Chapter 40
Night Fifteen
Zeke
“Just to be clear, I wasn’t trying to snoop,” Zeke said.
“Why do you think I would care if you were snooping? We need to snoop. Snooping is mandated at this point. It’s been two weeks since we’ve heard from her. I think snooping is the bare minimum.” Sybil flicked on the light in Betty’s room, and Pluto hopped atop her bed.
“Okay, I know you’re right, I just…when she moved in, everyone, well, Julian, wanted to be so sure that I wasn’t a creep. I don’t want you to think I’m a creep.”
“Zeke, I could never think you’re a creep.”
He knew he was fishing now, seeking her reassurance, which was new territory for him.
Women in his life, well, other than his sister, tended to tell him what he wanted to hear, tended to give him whatever he asked.
But not Sybil, and this unnerved him as much as it pleased him.
Prior to his injury, Zeke’s solitary challenge in his life had been about his pitch.
Women weren’t a challenge; relationships, because he never really wanted one, weren’t a challenge.
The depth of his attraction to Sybil was new; if he didn’t have Betty and Julian to think about, Sybil would probably be the only thing on his brain.
“Okay, uh, after you left, I had to do one more check. Of her room.”
He and Sybil had obviously gone through Betty’s belongings.
They’d concluded that she hadn’t planned to leave that night.
That after taking Sybil’s call about Julian and the hit-and-run, something had spooked her.
Was it Julian? Was it Sybil? Had something else happened that they couldn’t understand or weren’t yet aware of?
She’d left behind all of her clothes and toiletries, though they realized that her room was devoid of nearly any personal effects.
It made sense, actually, once they connected with Caleb, once they understood that most of the stories Betty had told them were woven from lies.
“I completely forgot about this,” he said, walking into the en suite bathroom. He opened the vanity door beneath the sink.
“We already looked there,” Sybil said.
“Right, I know.” Zeke crouched, and his knees popped.
He almost lost his balance and without thinking, jutted his throwing arm down to stop him.
He waited for the pain to come, to shoot up to his shoulder and down to his ribs, but he felt only a quiet ache for a moment.
He really was recovering. And he had no idea how that made him feel. “But look.”
He reached in and pressed his palm against the back of the cabinetry, and a magnetic panel swung open.
“What on earth?” Sybil was hunched over but crouched beside him now. “Is this like a secret passageway?”
“It’s embarrassing,” Zeke said. “When I moved in, I tore everything down to the studs. The decorator I hired told me this was the new thing—your housekeeper could store all of their cleaning supplies in the bathroom sight unseen. She told me how classy it was for guests, I guess. Like seeing a can of Lysol spray was only for the impoverished.”
Sybil turned to him, now befuddled.
“I know, I know. I was a single guy with no clue what I was doing, so I just listened to her,” he said. “Though I did refuse to let her put up shades in the living room.”
“You know what they say about a fool and his money,” Sybil said, and Zeke must have winced, so she put her hand on his arm and said, “I’m kidding. It’s just an interesting upsell: hidden shelves in cabinets so your guests don’t have to come face-to-face with extra toilet paper or Soft Scrub.”
“Anyway,” Zeke said, and edged the door open a little wider, “I’d forgotten about it because it was useless. But Betty obviously went looking for hiding spots, because I found this.” He reached in and pulled out a rusting metal baking tin that was a green gingham pattern and said flour.
“Is this…?” Sybil inhaled sharply and sank from her heels to the floor, so Zeke did the same.
“Yep.” Zeke tapped the lid, which was dented on top. “It’s definitely not mine. Which means that it has to be hers.”
Zeke held it out to her, as if she needed to be the one to do the honors, see for herself. She pried off the lid.
One photo of Betty and her family. Betty was a little older than in the picture that Simone had shared, maybe early teens.
Her face had lost some of the baby fat but wasn’t nearly the straight edge of the young woman they knew now.
An unfamiliar man stood beside Patience, who had a round belly at least six or seven months along.
There were two other new women in the family picture too.
They wore dark dresses that buttoned up to their necks, their hair in French braids.
At their feet were a smattering of young children.
“That must be Matthew,” Sybil said, tapping the photo with her index finger. “Patience’s husband. The new pastor.”
“Yes, and those must be her brothers’ wives,” Zeke said, pointing out the other women, each with frozen smiles and hands on the shoulders of the toddlers.
“And that”—Sybil tapped twice on a young man with dark eyes, jet-black hair and a pained expression but with no wife beside him—“must be our elusive Levi.”
“Well, speaking of that…” Zeke lifted a worn-out Bible from the box to reveal an old flip phone beneath. Now Sybil audibly gasped, and Zeke, despite the circumstances, found himself delighted. “It’s dead, obviously. And I haven’t had this type of charger since 1998, but I think I found one on .”
Sybil popped the phone open, pressed a few buttons, then flipped it closed. Just to be sure.
“And that’s not all,” Zeke said.
He opened the Bible and thumbed through until he found what he was looking for.
There, in the middle of Psalms 118, Betty had written:
I can’t wait to ruin you. I can’t wait to see the surprise on your face when I tell you it was me.