The Stranger(81)
“I’m working on an inheritance case and . . .” He held up his camera phone with the screen grab on it. He used his fingers to blow up the image, so she could see the stranger’s face clearer. “Do you know this man?”
Gabrielle Dunbar slipped her fingers into the doorjamb and plucked out his business card. She stared at it for a long time. Then, finally, she turned her attention to the image on his iPhone. After a few seconds, she shook her head and said, “No.”
“It was an office party, from the looks of it. Surely, you must—”
“I have to go now.”
The quiver had grown toward something closer to panic or fear. She started to close the door.
“Ms. Dunbar?”
She hesitated.
Adam wasn’t sure what to say exactly. He had spooked her. That was obvious to him. He had spooked her, and that meant that she had to know something.
“Please,” he said. “I need to find this man.”
“I told you. I don’t know him.”
“I think you do.”
“Get off my property.”
“My wife is missing.”
“What?”
“My wife. This man did something, and now she’s gone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please leave.”
“Who is he? That’s all I want to know. His name.”
“I told you. I don’t recognize him. Please, I have to go. I don’t know anything.”
The door started to close again.
“I won’t stop looking. Tell him that. I won’t stop until I find the truth.”
“Get off my property, or I’ll call the police.”
She slammed the door shut.
• • •
Gabrielle Dunbar paced for ten minutes, chanting the words So Hum over and over. She had learned this particular Sanskrit mantra at yoga. At the end of the class, her teacher would have them all lie on their backs in Corpse pose. She would have them close their eyes and repeat “So Hum” for five straight minutes. The first time the teacher had suggested this, Gabrielle had practically rolled her closed eyes. But then, somewhere around minute two or three, she began to feel the toxins of stress drain from her body.
“So . . . hum . . .”
She opened her eyes. It wasn’t working. There were things she had to do first. Missy and Paul wouldn’t be home from school for hours. That was good. That would give her time to prepare and pack. She grabbed her phone, scrolled through her favorites, hit the contact she called Douche Nozzle.
Two rings later, her ex answered. “Gabs?”
His nickname for her—the only one who called her that—still grated. When they first began dating, he started calling her “my Gabs” and she’d thought it was adorable in that way you do when you first fall in love and then, months later, the very sound of it makes you gag.
“Can the kids stay with you?” she asked.
He didn’t bother hiding his exasperation. “When?”
“I was thinking of dropping them off tonight.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve been asking you for extra visits—”
“And now I’m giving it to you. Can you take them tonight?”
“I’m in Chicago on business till the morning.”
Damn it. “How about Whatshername?”
“You know her name, Gabs. Tami is here with me.”
He had never taken Gabrielle on business trips, probably because he was meeting up with Tami or one of her predecessors. “Tami,” Gabrielle repeated. “Does she dot the i or put a heart over it? I forget.”
“Funny,” he said. But it hadn’t been, she knew. It had been stupid. There were much bigger fish to fry than a long-dead marriage. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll drop them off then,” she said.
“For how long?”
“A few days,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”
“All okay, Gabs?”
“Peachy. Love to Tami.”
Gabrielle hung up. She looked out the window. Part of her had known this day would come from the first time Chris Taylor had approached her. It was just a question of when. The whole enterprise had been enormously appealing, a win-win, revealing truths and making money, but she’d never forgotten the obvious: They were playing with fire. People will do anything to keep their secrets.
Even kill.
“So . . . hum . . .”
It still wasn’t working. She headed up to her bedroom. Even though Gabrielle knew that she was alone in the house, she closed the door. She lay on her bed in a fetal position and started to suck her thumb. Embarrassing, but when the so-hums couldn’t do the trick, reverting to something so primitive and infantile often did. She pulled up her knees tighter to her chest and let herself have a little cry. When she was done, she took out her mobile phone. She used a VPN for privacy. It wasn’t foolproof, but for now, it would be enough. She read the business card again.