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SIXTY-NINE

“I’m terrified,” I said to Johnny.

“I know what you’re going through,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I said, “because if you really understood what I’m going through, you’d know that this is the last place on the planet I’d want to meet you.”

“What are you talking about?” he said. “We’re at an abandoned rock quarry. There’s nobody around for miles. It’s as private as private gets.”

“Except this particular rock quarry kicks up a lot of ugly memories. The last time I was here was twenty-six years ago. I got drunk with Misty, and by the time we got home, her loving father had murdered her mother and her brother, and if she hadn’t snuck out of the house, she’d be dead too.”

“Ignore it. That’s just your brain putting crazy-ass thoughts in your head.”

“Johnny, my life is in danger. It’s my brain’s job to put thoughts in my head—crazy-ass or otherwise.”

“Maggie, I promise, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. What did you find on the boat?”

I looked down at the ground, the same way I’d seen so many defendants do as they struggled to say, “Guilty, Your Honor.”

“Pictures,” I murmured. “Me and Van.”

“So, Alex had a PI tailing you.”

“No. Van and I were too careful for that.”

“Then where’d the pictures come from?”

“Last year Van’s friend Sean Kennedy landed a big job in the UK. He left the country, put his house up for sale, and he asked Van to keep an eye on things till it was sold. As soon as I saw the pictures, I recognized the three vintage Marine recruitment posters that Sean had hanging over the bed. That place was our safe hideaway from December until the broker sold the house in April.”

“Let me guess,” Johnny said. “The broker was Minna Schultz.”

I nodded. “Minna’s last hurrah was going to be building that townhouse complex with the spectacular view of Magic Pond. Once the hospital decided to block her view with the new trauma center, she became obsessed with stopping them. She lost in court; she lost her bid for mayor, so she tried blackmail. She told Alex to find a new location for the trauma center, or she’d go public with the pictures of his slut lawyer-politician wife.”

“She had him by the balls,” Johnny said.

“Right. And she celebrates the win by going home, making herself a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, washing them down with Chardonnay, and drowning in Magic Pond. Suicide, according to the coroner.”

“Coroners are just doctors, Maggie. Some of them are smarter than others.”

“And Alex is smarter than all of them,” I said. “A few weeks ago, I couldn’t have even conceived of the thought, but now, after seeing how he’s orchestrated my death, I’m positive. Alex killed Minna Schultz.”

“And he got away with it.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” I said. “He’s not the man I married. He’s psychotic. He’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He’s known about me and Van for months, but he still plays the loving husband. I can’t imagine how much he must hate me, how much he wants to hurt me, and yet we laugh, we make love, we plan for the future, he kisses me playfully every time he brings me my morning mug of poison. But I don’t know if he can wait for the tea to do the job. He has all that anger and the rage building up inside him, and I’m afraid that one night he’ll snap—take a scalpel and slit our throats. All of us. Me... Kevin... Katie...”

And then the fear consumed me. The steely resolve that had served me well during my time as a prosecutor crumbled. Sobbing, I threw myself into Johnny’s arms. I wiped my face on his shirt and went on through the tears. “I would die for my children, Johnny, but please don’t let them die for me.”

He held me, and I closed my eyes. I inhaled the thick, sultry air, felt the late-afternoon sun play on my skin, as my ears picked up the gentle warble of a distant wood thrush. Slowly my composure returned. But I couldn’t let go.

Finally, Johnny put his lips to my ear and whispered four words.

“Do you trust me?”

I stepped back and looked at him. His face was stoic, his eyes determined, his expression grave.

“What kind of question is that?”

“It’s the right question. A few weeks ago, you trusted Alex. Knowing what you know now, I would understand if you said you will never trust another soul for the rest of your life.”

I tried to speak, but all I could do was pull him back to me and lose myself in the shelter of his arms.

“I love you, Maggie,” he said softly in my ear. “You’re not only part of my life; you gave me a life—Marisol, my kids, my career, my freedom. I would do anything to reciprocate, to remove the fear, to restore the joy, to give you your life back. All I need is the answer to one question.

“Do you trust me?”