Nessa realized she’d never asked Isabeau anything about herself, and it made her ashamed. She was so swept up in the drama that was her life Isabeau was just a bit player, a prop, an extra.
But by rescuing Nessa tonight, she’d earned top billing.
Sunday, June 19
AT NINE THE next morning, Nessa stuck Daltrey in front of the TV—-something she was doing far too often these days—-while Isabeau worked on her computer in the same room.
Nessa went up to her bedroom and steeled herself to call John’s parents. Then she dialed her mother--in--law’s cell phone.
“Linda, I have a problem.”
“Oh?” her mother--in--law said. “What is it now?”
Nessa ground her teeth. “Is there any way you can push up your Kansas City trip with Daltrey? And then take him back to Russell with you for a week or so?”
Nessa was grateful that, other than cell phone usage, her in--laws were completely technophobic and had no knowledge of or interest in the Internet, so they wouldn’t have read her blog and all the horrific comments.
“Need a little break, do you?” Linda said.
Nessa bit her tongue. Actually, since -people were now invading her house at all hours of the night, she feared for Daltrey’s safety. But she wasn’t about to let slip this bit of info. She’d always had the feeling that Linda was just waiting for her to screw up so she could swoop in and take control of Daltrey’s life.
“I’ll have to miss my book club, but you know I’ll do anything for my boyfriend.” That’s what she called Daltrey, to Nessa’s revulsion. Linda sighed, put--upon, but agreed to pick Daltrey up in the morning.
As Nessa drove into town to Lock It Up later, she couldn’t shake the feeling of the would--be rapist’s hands on her, the gun pointed at her. She’d showered twice that morning, but now she felt like she needed another one. She felt like she was covered in slime.
Lock It Up Locksmith Ser-vices was housed in a converted brick home. She walked in and asked to see the owner.
“I’ve used your company before, but I want to talk to him to see if there’s a more sophisticated system we should be using. Or maybe you could show me—-”
“He should be back anytime,” the receptionist said. “He went to lunch. If you want to wait, that’s fine.”
Nessa watched the receptionist play The Sims on her computer until she got bored and leafed through some old magazines. Finally, the bell over the door sounded, and an older man with thin silver hair and glasses walked in leading a younger guy who was looking at his phone. Nessa recognized him—-what was his name? Brady, the kid who’d changed her locks.
She stood and introduced herself. The owner clasped her outstretched hand, and Brady looked up from his phone and started. He looked quickly away.
“Hey, Brady,” she said.
“Hi,” he said, without looking at her. “I have a doctor’s appointment, Jerry. Forgot about it. I’ll be back in a few.” He turned and walked out the door.
Nessa watched him go. Why wouldn’t he look at her?
The thought that struck her took her breath away. The key the would--be rapist showed her was from the new locks. The locks Brady had installed. In the trauma of the moment, this hadn’t occurred to her.
“Will you excuse me for just a minute?” she said. “I want to thank Brady personally for the great job he did on our house.”
She followed Brady out the door where he was sprinting toward a truck.
“Hey,” she said.
He didn’t hesitate or turn around. He was fumbling with the keys to the truck, and she ran toward him, overcome with the desire to kick this kid’s ass. He sold her fucking keys to a fucking rapist.
“Hey, Brady,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
“Are you the one who placed the ad?”
He turned then, his face a mask of confusion.
“How much did you get, you little punk--ass bitch?” she hissed.
He turned back to the truck door, trying desperately to get his key in the lock.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady,” he said.
Nessa had to force herself not to start screaming and clawing at him, force herself to realize she needed to go mom on him rather than Robocop. She caught up to him and put her hand on his. “I can get you fired right now,” she said, “or you can tell me who you sold my key to, and your boss never needs to know.”
She grabbed his keys away from him and put them in her pocket. “Look at me,” she said in the same tone she’d use with Daltrey when he was ignoring her. “I need your help. Whoever you sold my keys to came into my house in the middle of the night and tried to rape me.”
Brady continued to look at the ground.
“I have a little boy,” she said, pleading. “You met him. You’ve put him and me in danger. Don’t you give a shit?”
The kid started to cry.
“Listen. Just tell me the truth and I swear I won’t tell your boss. I just need to know who it was.”
He couldn’t stop crying.
“How much did he pay you?”
“A hundred dollars,” the kid said, wiping his nose on his arm. “Both times.”
“Wait—-what? Both times?”