19 #2
“You believe that Wendy,” Acacia offers, “assuming she was abducted and somehow escaped as you did—now wants revenge for your decision not to tell the police the whole story about that day?”
How very astute of her to go straight to Wendy as the trouble rather than Casey. Perhaps only because she apparently didn’t know about Casey. Or any of the rest of the story—like all those other missing girls. Maybe. I do find that possibility intriguing and potentially useful.
“I honestly don’t know. Somehow I find it easier to believe that it’s Casey. Not for revenge, really, but just to be sure I stay quiet.”
“You’re right,” she assures me—perhaps too quickly.
“Wendy could be dead or just off living her life oblivious to all this.” Acacia stares at me for a long moment as if trying to read my thoughts.
“But it has been twenty years. Why would Casey wait until now? I mean, if you were going to tell the police about him, you surely would have by now. What changed, do you think?”
“Believe me, I’ve asked myself that question a million times.
The what-ifs have haunted me every day since I escaped.
Was she really abducted, too? If she managed to escape, would she come after me?
Will Casey one day decide he can no longer trust me?
I assume he hasn’t worried all these years because he understood I couldn’t out him without outing myself.
Eventually I decided maybe he was dead or in prison. ”
More of that lingering assessment. “Whether it’s her or Casey, they’ve decided to get rid of the one person who knows they were involved,” Acacia announces as if that is the gospel.
“Except, again, it’s been twenty years, and that’s kind of a sticking point for me.
Isn’t it for you?” She shrugs. “It doesn’t make any sense. ”
A reasonable assumption, but there are details she obviously does not know.
She cannot know. Unless the person who put her in my life told her.
Which could explain her need to make me say what she wants to hear.
Harming a person is always easier if there is reason to believe that person is bad and deserves the punishment.
“Wendy and Casey are the only two people who know my story was not complete,” I counter. “No one else knew the details in the Times article or about the necklace. It has to be one of them.”
“You still believe it isn’t your husband?” she presses. “Even after I told you he is the one who paid me to put the necklace in your drawer?”
And Rick suggested as much, I don’t mention. Although she may have overheard him. Or could be working with him. “If he did—as you insist—then someone else told him what to do. He knows nothing about what I’ve told you. No one except the two people who were there at the time knows. And now you.”
How she must love the idea that I’m putting so much trust in her.
She leans forward again as if she wants to ensure she doesn’t miss even a whisper of my reaction to her next move. “Do you feel guilty about not mentioning Wendy?”
I have contemplated this question many times and wondered what the answer would be. I opt to give the expected one.
“I do. Yes.” I blink rapidly as if holding back tears. It’s a struggle, but I even manage to produce a couple. I certainly have plenty of painful memories to call upon to conjure up a tear or two.
Acacia stares at the floor a moment, then lifts that sympathetic mask she wears all too often. “You were young and confused. Based on what you’ve told me, you have no reason to feel guilty. I would have done the same thing in your position.”
I almost laugh at her plethora of excuses for me. I am relatively certain she actually would have done the same or worse without any regret. “I tell myself that, but it’s still very difficult.”
She sits back now, studying me with nothing even remotely resembling sympathy.
“You have suffered a great deal with what happened to you and then losing your parents in that crash the night of your graduation.” Her eyes widen again.
“Then to almost die in a car crash of your own. That’s harsh by any standards.
” She lifts her eyebrows in speculation. “Or just plain old karma.”
“It was truly terrible,” I say, ignoring her last comment. “Their accident is why I had to get away. I took an extended time away after the funeral, and when I finally came back, I looked only forward. I moved to New York and dove into my career.”
She smiles then, but it’s not the pleasant sort. “It’s amazing how you donated your time all those years rather than going into private practice and making a killing as a therapist to all those rich people your husband knows.”
It’s impossible to miss the sarcasm. To be expected, given all that she has likely been told by my enemy.
She’s feeling a little cocky and reasonably certain I am out of options where allies are concerned.
“It was the least I could do. I had my trust and this house. What else did I need? Knowing the things women in crisis go through, I wanted to help. To use my good fortune for something that matters.”
“Rick was part of the original investigation,” she says, moving in a different direction. “Why not trust him now? It’s clear he likes you. He could help. Especially since Phillip is apparently working with the enemy.”
So we’re back to that, are we? It appears she has had enough story time.
I consider her for a moment. Not because I believe a single word she says, but because I want her to believe I’m weighing all that she’s said.
Except I’m not.
“Because,” I say finally, “I don’t trust anyone, Acacia.”