The Kidnapper's Wife

26. After

The first thing I do when I get home from the grocery store is cancel with Cara. I can't muster the energy to call her, so I just text her, saying that I'm sorry, but I'm not up to having visitor's tomorrow after all. I don't explain why.

She calls me almost immediately, but I don't answer. Instead, I lie on the couch and order a pizza. In all the chaos at the store, I didn't actually get any groceries.

I've developed a system with all of my delivery men that I leave open the door to the garage when I know they're coming. They come in, leave the delivery and knock on the door. A few minutes later, I use my remote to close the garage door, come out, and get the food. I don't even have to put this in the instructions anymore, I order food so often they all know the drill.

The reporters can't come inside the garage, and this way I don't have to see a single one of them.

After eating half the pizza (or at least a third...Ruby did convince me to drop some on the floor for her), I try watching a movie, but I'm anxious, and I can't sit still. The words of Anna's mother are still echoing in my head, and they have my emotions in turmoil. I feel completely unsettled, pacing around the house.

My walk takes me to my laptop, where the research into Connor's family is still up on the screen. I sit down, seeing the number I found for Connor's father displayed front and center.

Without overthinking it, I dial the number.

After 3 rings, an answering machine's robotic voice greets me.

"Hello. You have reached Carter. This user has recorded the following automated greeting for all callers:" a gruff voice takes over the recording, "If you're calling to ask me about my son, I have three words for you: Don't call again." The machine emitted a long beep and I hung up before it ended.

So Connor's parents are a dead end. His father's voice is mean and scary sounding, and I have no intention of calling again and risking getting the real thing on the other end of my phone. I don't really have much else to go on in the small town of Connor's childhood at the moment, but that doesn't mean I'm out of leads.

Reaching to the side of my laptop, I pull out a sticky pad with a number written on it. This is a number I was given a few weeks ago, when I was digging around Nashville for anyone who might have known Connor. It's the number of his former agent.

I don't let myself hesitate before dialing, afraid that if I do the ghost of Connor's father's harsh voice will cause me to put down the phone.

Before I can even plan out what to say a female voice greets me, "Harper and Collins, this is Andrea speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I, I was just wondering if I could speak with Mr. Collins."

"May I ask who's calling?"

I know this firm must get calls from dozens of wannabe singers everyday hoping to be paged through to Mr. Collins, and this is one of the reasons I've waited so long to call.

"I'm the wife of a former client, and I just had some questions about that client's files."

"I usually take care of filling, I'd be happy to look someone up for you and see what we can tell you without violating privacy restrictions. Can I have the client's name?" Andrea is polite, her voice exuding cool professionalism.

"Actually, I'd really rather speak with Mr. Collins directly about this client, if that's okay."

"Mr. Collin's is very busy, I'm not sure-"

"Look I understand that you are a talent agency and you probably see all sorts of tricks to try to get a conversation with Mr. Collins. I have no ambitions to become a singer. My husband used to be represented by Mr. Collins in Nashville, and I have some questions that can only be answered by Mr. Collins. If you could even just page me through to a machine for Mr. Collins, I can leave a message and he can decide whether to call me back."