“You’re looking for Nick? Well, I’m looking for him too. Look around, find some answers, and then you can call me back.”
He hangs up.
I let out a long breath and replace the receiver. Well, he was an asshole. And all of that was weird.
Who the hell is that guy? He’s not anyone I recognize. Not Adam, or McKay, and we all know it’s not Donovan.
We, Wendy? You’re the only one here.
Right. Check the insanity, OK? Pull it together.
I suck in a breath and blink my eyes a few times, trying to understand what’s happening. Because this whole trip is weird. Why am I even here?
I look up and scan the room, then salute Nick’s probable hidden cameras with my middle finger. “Fuck you. I’m leaving.”
The phone rings before the last word is even out of my mouth.
I pick it up. “What?”
“You’re not leaving. You’re looking for clues. Find them and call. Me. Back.” He hangs up.
So he’s the one looking through the hidden cameras.
Got it.
I give him the one-finger salute again and then turn towards the door fully intending on getting the hell out of here, but then I see something else that’s interesting.
An answering machine on the kitchen counter. And there’s a blinking number four on the tiny digital screen.
I can’t stop the chuckle. Only Nick Tate would keep a landline with an answering machine. This is probably a clue, and that bastard voice is probably dying for me to press play so he can hear what’s on there, so this is usually where I do things just to piss people off. Things like not pressing play on that machine. Not listening to whatever’s on there. And not giving a single fuck about the consequences.
But I gotta know.
I can’t help myself.
I walk over to it and press play.
“You have four new messages. Message one…”
“Don’t forget to schedule the jobs in Florida. And maybe even Alabama.”
Beeeeeeep.
“Next message…”
I press stop. That was definitely Nick. And that message was what? A to-do list? What jobs? Did I know about jobs in Florida and Alabama? He used to have a place on the Dog River, but that’s Mississippi. And Adam does not like Nick doing anything that close to Louisiana. So what the fuck was this about?
I press play again.
“Don’t forget to send Wendy sunflowers. Her birthday’s coming up.”
Beeeeeeep.
“Next message…”
I press stop again.
This machine is definitely a to-do list. But my birthday isn’t coming up. It just passed two weeks ago. So this message is from what, three weeks ago? Maybe a month?
And the asshole did not send me flowers. First time in years that he didn’t find me—wherever I was in the world—and get me those sunflowers.
“Duh, Wendy,” I huff. “That’s why you’re here. He’s missing.”
And some asshole is playing phone games with me.
Two more messages though. So I press play.
“So… Yeah. Sorry about that. I haven’t been home in a while. I thought I would be, but I couldn’t swing it. Don’t be mad at me, OK? I’m fine. I’ll see you soon.”
Beeeeeeep.
“Next message…”
Wait. Who the hell is he talking to? Does he have a girlfriend? And did he tell her to send me flowers for my birthday? Oh. My heart will crack in half if he’s been having some girl send my mandatory sunflowers every year.
Oh, my God, I’m losing my mind or something. Nick does not have a girlfriend. That’s probably the dumbest accusation I’ve ever come up with.
And hold on. My birthday is coming up. It didn’t just pass.
So… what the hell is wrong with me?
Holy fuck, I’m losing my mind. It’s really happening. It’s too late, there’s no cure for me. I’m about to slip into some bizarre psychosis and…
I look around again. But this time, I really look around. Then I go to the bedroom and flip on the lights. The bed is made and nothing is out of place. And at this point, I should not be surprised. He just told me he hasn’t been home in a while. So who was he leaving that message for?
I check the closet. Like the fridge, it’s empty. No clothes, no shoes, no nothing. Then I check the tiny bathroom. Not even a toothbrush in the cabinet mirror. Not even a bottle of aspirin.
No one is living here.
So again. Who is he leaving that message for?
One more to hear, Wendy. Press play.
“You know how to find me. Stop playing around, Wendy.”
Beeeeeeep.
“No more messages. Press one to delete. Press two to keep as new. Press—”
I press stop and lean against the counter.
I am perplexed. Because none of this makes sense. I don’t even know why I’m here. In fact, I should leave. Now.
The phone rings.
I consider not answering it, but I’m like a fucking cat in this respect. Curiosity is going to get me killed one day. I pick up the receiver. “What?”
“What did you find out?”
“Who are you?”
“You’ll know that soon enough.” I’m about to protest, but he keeps going. “We have common friends. And by friends, I mean… you know, friends.”
“Like who?”
“James Fenici for starters.”
“Fuck you. You do not know James Fenici. Throwing his name around won’t get you far with me. He and I? We’re barely acquaintances. We’re definitely not friends.”
“Well, obviously, I know Nick.”
“So you say. Just because you called his phone doesn’t make you friends with him.”
“I know he’s supposed to be dead.” There’s a pause after that. Maybe he’s thinking about these words the same way I am. But then he whispers, “I know who he left behind too. And if she finds out he’s still alive…”
Sasha. It always comes back to fucking Sasha. “If she finds out, what? Her little heart will break? She’ll leave her husband for Nick? She’ll ruin her whole family for some stupid promise that never really meant anything in the first place? Too late for all that, ha ha ha.”
“Wow. You definitely have feelings about this, don’t you?”
“Fuck you. I’m outta here. I don’t even know why I came. I don’t know who you are or what kind of game you’re playing. And who cares where Nick is? He can take care of himself.”
“That he can, Wendy. That he can. But consider this before you hang up and go back to your sad, lonely, pathetic existence out in those hillbilly woods you live in or rambling around on the open road. I’m someone you want on your side. Trust me.”
I scoff loudly. “Do you think I’m afraid of you? Do you even know who I am?”
“I know exactly who you are. You’re missing the point. You don’t know who I am, Wendy. And your gun can’t protect you from me. Because I can get in your head. And once I’m in, there’s no way to get rid of me until I decide to leave.”
“Big words. I’m shaking.” I feign a yawn. But both the words and the yawn are just a well-practiced ruse. Because I understand what he’s telling me.