Death on the Coast, M Comley [book club books TXT] 📗

“I thought as much.”

“So…? Where’s he been, and what was his phone and the noose doing up there by the murder scene?”

“Mark swears he doesn’t know anything about it. He claimed he did lose his phone and just went ahead and got another. So, all the times you’ve been ringing his number, well, he’d gotten a new one.”

“Where’s he staying?” Her throat hurt to ask that, but she needed to know.

“All he said was with a friend.”

“Female coworker?”

“He didn’t give me any names.”

“I bet it is.”

Brendon cleared his throat. “If I had to guess, I’d agree. I’m sorry, Luce. I really am.”

“Are you?”

An awkward silence fell between them.

“Do I intimidate you?” she asked finally.

“Of course not.”

Lucy took a deep breath and nodded. “So, what else did he tell you?”

“He’s going to be leaving. He promised me he’d call me before he heads over to get his stuff. I’ll run by and just be on hand. To avoid things getting messy.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think Mark would do anything like that.”

“Umm…you didn’t think he’d ever want a divorce either.”

“True.”

“It’s a whole new ballgame.”

“I suppose. This will have to sink in.”

“Want to grab some dinner?”

“Thanks, but no. This is the kind of thinking you have to do on your own.”

Brendon stood and smiled. “You know how to reach me.” He stopped in the doorway. “It will all work out and you’ll be happier, Lucy. I promise.”

She nodded, showed Brendon to the door, and locked it behind him, watching him drive away from her vantage point through the pane of glass in the front door. She stood, looking around at the home she and Mark had built. There was a time when they were newly married that every day brought something new and exciting. She remembered the day they’d moved into the house—how she’d planned the furniture arrangement and where to put the dishes and food in the kitchen. Mark had claimed the garage, and she reflected on how they’d laughed when he’d come in and said he was done. She’d gone out to take a look, and all that was in the garage was a pair of pliers and a hammer on the workbench. The garage was otherwise empty.

She locked up and decided to take another hot bubble bath. It would calm her down, then she’d go to bed early and try to sleep. On her way, she grabbed the last brownie and trudged slowly upstairs, a dull ache existed where her heart should be. She ran the tub and settled in, putting some country music on the radio. She soon regretted her decision. Every song mentioned someone either cheating or getting a divorce. She took a bite from her brownie and wondered if she’d ever get married again. After all, she wanted children, and she was plenty young enough to have them.

A loud noise came from downstairs. The radio volume was turned low, and she distinctly picked up the sound of slamming against the front door. Then glass broke—something small, and it hit the floor of the entryway. Lucy’s first instinct was to call out Mark’s name. Perhaps he was drunk and had forgotten his keys as he came to claim his things. Caution told her not to say anything, though. If it wasn’t Mark, it would make it apparent to an intruder that she was alone. Slowly, she got to her feet, hopped out of the tub, and wrapped herself in a towel. She’d left the bathroom door open—something she and Mark had always remarked that made them privileged over those with a household of children. It was one of their serious talks when another month passed by and Lucy found out she wasn’t pregnant.

Lucy reached around the door and was relieved to find her robe still hanging there. Trying not to make a sound, she cautiously leaned forward to look down the hallway, relieved she’d left her cell phone on her bed. For the moment, it was quiet downstairs, and she didn’t see anyone. With a deep breath, she bent low and slid her feet, rather than taking steps to cross the hall and into her room. She pushed the door shut and then leaned into the dresser next to it with her shoulder until it slid in front. She found her phone and lay on the floor, out of the line of fire from the door. She debated dialing nine-one-one but opted to text Brendon instead. Less explanation, both in summoning him and afterwards, depending on what happened.

NEED HELP. SOMEONE TRYING TO BREAK IN DOWNSTAIRS. I’M IN MY BEDROOM.

His response came seconds later.

GET UNDER THE BED AND DON’T MOVE. ON MY WAY.

Chilled, which told her fear had taken over, Lucy squeezed under the bed from the far side, pulling the comforter with her. She lay shivering. Listening. Wishing she were a bird and could safely sit on a limb, watching what was about to transpire.

In the distance, a siren wailed. First one and then two, or perhaps three. The noise grew louder as they approached and then there were footfalls beneath her bedroom window.

WE’RE HERE. ARE YOU OKAY?

YES, STILL UNDER MY BED.

STAY THERE.

As far as Lucy was concerned, that wasn’t going to be a problem. Men’s voices circled the house, then they were downstairs.

“Lucy! Open the door.”

It took some gymnastics to get out from under the bed, wrapped up in the comforter as she was. Finally, she reached the door. “Hold on. I have to move the dresser back.”

Having expended most of her adrenaline, moving the dresser back was no easy feat. She ended up sitting on the floor and leaning into it with her shoulder and back. Finally!

“Are you okay?” Brendon asked when she opened the door.

She read in his eyes that he wanted to hold her, but she figured his professionalism wouldn’t allow that.

She nodded. “I was in the tub.” She gestured to her damp hair and robe.

“It’s okay to come out. Why don’t you get dressed and meet me in