“I’m the manager. I’m entitled to an afternoon off for something important. I’ll drive you there.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m driving,” he says more firmly this time. “You probably barely slept the last few nights. I wouldn’t even trust you behind the wheel. Let me drive.”
I start to protest again, but I don’t know why I’m fighting him on this. I’m exhausted. I’m scared I really might fall asleep at the wheel. I’d love to take a nap, but I’ll be tossing and turning until I get to the bottom of this.
When we pull up in front of my house, there are a handful of reporters crowded on my front lawn. My stomach clenches at the sight of them. Videos of my arrest have gotten all over the news—Detective Santoro could not have picked a worse moment to arrest me. Or a better moment, depending on how you look at it.
“I can’t deal with this,” I mutter.
Seth glances up at the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
He gets out of the car and I watch in the side mirror as he speaks to the reporters. I don’t know what he says to them, but they all take off. I am almost ridiculously grateful to him.
When I get into my house, I just stand in the living room for a moment, drinking in the quiet. In addition to the flickering lights and freezing cold, the holding cells were always noisy. There was a woman in the cell next to mine who seemed to be going through some sort of drug or alcohol withdrawal, and she was screaming about seeing bugs the entire night last night. I never realized how wonderful it is to have complete silence.
Seth hovers in the doorway. “I can wait in the car if you want…”
“No, it’s fine. I’m going to hit the shower then we’ll go.”
“You got it.”
When I get up to my bedroom, my phone starts ringing. It occurs to me that I never even let my parents know I had gotten out of jail. But I think I’ll wait on that. I don’t want to deal with them right now. If it’s my mother calling, I’ll let it go to voicemail.
But it’s not my mother. It’s Caleb.
I stare down at his name, flashing on the screen. Caleb McCullough. A week ago, I had been thinking to myself that he might be the one. Now I don’t know what to think. He definitely hasn’t been completely honest with me. I wonder what he’s got to say.
I swipe to take the call. “Hello?”
“Nat! Hey, I heard you got out on bail.”
Word travels fast. I sit down gingerly on the edge of my bed, gripping the phone. “Yeah. My parents helped me out with the bail money.” The lie rolls off my tongue.
“That’s great.” He sounds normal. Concerned but not too concerned. Just the right amount of concerned. This man may be a cold-blooded killer. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
How does he think I’m feeling? I just spent three days in jail! But I bite my tongue. I’m not going to snap at him. I don’t want him to know what I know. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“Did you get my message about the motel?”
“Uh, yeah…”
“I drove over there,” he says. “There was a guy at the desk and I asked him if he noticed anyone suspicious. I showed him that photo of Dawn from the papers…”
“And?”
“Nothing. He didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“I see.” I cough. “Well, thanks for going down there.”
“No problem. This is all so awful what you’re going through.”
A hundred thoughts are running through my head. I want to ask Caleb if he knew Dawn before working at Vixed. I want to ask him why he went to the police about me. I want to ask him if he was the one who planted that hair and blood in the trunk of my car.
I want to ask him if he ever cared about me, or if the whole thing was just an act.
“Can I do anything for you?” he asks.
“I just want to be alone for a while,” I say.
“Of course. Call me later?”
Does he want me to call him because he’s concerned about me? Or because he wants a window into what I’m thinking? “Sure.”
What is Caleb’s game? I know that he knows Dawn, but that’s all I know for sure. He doesn’t seem like he could possibly be a murderer. I can’t wrap my head around it.
There’s something at that motel he doesn’t want me to know about. I’m sure of it now.
I’m going to find out what it is.
Chapter Fifty-Six
An hour later, I am freshly showered, changed into jeans and a sweater, and feeling like an entirely new person. I feel so good, I hate the idea of getting into the car and taking a long road trip. But it won’t be so bad. Seth will be driving, and I have to get to the bottom of this. Somebody from that motel was calling me over and over. I need to know why.
Seth stands up when I come down to the living room. “Ready to go?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“You feeling okay?”
I rub my eyes. “Just a little tired. I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe you should take a few Collahealth capsules?”
Then we both laugh.
We get back on the road, but I still haven’t eaten much since the awful breakfast they served me in jail. We stop off at a fast-food drive-through, and I order food I would never ordinarily indulge in. But I’m starving. All I want is a big, greasy fast-food burger.
Seth laughs when I demolish about half the burger in three bites. I remember when we were hooking up last year, we ended up eating a lot of fast food in the car. After all, we could hardly go to a restaurant. Sitting here in the car with Seth, stuffing fast-food fries in my mouth, gives me a sense of déjà vu.
“How are things going with Melinda?” I ask.
“Awful. This may come as a shock, but getting divorced sucks.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I squirm in the leather seat. “I feel responsible.”
“You’re not,” he says flatly. Yeah, right. “Look, I’m not going to say that what happened between you and me didn’t make the whole thing a lot more contentious. But it was going to happen either way. We didn’t even like each other anymore. You know Melinda and I haven’t had sex in over three years?”
He said something like that when we were together, but I always thought he was exaggerating. I don’t think so anymore.
“It’s not your fault,” he says. “Or if it was, it was only because you reminded me that I was actually capable of being happy.”
I don’t know if he’s saying that to let me off the hook or if he means it. But right now, I’ll take it. I already feel bad enough about myself. I don’t need to add homewrecker to the list of horrible things I’ve done in my life.
Seth turns on the radio while we drive. He’s really into classic rock, which is not my favorite, but I don’t care much right now. I remember when I told Caleb my favorite singer was Celine Dion. His face lit up. Celine Dion is my favorite too! Now I wonder if he was making that up, as another way to get close to me. What man’s favorite singer is Celine Dion?