Ethan was suddenly relegated to the role of hysterical husband. He hadn’t even had a chance to tell Graham about Wilde.
But that thought was scrambled, pushed away, making room for the more frightening train that followed.
Was he going to be charged? Was he wrong, and it was all her doing? Joel’s warning paraded into his mind, Bill’s cynicism joined the party. Was there any way Sutton could have hurt herself but made it look like he was to blame? Would she do something so awful? How was he going to cope if she were gone? Would they find a body?
“Oh, God.”
He started through the house, looking out the windows, trying to ascertain if anyone was out there. Then he got a grip on himself and called Graham back.
She didn’t answer. He left her a message.
“You hung up before I was able to tell you everything. I need to talk to you. Right now. I’ve been contacted by someone who claims to know where Sutton is. He wants money. Please ring me back.”
BLACKMAIL, OR HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?
Holly had questioned Ellen Jones hard for forty minutes, but she hadn’t budged. She insisted Sutton Montclair was not the person in the video.
It clouded everything Holly knew about this case, which was getting stranger by the second.
She grabbed a bag of Tots and a diet cherry limeade from Sonic and sat in the car, thinking. Ate, made some notes. The loyal friends, the missing money, the doting husband, the professional fall from grace. The note. The baby. None of it was adding up for her. It was like trying to solve a puzzle whose pieces came from different boxes.
Her cell rang, for what felt like the thousandth time today. If this was what being a detective was like...how did they ever get anything done with their phones constantly ringing? She glanced at the caller ID. It was Ethan Montclair again.
“Mr. Montclair? What can I do for you now?”
“Listen, I received a call a little while ago. I left you a message, but you didn’t call me back. I’m assuming you didn’t get it.”
She looked at her call screen, saw the badge alert that indicated she’d received a message. “Ah. So you did. What did you want to tell me?”
“I’m being blackmailed. And I think Sutton might have been, too. I think that’s why she’s run away.”
It took a moment, but relief swept through her. The idea of a concrete villain made everyone’s lives easier. Holly made mental notes. She had to call Moreno, had to call the TBI, the FBI, get all her ducks in a row.
But first, she needed every detail Montclair could provide.
“Tell me.”
He did, finishing with, “Someone’s spying on me. I know it.”
“You sound very paranoid, sir.”
“You would be, too, if you knew what I know. We have to take this seriously. I have to find her. She has to be okay.”
“First, I have to tell my boss.”
“No, you can’t tell anyone.”
“Mr. Montclair, this is nonnegotiable. We both have a lot to lose right now. I’ll be right back to you. Don’t move, don’t talk to anyone.”
She called Moreno. “You might want to meet me at the Montclairs’ house. We’ve got a blackmail attempt ongoing.”
“Who’s blackmailing whom?”
“The blogger who made their lives hell has apparently called and asked for fifty grand in exchange for information about Sutton Montclair leaving the house in the wee hours. He claims he saw her get into a black car and drive off into the night, and that he knows where she is.”
“Think it’s legit?”
“It’s been a solid forty-eight hours since she went missing. The timing stands. Then again, these are public people. It’s entirely possible someone’s playing a cruel joke.”
“Is that what you think’s happening?”
“I don’t know. There is fifty grand missing from their accounts, and Ethan Montclair just tossed out the idea that Sutton was being blackmailed, too.”
“He said that?”
“Not in so many words, but he intimated that perhaps she paid off whoever it was and then ran. Either this guy is playing us like a fiddle, or something shady’s going on.”
“I’ll meet you there. Give me an hour. I’m tied up.”
*
Ethan spilled his guts, and Holly took copious notes.
As he talked, a text message came into his phone. It said, Don’t you dare mention me to the cop. I’ll know if you do.
Ethan handed the phone to Graham. “It says cop. Not cops.”
“Do you think that means something?”
“I do. I think it means he’s watching. You’re a single cop. He saw you come over.”
“You may be right.” She called her boss again. Ethan could hear the gruff voice of Sergeant Moreno, tried to ignore it.
“Sir, we’ve received another threat. I think it would be better if you stayed away. I think Wilde can see the house. He seems to be aware that I’m here. If the whole squad arrives, he’ll know.”
“Do we have a trace on Montclair’s phone?”
“No, and we need one. Can you make that happen?”
“Yes, I’ll do it. We’ll also put someone on the house, discreetly. Tell him, so he doesn’t need to worry. You figure out why this blogger suddenly decided to extort money from the Montclairs, and whether this is for real, or simply a diversion. We’ll work from the opposite direction, try to locate Wilde.” There was a note in Moreno’s voice that was readily understood—make sure Montclair isn’t trying to buy time.
Ethan didn’t react visibly, though a small wave of hopelessness passed through him. They all thought he was involved. All of them.
“Roger that.”
Graham hung up and faced Ethan.
“Start talking. I need to know everything you left out before.”
“What makes you think I left anything out?”
The cop looked annoyed. “Mr. Montclair, please don’t play games with me. I want to help you, and I want to find your wife unharmed. I have no agenda here. You called us for help. Help is what I’m offering. But you can’t keep holding back on me. Tell me the truth. What’s really going on here?”
“I am telling you the truth. I haven’t said a single thing that’s not true.”
“You also aren’t telling me everything, or else you wouldn’t have some random blogger trying to extort money from you. Spit it out.”
Ethan walked to the counter, ran his hand over the smooth surface. It had become a talisman for him now. All the fights, all the hurt feelings, over a stupid slab of stone. He was marked for life by it, and he should be. To let his marriage, his wife, slip away over such ridiculous things as ego and blame and emotionless sex branded him forever as a horrible man.
“I had an affair. Wilde found out. He’s threatened to make it public knowledge before. It wasn’t even a thing. I was drunk. I barely remembered it.” You sound like you’re making excuses. Stop. Be a man about it.
“Who was the affair with?”
“It was just...a woman. At a conference. We met in the bar. I was drunk. I made a mistake. It was stupid and senseless and careless of me. Sutton found out. Looking back, I wonder if Wilde tipped her off. I swore to her it was nothing, and we were finally getting things back on track.”
“You never asked how she knew?”
“Of course I did. She wouldn’t tell me. Wouldn’t talk to me at all, actually.”