Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, the reply came.
“Someone who knows Lucas is not the only one lying.”
I sat down slowly.
The house felt different now. Too quiet. Too open. I suddenly noticed every small sound: the refrigerator humming in the kitchen, the faint tick of the wall clock, the distant bark of a dog somewhere down the street.
For three days, I had believed I understood the shape of the betrayal. Lucas had lied. Lucas had planned to leave. Lucas had a pregnant mistress. Lucas wanted our money.
It was ugly, but it was simple.
Now, suddenly, nothing felt simple.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I let it ring twice, watching the screen as though it might reveal the caller’s face if I stared hard enough.
On the third ring, I answered.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then a woman’s voice said, “Anne?”
It was quiet. Careful. Not young, not old. Maybe my age. Maybe a little older.
“Yes,” I said.
“You don’t know me.”
“That’s obvious.”
“I know this is frightening.”
A laugh escaped me, sharp and humorless. “You texted me a photo of my house and told me not to touch my own money. Frightening is one word for it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Who are you?”
A pause.
“My name is Grace.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“How do you know Lucas?”
“I don’t. Not really.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” she admitted. “It isn’t.”
I stood up again, unable to sit still. My eyes went to the study window. The curtains were open. Anyone outside could see me standing there, phone pressed to my ear, laptop glowing on the desk.
I walked over and pulled the curtains shut.
Grace heard the rings slide across the rod.
“Good,” she said softly.
My skin prickled. “Are you watching me right now?”
“No.”
“Were you watching me this morning?”
“Yes.”
The honesty was so blunt it silenced me.
“Why?”
“Because I needed to make sure Lucas actually left.”
Something cold moved through my chest.
“He left,” I said. “He got on the plane.”
“To San Diego,” she replied.
I closed my eyes.
Not Zurich.
Not even Palm Springs directly.
San Diego.
“He had a connection,” she continued. “A private car booked from there. Palm Springs by evening.”
I tightened my grip on the phone. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve been following his arrangements for six weeks.”
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
I looked at the laptop again. The bank screen had dimmed. The confirmation button was still there, waiting like a trap.
“Grace,” I said slowly, “you have about ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t call the police.”
“You probably should,” she said. “Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“Not before you look in your safe.”
My eyes shifted toward the hallway.
We had a safe in the back of the coat closet. Fireproof, heavy, bolted into the floor. Lucas kept passports there, insurance documents, property papers, birth certificates. I hadn’t opened it in months.
“What’s in my safe?”
“That depends on what he removed.”
I swallowed.
“Removed?”
“Lucas was at your house yesterday afternoon while you were at the dentist.”
I said nothing.
