No Fault of Mine

Chapter Eight

I held my phone limply in my hand, thinking about the implication of Thad's update. Embezzlement is a white-collar crime and rates lower on the county prosecutor's priority list than murder. Nothing unsettles a community more than an unexplained murder of a prominent family member. Public demand for quick action translates to political headaches, which inevitably pressure local police to find and arrest the perpetrator. An arrest demonstrates that the community is in safe hands. I hoped the police wouldn't zero in on me. I realized running from my home increases the likelihood that I'd be considered a partner in the crime of embezzlement. But because it's widely known that there's little loyalty among criminals, I may also be on the suspect list for my husband's murder.

My phone chirped as my ruminating brain spun toward the black hole of despair.

"Yes," I said tentatively.

"Hi, Stan here. Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah, sure." I tried to sound cheerful, but all the negative news had me firmly imprisoned in a thicket of depression.

"I'm at my brother's house earlier planned," he said. "I have a phone that misses you. Would you like to meet tomorrow so I can return it?"

"Well,...I don't really know...I don't..."

"Please don't feel under pressure," he said. "There's plenty of time. Tomorrow is only Friday, and I don't expect to leave for home until Sunday afternoon."

"Maybe I can call you in the morning," I said.

"Yeah, sure...um...are you okay?"

My body groaned without my permission. I'm sure he heard, and I felt my face flush. "Did you get any calls on my phone?" I winced at my attempt to redirect him like a parent would a child. He didn't deserve that.

"Quite a few, but I let them go to voice mail. Do you usually get two or three calls between midnight and three?"

"No, that's new."

Silence—the seconds slipped by.

"Mia, are you in trouble?" he asked.

My chest heaved at the thought that he, a stranger, could sense the weight on my heart. I wanted to say yes. His voice was inviting—his question struck so close to my misery. I could tell him my sadness and fear, to bare my soul, but I was afraid if I opened that door a crack, a flood would follow. Besides, who was he really? For all I know, he could be the one making the calls; he could be the murderer.

I can't be led by my emotions. I can't be that vulnerable to anyone, especially a stranger.

"Mia?" His voice was soft, gentle. "Mia, are you still there?"

"Yes," I managed to say.

"I don't want to hang up until I know you're all right." His voice had softened to a near whisper. I could almost feel his breath on my face. "I'm so glad to hear your voice, Mia." His breath smelled sweet in my imagination, and his body smelled...I inhaled it...it smelled like no other man in my life. "As I stood at the door and watched your taillights disappear into the night, I was afraid I'd given you bad advice...I was afraid I'd never see you again. Maybe that's why I arrived a day early."

"To make sure I'm okay?" With a start, I realized I'd just said it out loud.

"Yes, to make sure you're okay," he repeated.

Warmth spread through my chest, and instantly, I responded, "Yes, I'd like to see you."

The moment the words escaped my lips, I clenched my jaw. I couldn't trust myself to say another word. Hadn't I just admonished myself not to make emotional decisions? I couldn't afford to allow any emotional entanglement, especially with his man, an employee at an all-night gas station in a long-forgotten town. Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he had been helpful. But the big question is, why was he so helpful? Is he somehow involved in the crisis I'm facing?

Is he purposefully manipulating my emotions?

After Stan's call, I walked among the trees in the Rest Area, trying to self-soothe. That's what my college counselor suggested to reduce my test anxiety. It worked then, but my mind was so tangled in the confounding details of my husband's thievery and murder and Stan's motivations that I hovered between confusion and indecision. I couldn't think of one rational reason to see him at all. At the very least, I could have delayed seeing him until Sunday before he left town or had him FedEx my phone to my office.

The sun was low in the sky when I merged onto I-5 and headed back to my sister's. As I pulled into a parking space, I saw Luke and Brant practicing soccer at the playground.

"Mom...mom...you won't believe it," Brant shouted excitedly as he ran up to the car. "We went on a submarine. It was so cool."

Brant stopped short of colliding with me, and I gave him a standing hug.

"No brute hug?" Luke asked, joining us.

"I had to give that up a while ago," I said. "He's growing quickly, and my muscles haven't kept up."

"Mom, it was the last diesel sub," Brant said.

"Son, let's go inside, and you can tell me all about it."

Our evening was a flurry of activity: supper prep and clean up, a few hands of cards, and bed rituals. After Brant was settled under the covers and had fallen asleep, I met Pia at the kitchen table, and we nursed a glass of wine while enjoying sister talk.

"I don't think I would put my name on bogus statements," I said. "I kept a close eye on what we owed other businesses."

"It was either you or Martin," Pia said. "That leaves only Martin."

"I'm trying to keep an open mind. There must be other possibilities, but I sure don't know any likely candidates."

"Think of the people you know in the business that might be candidates," Pia said.

"Within the company, there's only our brother."

"Not likely, but I guess he's a possibility," Pia said. "That's two, well, three if we count you."

"I know it's crazy, but there's this guy that helped me at a no-name gas station in a no-name town. He said his name is Stan. I don't know his last name. He fixed my smashed brake light and set me up with a burner phone."

"Yeah, well?" Pia shrugged.

"I gave him my phone," I said.

"You did what?" Her jaw dropped.

"Yeah," I said with gravel in my voice. "I could be tracked on my phone. That's what he said. He offered to take my phone and bring it to me when he visited his brother in Portland this weekend."

"Your personal and company phone? Really, Mia. What were you thinking?"

"That I was scared out of my gourd, and he offered what sounded like a reasonable plan."

"I wouldn't give my phone to my husband, and I know him well," Pia said with disdain.

"Yes, well, it doesn't seem like such a good idea now," I said.

Pia sipped wine from her glass. "When are you going to pick up the phone?"

"Tomorrow."