Chapter 18 Katie Morrow
Katie Morrow
“Rumor was, Mark and Willow were swingers. I don’t know if I believe it, but that’s what my wife says.
I guess I could see it. Willow was really sexy.
Not like that stiff prude he’s married to now.
She’s the type of woman who tells you she’s married within ten seconds, when you were just asking her some innocent question. ”
Katie Morrow watched her husband pace the length of their upper deck. Mark’s whiskey was gone, the empty glass still in hand, his navy bathrobe fluttering in the wake of his strides. Anxiety was a new look on her husband, one she didn’t like.
“Please, just sit.” She patted the seat next to her. “I’ll get you another drink.”
“I don’t want another drink.” He stopped and glanced down at the glass, then placed it on the railing.
He rested his forearms on the wide concrete surface and stared out into the night.
Normally, the course was dark, their view only lit by the moon.
Tonight, there were clusters of light in the distance as the search teams moved.
Katie had expected them to stop at dusk, but apparently, they were going to go all night.
She had mentioned as much to Mark, and he had practically sprinted upstairs to see what she was referring to.
“Is it Willow you’re worried about?” Katie asked the question carefully, well aware that his ex-wife was a subject that was off limits.
Early on in their relationship, she had asked a few questions and seen how quickly he shut down.
Tiptoeing around topics was a skill she was well versed in, so if Mark didn’t want to talk about his first wife, that was fine with her.
Except that now they kind of needed to, especially if these were her bones the police were searching for. And there didn’t really seem to be a delicate way to bring that subject up.
“Is it Willow I’m worried about?” Mark repeated, and she hated his slow and deliberate tone, as if she’d asked a dumb question, which she hadn’t.
It was a perfectly reasonable question, one she had turned over in her head a dozen times before she voiced it.
She’d been careful with both the words and the tone, had mastered both, and yet here he was, mocking her.
“No, Katie. I’m not worried about Willow. Wherever she is, Willow is fine. Willow is fine, while I’m stuck here, having to deal with this . . . mess.” He gestured to the backyard in frustration.
Stuck here didn’t really seem like a fair descriptor.
And what mess? So far, this had barely been an inconvenience.
A search of their pond? Which had, of course, turned up nothing.
A few questions from the cops? They had just been doing their job, and they already seemed to be done with that.
As long as it wasn’t Willow’s body out there, Katie doubted they would even get asked any more questions.
As long as it wasn’t Willow’s body.
Was he worried that maybe it was?
She pushed the question away before it grew legs and ran over her heart.