Chapter 12 Katie Morrow
Katie Morrow
“Well now, let’s see. After Willow left, there was a time when Mark was the most eligible bachelor in Crestmore.
Forget the whispers about him killing Willow—women will overlook pesky little things like that when it comes to a handsome, rich man.
And he’s both of those things. I think he’s possibly the best-looking man in Crestmore.
And his job gives him a bit of star power, especially with the men in the neighborhood.
My husband was at the club when Mark scrolled through his cell phone contacts and said it was like the call sheet at the ESPYs.
I’m telling you, the man’s a god inside these neighborhood gates—at least to the husbands. ”
Pregnant.
Katie’s knees gave out a little at the word on the white stick.
She carefully lowered herself to the toilet and stared at it, her vision blurring a bit.
She placed it on the top of her thighs and unrolled a length of toilet paper and dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara.
That would be just what she needed with the cops hovering around—to look like she’d been crying.
They wouldn’t know that they were tears of joy, and would be suspicious if she was beaming.
Choking back a sob, she carefully wrapped the stick in tissue paper and then carried it into the bathroom. Opening up one of the lower cabinets, she stowed it away in a pull-out drawer that was filled with face wipes. Tomorrow, she’d take another. Just to double-check. And maybe on Monday, a third.
Facing the mirror again, she checked her makeup and allowed herself one secret smile.
Another chance. This time, she wouldn’t take any risks.
No rigorous exercise. Only clean eating.
Extra bed rest. Yoga and meditation sessions every day.
This time, everything would work in her body and they would have a healthy, beautiful baby.
Her phone chimed with a text from Mark.
Make sure the cops don’t go into the backyard. I’m almost there.
She texted back a thumbs-up and moved through the bedroom and out onto the second-floor landing, taking the steps two at a time as she headed for the downstairs, her excitement painting everything in a new hue.
Would he be able to tell from looking at her?
It felt like her entire face was flushed—the pregnancy glow, they called it.
She had been too afraid, up until now, to celebrate the possible symptoms, but they were all there.
Tender breasts. A slightly queasy stomach.
Headaches. All beautiful, wonderful parts of the process.
She pulled open the front door and stepped out onto their front porch, verifying that the police officers were still waiting by their cars.
It was a gorgeous day. A little windy. She should probably go inside and grab a pullover, something to stop the chill.
But the sun was bright, the planters on either side of the front entry steps in full bloom, the red zinnias bold and happy.
The home was a Mission Revival–style, according to Katie’s mother, who watched home-remodeling shows each afternoon with a fresh bottle of merlot.
It had rounded bell gables, a red-tiled roof, tan stucco walls, and cobblestone flooring.
The estate had been built in the 1920s and had a front porch that was deep enough to park a car.
They had never used the couch or seating clusters underneath the front eaves, preferring to sit on the back deck overlooking the golf course, but now Katie settled into the couch and tucked her bare feet underneath her butt, crossing her arms against the chill.
Any minute, Mark would pull through the gates and into the drive.
Last time Katie had gotten pregnant, she told him immediately, hiding the test in the liquor cabinet, next to his favorite brand of scotch.
As soon as he’d walked in the door, he went straight for a drink and then froze, his back to her, and stared at the item for a full ten seconds before he spun around, his features crumpled in hope and happiness. “Are you sure?” he’d whispered.
She should have said no. She should have told him that 40 percent of first-time pregnancies fail, that they could hope but not get too excited.
Instead, she had jumped into his arms and pressed her lips against his, and they had spent the entire evening interrupting each other to discuss crib placement, their stances on nannies, baby names, and birthing methods.
Mark was an only child, as was Katie, and they had agreed that two children, minimum, were in their future.
This time, as difficult as it would be, she’d keep the news a secret. Just until she got further along and passed the danger zone.
At the end of their drive, the nose of Mark’s two-door BMW convertible eased through the gates, and she stood, joy pumping through her at the sight of the red car.
They would have to trade it in, of course.
The first time she’d gotten pregnant, he ordered the big Range Rover, a reservation they canceled after the miscarriage.
They could order another one, and also keep her Porsche SUV, though she’d overheard one of the moms in the neighborhood complaining that the back seat on hers was too tight for getting a car seat in and out.
Mark parked by the fountains, beside the police cruiser.
When he stepped out, the wind rustled his thick hair.
He was so gorgeous. With his black designer sunglasses, his cashmere pullover, the collar of his button-down shirt visible, the confident stride of his long legs as he closed the distance to the officers .
. . you couldn’t see any of the stress that had coated his voice when she had spoken to him on the phone.
That must have been related to something at the office, because his steps were smooth, his smile wide, and he said something and the three of them laughed.
Any iota of worry she’d been carrying about the search dissipated, and it felt silly that she had even been concerned.
It had been the mention of Willow that had unnerved her.
She knew that nothing nefarious had happened to Willow; Mark had been clear on that.
Willow had wanted a divorce and she left.
Had packed several bags and gone. Women leave marriages all the time.
It didn’t mean that she was dead, certainly didn’t mean that whatever they were looking for had anything to do with her.
Willow was just an ex-wife, one who had never come back to Crestmore or been seen or heard from again.
One who’d abandoned her business, her friends and family, her social media accounts, and her credit cards, and started a new life somewhere else, off the grid.
A little odd, yes. But Willow had been a free spirit, according to Mark.
Katie was a little grateful, actually, that Willow had disappeared.
Other than the whispers in the neighborhood and her mother’s nosy concern—it was refreshing not having an ex they continually bumped into or who wanted alimony.
This neighborhood was full of stories of ex-wives who were nightmares, both to their ex-husbands and to the replacement wives.
One had started sleeping with the husband, and they ended up getting back together and he divorced his second wife!
Mark turned and spotted her on the front porch. He looked surprised, which was reasonable, considering that Katie never waited on the porch for him. She waved and he lifted his hand in response, then gestured for the officers to follow him around to the side of the garage.
Maybe she should go out to the pond with them. Even though there wouldn’t be anything there, it still felt like something she should see.