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.
I had gone to the dentist at two. Lucas had told me he was at the office tying up loose ends before his so-called international transfer.
“He left with a folder,” Grace said. “Blue. Legal size.”
Continue on the next page.
