“But you did find money.”
“There was over $1.2 million.” Mark let the number hang there. “Over a million dollars in drug money. I saw it, and I grabbed a stack. I didn’t bother counting it. Didn’t think twice about it. I couldn’t, or I would have put it back.”
“You should have.”
“In that moment, all I could see was red. I was so angry at these thugs, so worried about you and the kids. Gretchen was going to need braces. Sam needed those special shoes. The hospital bill for the twins’ deliveries was going to use up our savings. We deserved that money.”
“It was illegal, Mark. So, so illegal.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” He raised his beer, finished it off. “I regret it. I regret taking the money. Hell, in a sense, I almost regret getting away with it. But I don’t regret doing what I thought was best for my family.”
Anne’s breath hitched as her husband locked eyes on her.
“I would do anything for you, Anne. For the kids.” His other hand fisted in his lap. “It’s probably good you didn’t tell me what Roman knew, because I might have done something I regretted.”
“Apparently someone else did it for you.”
Mark didn’t look all that upset at the notion. Anne’s frazzled mind ached as she stared at the man she’d thought she’d known better than anyone else on earth. And she wondered if it was true. The true murderer hadn’t been caught yet. Anne was convinced Eliza hadn’t done it…so who had?
Is it possible? Mark had already lied so much…
“Why was Roman looking into me?” Mark asked suddenly.
“I hired a private investigator to tail you.” Anne tried to keep her chin up. “I’m not proud of it, but I had to know. The PI then sold the information he turned up to Roman. It’s a long story. My question is how did the investigator find out? Does someone at work know? Are we in danger?”
“There’s an account,” Mark said dully. “A banking account I opened up and didn’t tell you about, and if the PI is any good, he would’ve found it. There’s more money in there than I should ever have earned to date. He could’ve dug around, matched the deposits up with my work history, and connected the dots.”
“You still have money left over?”
“Yes. It’s how I’ve been able to afford Harmony’s apartment. To make ends meet during months it should never be possible. I’m sorry I never told you, but I just couldn’t explain how the money got there.”
“What does this mean for us?” Anne asked finally. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You can turn me in,” Mark said, his eyes glancing up toward hers. “I wouldn’t blame you. Not in the slightest.”
Anne forced her doubts about her husband to take a back seat. Just for a moment. Suppose he is telling the truth? What would that mean for their marriage? If Anne didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, just once more, would she regret it?
“We all make mistakes.”
“We do,” Mark acknowledged. “That doesn’t excuse them.”
Anne stood, pushing her empty bottle toward Mark. “I have to think. Alone.”
“Take as much time as you need. You know where to find me when you’re ready.”
The couple walked silently through the house. It had gone from an awkward first date to the tired, exhausted reality of a couple married with four children. They had marched through hell and back. They had both made mistakes. There were pains that needed to heal. Wrongs that couldn’t be righted.
Anne slipped her shoes on, paused in the doorway. “Mark…”
He stepped closer, his breathing thin and fragile. “Yes?”
Anne licked her lips, swallowed. “I’ve been thinking… The vanity I threw out the other day…the garbage man didn’t take it, and I didn’t get around to burning it.”
“You want me to get rid of it for you?”
“Actually,” Anne whispered, “if you have a spare minute, maybe you could fix the drawers?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Three Months After
May 2019
Penny waddled down the hall and let herself into the casting office. She knew, of course, that this job was only temporary. That it wouldn’t last. The idea of asking about paid maternity leave—or maternity leave in general—was laughable. Benefits weren’t even on the horizon.
The previous week, Penny had picked up an application at the grocery store down the street from her apartment. It had pained her physically to write her name on the form. But her hospital bills wouldn’t pay themselves.
As it was, Penny had enough savings to get through a month, maybe two, of self-made maternity leave. She’d already cut every cost she could—she’d given up all her writing classes and patched her car’s bumper with duct tape.
She’d stashed every cent she could muster into a savings account that would give her a tiny buffer once the baby arrived. But after two months’ time, she’d be back to work. At a grocery store. She’d moved to Hollywood to find herself and, in the process, had lost everything.
“Penny?”
It took a moment for Penny to remember that she was at work. Her eyes shot up from the sign-in log at the casting company’s front desk while she registered the sound of a familiar voice. Penny couldn’t quite place it until she laid eyes on a face she hadn’t seen in…almost nine months.
“Ryan!” Startled, Penny gulped down a breath of air. “How…um, how are you? What are you doing here?”
It was a stupid question, since Penny could see the headshots he carried in his hand. The moment was embarrassing for both of them—for Penny because she was employed by a crappy company peddling hope to wannabe actors, and for Ryan because he was knowingly visiting said crappy company on the fumes of hope. Both their careers were obviously floundering.
“Are those your headshots? I can get you signed in.” Penny stood, flummoxed, wiping her hands on her umbrella of a dress. “I hadn’t realized you’d be in the studio today.”
Ryan had bigger problems, it seemed, than his sad excuse for a career. He was staring with a glazed look at Penny’s stomach. His face scrunched up, and it became painfully obvious that he was trying to do math. His lips moved as he counted backward.
“How far along are you?” he asked finally. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“I’m due any day.”
Ryan blinked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Penny dropped the hand that had been extended to collect Ryan’s headshot. “I’m not sure we should discuss this here. Do you have a minute? We could go somewhere. Somewhere close.”
Ryan took a step back. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Penny tugged at his elbow, pulling Ryan from the studio. She paraded him downstairs, out through the gated front door where she glanced hungrily up and down the street for something, anything, that would work.
“Let’s get some Froyo,” she decided. “There’s a little shop around the corner.”
Ryan followed Penny’s every move. He mimicked her motions as she served up a bowl of yogurt for herself. Penny didn’t pay attention to the flavors she selected, but she did keep the serving sizes small. She couldn’t afford Froyo.