’t a one-sided affair. She wanted to be in safe hands with Stacy. Make their friendship pure and true. To do that, she needed to be honest.
And so, when Stacy returned with the coffees, Nicole told her everything.
“I’ve heard about that project.” Stacy had been eerily calm while Nicole was talking, drinking in every detail with wide, whetted eyes. “It was in the news last year. You’ve been hiding it all this time? Why didn’t you tell me Woody was involved? You know you can talk to me about anything.”
“I know,” said Nicole with a faint smile. She took a sip of her coffee, which had grown lukewarm in her hands. “Honestly, I was hoping to get out of the deal before anyone found out. It was between me and Woody. At least, it was supposed to be.”
“Well, I’m with you on that,” she said. “You do need to get out. You’re telling me Woody signed the contract in September? That’s ages ago. I drive by the Rivermouth all the time and Nic, it’s a ghost town, no sign of progress at all. That’s not how these projects are supposed to work.”
“Believe me,” she said, “I’ve tried. Woody wouldn’t listen when I told him I didn’t trust Mikko—and cleaning his house? I did that so I could look for evidence that he isn’t legit, like some kind of second-rate spy.”
“I take it you didn’t find anything.”
“Just a woman hiding in his ceiling.”
Stacy choked back a laugh. “And the attack.” She nodded at Nicole’s bloated face. “You think that has something to do with all this?”
“I think it must. Nothing was taken from the house,” Nicole explained.
“My purse was sitting in plain view in the kitchen, but my wallet and car keys didn’t get snatched.
I know that house well, and I didn’t notice anything missing.
Why else would someone follow me in there—now, during this murder investigation?
It has to be connected to the business deal somehow. ”
“It does feel like a warning,” said Stacy. “You don’t think it could actually be Mikko, do you? Like maybe he found out you’re trying to expose him and he wants you to back off?”
“I thought of that, but I’m sure it wasn’t him.”
“So maybe he hired someone to rough you up. He’s got the money.”
“You’ve never liked him, have you?” said Nicole.
Stacy leaned back against the sofa. “He’s kind of smug, right? Full of himself? I get that he was a famous athlete, but he’s not anymore. There’s no humility there, though. No depth, you know?”
“If that’s how you feel about him,” said Nicole, “then why did you go to his party?”
Since talking to Woody after his interview the previous day, Stacy’s presence at Mikko’s house had been on Nicole’s mind. What she’d seen there had impacted the Durham family’s life in so many ways, and not for the better.
“He invited me,” Stacy said with a shrug. “I’d just sold the guy his house. It felt rude to say no. Got any cookies? I’m craving something sweet.”
From the living room, Nicole watched her friend spring to her feet and return to the kitchen.
“Do you really think Mikko could be behind this?” asked Nicole. “You know him better than I do.”
“I could definitely see him paying someone,” Stacy said as she rummaged through the pantry. “Famous people always hire out their dirty work.”
The comment, delivered to the person who’d done his dirtiest work of all, stung, but if Stacy realized it, she didn’t let on. Nicole was about to tell Stacy the police were interested in her when, on the coffee table, her friend’s phone buzzed.
“You got a tex—” Nicole began, glancing down at the message, but what she saw didn’t compute. “It says, Need to see you babe. It’s urgent.”
At the pantry, the door held open wide to hide her face, Stacy froze.
There was no name on the contact, just a series of hot pink hearts. “Wait a minute,” said Nicole. “Are you seeing someone? You are, aren’t you?” The words slid out through a grin. “Who’s hiding things now, huh?”
Nicole waited for her friend to laugh—OK, you’ve got me, I have a secret boyfriend—but when she came into full view, the mood in the house turned dark and cold.
The phone buzzed again. “Don’t,” Stacy said, stepping into the room, but it was too late. The device was in Nicole’s hand.
“It says he’s coming to your house.”
“Shit.” Stacy reached for her purse. “I have to go.”
“What’s going on?” Nicole couldn’t puzzle out the wild change in Stacy’s disposition. Her face was a mask of unalloyed, animal fear. “Who is this guy?” Nicole knew everything about Stacy’s life. How did she not know about this?
“Does it really matter?”
“Who, Stacy?”
Her eyes darted away. “His name is Terry. He’s—”
“Mikko’s contractor.” Nicole remembered his name. It was Stacy who’d referred the guy to Mikko for the renovation. Terry’s a magician, she’d said about his work. “How long has this been going on?”
“Not long,” Stacy said quietly. “Since last summer.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Look, I’ll explain everything later. Just give me my phone.” Her purse swung from her outstretched arm. “I mean it, Nic. I have to go.”
In Nicole’s sweating hand, the phone dinged one last time, the message like a searing brand on her skin.
I think the police know the truth about Woody.