Her Perfect Secret

“Emily,” Paul says sternly. “Sean wouldn’t want this.”

It’s what finally gets me. I return my attention to Sean, lying there helplessly. At the same moment, a nurse comes into the room. “You can’t all be in here right now.”

She’s followed by others. She says, “You need to let us work. To let us help your son.”

When Paul finally drags me out of the room, at last, I’m bawling.

*

I opt for the car in the parking lot instead of the waiting room. No sad people to stare at me in the parking lot; I’m still crying. Paul sits beside me, in the passenger seat. He stares out the window, rubbing his knuckle back and forth across his mouth.

When I can speak again, I ask him where Joni and Michael went.

“They’re still inside.”

I nod and blot my eyes with a tissue, but it’s no good — a fresh bout of anguish overcomes me. “Oh, God . . .” And then, a flash of anger: Laura Bishop is behind this. She’s out to take an eye for an eye. I’ve known it all along.

“He’s going to be all right,” Paul soothes.

“They said he wasn’t breathing for a long time. You heard Michael. They were out in the middle of the lake. Michael swam all the way back to the shore with him?”

“Someone saw them. Some tourist saw them swimming and picked them up.”

“Did they see what happened?”

Paul shakes his head. “I don’t know. It all happened really fast.”

“We need to talk to the police.”

Paul faces me. “First, you need to talk to me.”

I sigh, letting some of the tension unwind. Maybe the police aren’t the best option right now. Not until I can sort a few things out. I tell him about the meeting with Mooney. “Laura Bishop might know who I am. And about what happened with Tom. What if she sent him to us?”

“Sent him? To do what? Marry Joni? That seems pretty elaborate.”

“Sent him to do this.” I wave my arms, meaning, everything. “Think about what’s happened. I hit a deer — I could’ve been killed . . .”

“The deer?”

“I was rushing home. Once I found out that she’d been paroled. The weird message I got on my phone, the carving . . .” I know Paul’s not aware of some of this. “It’s to destabilize us.”

“I don’t know, if anything—”

“Look what just happened to Sean. He doesn’t have accidents, Paul.”

“Everybody has accidents.”

I shake my head. “So this tourist, he drove them back to the lake house?”

“No — they went to the boat launch at the marina. Michael thought Sean needed an ambulance. That they’d have better luck on the town side of the lake then our side, getting an ambulance back in the narrow roads.” Paul raises his eyebrows, as if to say, would a killer think of that? He adds, “Michael called 911, then me. The ambulance got there first. It was Michael who rode with Sean. He hasn’t left his side.”

I’m still shaking my head, now shedding more tears, dizzy with uncertainty. I let it all out until it’s done. Paul rubs my back.

“I think we need to take a breath here,” Paul says.

I nod, trying to pull it together.

Paul says, “This has been a lot. Michael showing up has been a big surprise, in more ways than one. And we’re reeling from it. But we need to put our heads together. You know some things, and I know some things. But we’ve got to come together. We’re a team, Em, okay?”

I’m nodding and crying. I want to tell Paul about Doug Wiseman. About what a ready-made villain he is. How even Mooney thought Laura knew who did it or had someone to blame, and Wiseman was likely it. Maybe it’s a way out of all of this for us. But my phone rings.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“So you went to see Rebecca Mooney?”

“Detective Starzyk,” I say, wiping a hand across my runny nose, “I can’t really talk right now. I have a family crisis that—”

“This will just take a minute, okay? Mrs. Lindman, you’re free to talk to and see whoever you choose. But I hope you realize that you might not like what comes out of it.”

“Detective, if that’s a threat, I’m not really—”

“That’s not a threat. Not from me. I think we both know where the real threat is coming from.”

Paul is watching me with concern. I cover the phone and whisper to him, “Go be with Sean. I can handle this.”

He waits, but I nod and give him a gentle push. “I’m all right.”

When Paul finally gets out and closes the door, I finish with Starzyk. “I think I might be getting in touch with your internal affairs bureau, Detective.”

“Who do you think would suffer the worst consequences in that situation?”

The implication is I would. “That’s ridiculous. My case notes and evaluation reflect exactly what happened, by the book. The errors and cover-ups appear all on your side of the equation.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on a second.”

“No. I’ve heard enough. You know how this looks, and you’re scared. Mooney is scared. You know that things could slip through your fingers all over again.”

“Boy, you are a piece of work, lady . . .”

“Now, I really do have to go. Please don’t call me again.”

I hang up, breathing hard. Starzyk is trying to intimidate me, and I pushed back.

The nerve of that guy! Only, I should’ve asked him about Frank. Not that he’d admit it, and not that I don’t already know. Cops and private investigators can have a touchy relationship. Frank relies on good vibes with the police to best serve his clients.

More important: Starzyk is clearly watching me. Showing up at the Bishop home when I’m there, knowing that I visited Mooney . . . He was the gray Ford in Lake George, I’m sure. He’s keeping tabs on things because, like I said, he’s scared.

I shake it off. It doesn’t matter right this moment. What matters now is being with my son.

But when I return to the hospital, Paul has a different idea.

“I’m going to stay with him tonight.”

I blink at Paul. “So am I.”

“He’s in the ICU. Only one other person can be in there.”

We’re in the waiting area, which is about half full, including Joni and Michael. I keep my voice measured, aware that we’re drawing attention, just what I don’t want. “Then it’s me,” I say in a low voice. “I’m his mother.”

“You’ve also already gotten the attention of hospital administration,” he says quietly.

“What? Why?”

But I know why — because I was loud and aggressive earlier towards Michael.

“So,” Paul says in an irritatingly soothing tone, “you can either sleep out here in the lobby, which I wouldn’t recommend. Or you can go home and get some real rest. You look exhausted, Em. You’ve been running all over the place. You—”

“Stop.” Fresh tears burn against the backs of my eyes. I don’t want to lose it again, so take a deep breath through my nose. “I don’t need you telling me about my health when our son is—”

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