The One I Trust (25 page)

“Hey there, Stu,” I said. “This is Brafford Reid.”

“Well hey, Reid,” he said. “Surprised to hear from you . . . What’s going on?”

“Uh, well,” I began. “I don’t know whether or not you know that I got remarried?”

“Yeah, actually I did hear that. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I said. “So, listen. I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“My wife’s name is Emily. Emily Reid. She filled out a pistol permit a while back. I don’t know if you’ve seen it or not, but . . .”

“Can’t remember off the top of my head,” he admitted, “but I can check. You want me to speed things along?”

“No,” I said. “Actually just the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Delay it.”

He didn’t answer.

“She doesn’t need a gun,” I said reluctantly. “I don’t really want to get into it right now, but just trust me. You need to lose her paperwork or something.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” he asked.

“No. I’ve got it under control. Just make sure she doesn’t get it, okay?”

“Sure, Reid,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Stu.”

After that I called Hale. He had texted me over the weekend and asked me how things were going, but I’d just replied that it was way too much to get into right then. I got his voicemail and left him a message. He called me back as soon as my lunch break started and I filled him in.

I spent the rest of my break researching psychiatric options. This was a lot more serious than simple attention-seeking behavior or pathological lying. I knew that I needed more than just a psychotherapist, and I wanted to make sure that Emily got in somewhere good. By the time Hale and I met for our weekly basketball game on Tuesday evening, I had made a decision . . . and an appointment.

“Not until next Thursday?” Hale cried when I told him.

“That was the soonest I could get her in.”

“Isn’t there some place else that can see her sooner?”

“This is where I want her to go,” I said. “I think it’s a really good place.”

“Yeah. But do you really think you should wait that long?”

“She’s doing pretty good right now,” I said. “Actually, this is the best I’ve seen her since school started.”

“But she’s not
really
doing good,” Hale argued. “She’s completely delusional. I’m not even sure it’s a good idea that she’s home alone right now.”

“She’s fine,” I said, waving him away with my hand. “I’ve been doing a lot of research and unless she’s having a psychotic episode, she’ll probably be fine.”

“She’s not fine,” Hale said. “She thinks your house is bugged. She thinks someone is trying to break the two of you up. The only reason she seems to be doing good right now is because she thinks you believe her and that you’re on her side.”

“And she’s going to keep thinking that until I take her to this appointment next week,” I said. “She’ll probably be fine until then.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said she’ll
probably
be fine.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “Sit at home with her for a week and a half and hold her hand?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I just think you ought to take her somewhere that can see her sooner.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve taken someone to a psych ward?” I asked. “Do you know what most of those places are like?”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes in frustration.

“I don’t want her going just anywhere,” I said. “I want her somewhere
good
.”

Considering how badly Hale had wanted me to work things out with Emily just a week earlier, you would have thought that he’d be happy I was trying to take good care of her now, but the look he gave me said he was anything but happy.

“Relax,” I told him, giving him a light punch in the arm. “What could possibly happen between now and then?”

When I arrived home that evening, I found Emily sitting on the couch with her legs tucked up underneath her, working away on her computer.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Great,” she said, smiling up at me as I closed the door.

“You need any help?” I asked. “Do you want me to grade something for you?”

“Nope,” she said. “I’m just working on my lesson plans, but I’m almost done. I think I’ve finally got the hang of things.”

“Good,” I said, smiling back at her. “I’m glad.”

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Good,” I said again. “I found out what I have to do to be a PI.”

She looked pleased. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Basically I have to work under a licensed PI until I get enough hours to apply for my own license. Then I can open my own business or whatever.”

“How long will that take?”

“A while,” I said. “It’s just going to depend on who I find to work for and how many hours they can throw my way. It’s probably not going to be a lot of money.”

“Well it’s not like you’re making a lot of money right now, either.”

“I know. But there won’t be any benefits or anything either.”

“I can put you on my health care,” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m worried that money’s going to be pretty tight.”

“Is it something you’re interested in doing?” she asked.

I thought about it for a minute and then nodded.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It is.”

“Then you should do it,” she said with finality. “We can make it work.”

I smiled at her and went in to take a shower. By the time I finished, Emily had brushed her teeth and was reading in bed. I brushed my teeth, too, and when I crawled in next to her, she put her book down, turned to wrap her arm around me, and whispered in my ear, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said, and I kissed her on the cheek.

Neither of us made a move to do anything more—Emily probably because she was afraid that our bedroom was bugged and that someone was listening to everything we said and did, and me because I didn’t want to take any chances on her getting pregnant.

Through my research I’d learned that schizophrenia can have a genetic component. We were using birth control, but I didn’t want to take any chances until I’d talked to a professional about how likely it was that any child of Emily’s might one day go through exactly the same thing she was going through right now. If the answer was very likely, I figured we could always adopt.

I also couldn’t help but remember how Tori had really started going off the deep end after she’d gotten pregnant with Noah. The possibility that pregnancy hormones might somehow make things worse for Emily scared me.

But the biggest reason I didn’t want Emily to get pregnant was because I honestly wasn’t sure if she could be a good mother. I’d already lost one child at the hands of a mentally ill wife and I wasn’t about to let it happen again. Unless someone could promise me that Emily was going to be able to be a loving and caring parent, we weren’t going to have kids. Period.

This thought grieved me more than I can say, but I just kept telling myself that God knew how much I wanted to be a dad again and He also knew what was best for me. And I had made up my mind that I was going to trust Him . . . no matter what.

