Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Frozen, I stare at Lawrence’s temple, watching the crimson rivulet of blood trickling from the bullet hole that’s no bigger than a dime.
I can’t look away, can’t get myself to move.
After standing there for God knows how long, I come to, returning to my senses, forcing myself to move, to act, to do something. Anything.
I stumble backward, my fingers still clutching the envelope he’d left for me in the trash can. Then I’m running until I’m inside my car, slamming the door shut, my eyes fixed in the rearview mirror where I can still see Lawrence’s car, a car he will never drive again.
On autopilot, I manage to pull out of the lot and don’t stop driving until I halt in front of the post office, where I remember seeing a public phone box.
My legs barely carry me from the car to the rectangular box that smells faintly of beer.
Gripping the phone with both fingers, I call the police as an anonymous caller.
“Someone was shot.” My words tumble over each other as they pass through my trembling lips. “In the parking lot of the Lobster Grill.”
When they ask, I give them the description of the car.
They want to know more. They want my name. But I hang up before I’m pressured into sharing that information.
Back in my car, I just sit there, the envelope on the passenger seat, my hands clutching my legs to stop them from shaking.
I don’t even think as I get out of the car again and walk into a liquor store. I know Judy thinks I’ve started drinking again, but the truth is, I stopped three months ago. But I need something to stop me from spiraling.
Walking back to the car with a bottle of whiskey, I imagine Lawrence arriving in the parking lot long before I did, exiting his car, walking with the envelope to the bench, sitting down to wait for me.
Or maybe he didn’t get a chance to sit down at all.
The professional that he is, or was, he may have already sensed he was being followed by whoever murdered him, and knew the person would catch up with him any minute.
Before that could happen, he decided to put the envelope inside the trash can, and sent me a quick email from his phone before returning to his car.
What he failed to anticipate was that his assailant would be waiting to put a bullet in his head.
Back behind the wheel, I take a few deep, futile breaths. The beeping of my phone notifies me of the several messages Scarlett is sending, but I can’t respond. My gaze does not move from the Saltspray Cove residents and visitors outside the windshield.
It won’t be long until someone hears the news about the man found dead in the parking lot. Word travels fast, especially in a small town.
Some people will head to the Lobster Grill. They’ll be curious to see who it was that died. They’ll be panicking about the possibility that there’s a murderer in their perfect town.
Before driving back to the apartment, my gaze lands on the envelope Lawrence left behind.
Tipping out its contents, I leaf through several photos of both Judy and me when we were younger. There’s an old article attached to my photo.
What is all this?
Unsure what I’m looking at, I pull out the report for an explanation, reading the first lines.
I blink several times, confused. With the back of my hand, I swipe the sweat from my face. Then I look down at the shocking words again.
Your wife, Judy Ellis, is a former Saltspray Cove Youth Camp resident.
That can’t be right, can’t be true. And yet, the words are there in black and white and the photo of Judy standing in front of the camp as a teenager is proof. I turn the photo over and find writing on the back. Her name, with the camp’s name written beneath it.
I’m shocked by my wife’s secret. Why didn’t she tell me? But then, what Lawrence uncovered about me is far, far worse…