I wanted to give Hale an update on how well Emily had seemed when I got home the evening before. I also realized that I hadn’t even mentioned to him that I was thinking about becoming a private investigator, and I figured he’d be pretty interested in hearing about that, but when I called him Wednesday morning, he didn’t answer his phone. It wasn’t unusual for Hale not to answer so I left him a message and told him to call me when he got the chance. He never did.

That
was
unusual.

During my lunch break I tried him again.

“Hi.”

I could tell from his voice that everything wasn’t okay, but I asked anyway. “Everything okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There was a fire.”

“A fire? Is Molly okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Everyone’s fine. It was the beach house. No one was there.”

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“It’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m there right now. There’s nothing left.”

I didn’t know what to say so I said, “I don’t know what to say.”

He didn’t answer.

“Do they know how it started?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “Listen . . . I’ve gotta go.”

“Okay. Let me know if I can do anything.”

“Thanks,” he said, and he hung up.

He called me that night.

“It was arson,” he said.

Arson.

“And we don’t have any insurance.”

“
What?
How did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Apparently our premium never got paid.”

“Who was supposed to pay it?”

“Anneka,” he replied. “She pays all the bills. She says she never got a statement.”

“They would have sent more than one notice,” I pointed out.

“I know.”

I thought about how he had told me that he loved Anneka because she was his wife. I wondered if he was having trouble with that right now.

“So you . . . you’ve got nothing?” I asked. “They won’t pay you anything?”

“I’ve got a half an acre of oceanfront property,” he said. “That’s what I’ve got.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said. Then he asked, “How’s it going with Emily?”

“Good,” I said. “She’s still doing really good but she was upset when she found out about the fire. She said to tell you that she’s really sorry.”

“Thanks,” he said again.

The next morning, Emily got up early as usual, and—also as usual—I didn’t even wake up enough to notice. I did wake up, however, when I heard her screaming my name from the living room.

I bolted out of bed, following the light that was streaming through the bedroom doorway. My eyes were bleary but when I got into the living room, I could make out Emily with her back to me, kneeling on the floor. I rubbed my eyes, trying hard to make them focus.

“Oh, Reid,” she cried, turning around to look at me.

As my vision cleared, the first thing I saw was that Emily had a knife in her hand and the second thing was that she was absolutely covered in blood.

The third thing I saw was that Emily was kneeling over something . . .

It was Gracie’s lifeless body.

“I CAME OUT here and she was just lying on the floor,” Emily sobbed, looking up at me with tears flowing down her face.

“It’s okay.” I nodded, still warily eyeing the knife.

“Someone
killed
her.”

“I know,” I said. “It’ll be okay. Why don’t you put the knife down?”

Emily looked at the knife she was holding and then slowly set it down on the bloody carpet.

“Fingerprints,” she said frantically, looking at the knife. “There might have been fingerprints and I just ruined them!”

I walked over to her swiftly and took her by the shoulders, helping her stand up.

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “It’s okay.”

“Why would someone do this?” she cried.

“Here,” I said, guiding her to the kitchen table. “Sit down.”

She sat, wild-eyed and trembling, as I pulled out my phone and texted Hale:

I need you over here right now.

“Are you calling the police?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, uh, listen,” I said, glancing around the kitchen and deciding that there were way too many knives in there. “Actually, why don’t you go in the bathroom and get cleaned up. You need to take a shower.”

“I just took a shower,” she said faintly.

“I know,” I agreed, “but you’ve got blood all over you.”

She looked down at her hands and clothes.

“I’m going to be late for work . . .”

“Emily,” I said. “I don’t think you’re going to work today.”

“But I have to . . .”

“No, you don’t.” I shook my head. “Do you know who you’re supposed to call to get a sub?”

She nodded.

“Who?”

“The assistant principal.”

“Do you know the number?”

She nodded again and I helped her make the call.

When that was taken care of, I said, “Now, go take a shower and get cleaned up.”

“When are the police coming?”

“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “Go on in there and get cleaned up.”

“Okay,” she said in a shaky voice. She let me guide her past Gracie’s limp body and into the bedroom.

“Go on,” I said, nodding toward the bathroom door.

She went in obediently.

After she’d closed the door and I heard the water running, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then I opened the nightstand drawer, took out the keys to my gun safe—something I should have done Sunday night. I put them in my pocket before going back out into the living room. I picked up the bloody knife and set it in the kitchen sink, reluctantly returning to the living room and allowing myself to look at Gracie.

I knelt beside her and rubbed her ear.

“I’m so sorry, old girl,” I whispered.

In the carport I found a tarp and brought it back into the living room. I laid it next to Gracie, maneuvered her body onto it, and dragged it out into the carport. Then I came back in and looked at the mess on the carpet. The water in the shower was still running when my phone vibrated.

“Hale,” I said as I answered it.

“Sorry, I just saw your message,” he said. “We took Molly out to breakfast to try and cheer her up a bit and I left my phone in the car. What’s going on?”

“I need your help.” I realized I was crying. “Please come help me.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“She killed Gracie.”

There was silence for a moment and then, “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

By the time Hale came in the front door, Emily was out of the shower and redressed in clean clothes.

“Anneka and Molly are in the car,” he said, eyeing the bloody carpet.

“Good,” I said. “Could Anneka take Emily back to your place and you stay here and help me get things cleaned up?”

He looked at me uncertainly.

“Please?” I asked.

He stared at me for another moment and then nodded.

“Sure,” he said, turning to Emily. “Come on. Let’s get you out to the car.”