Page 111 of The Secrets We Hide
Brett was standing in her doorway. He looked annoyed. Behind him, she could see two sets of eyes watching from the squad room.
“This ain’t about Bill anymore. I don’t care whatever wild goose chase you’ve got going on. You need to stop punishing me with this bullshit hospital duty. I’m already exhausted with a baby at home and one on the way.”
Emmy didn’t think about the fact that she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in years, that she’d watched her father die six weeks ago and buried her mother the day before. She didn’t even think about Brett’s curt tone when he’d finally picked up her urgentcall from the hospital, or that she’d heard his baby crying in the background when her call had woken him up.
She thought about Cole’s birth. That she’d lost nearly four pints of blood and dislocated her pelvis pushing him out, and that she’d been back on the job three weeks later wearing an adult diaper to catch the blood and urine that were still seeping from her body.
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
His mouth opened, but there were no words, which was a good look for him. Then he broke the spell. “What?”
“Now.”
Emmy picked up the receiver on the phone. Dialed Reggie’s home number. Waited through two rings. She saw Brett slump back to his desk. Julian and Levi were smirking, but for once, it was not directed at Emmy.
Reggie answered, “’Sup, playa? Hellbitch still breaking your balls?”
Emmy almost laughed. Of course he’d assumed a call from the Clifton County Sheriff’s Department was his good buddy Brett Temple. “Hey, Reggie.”
“Emmy.” Reggie was the one who laughed, but not like it was funny. “Heard you had your guys asking around about the Rawleys this morning. Anything I can help you with?”
Emmy wondered at his brazenness. “Actually, I’d appreciate that. Why don’t you come to the station and we can talk?”
He grunted. “You asking me to come in for a formal interview?”
“I wouldn’t call itformal. More like two colleagues having a chat.” Emmy waited, but he didn’t respond. “If your knee is hurting too much to drive, I could send Brett to pick you up.”
He grunted again. “This about my alibi?”
“Reggie, I went to vacation Bible school every summer break with just about every woman over forty in this town. You think I don’t know whose house you’ve been rolling up to at fourteen eighty-eight Dahlia Drive?”
There was a moment of prolonged silence. “What’s this about? Why’d you call?”
Emmy knew how to be silent a hell of a lot better than he did. She wasn’t ready to give him a warning shot over the bow. There were a lot of skeletons in Reggie’s closet, not just the one from 2002. She wanted him to sweat, to worry about what she knew, who she had told, when she was going to come for him.
“Emmy, listen …”
She listened, but he didn’t finish his thought. She could tell he was gearing up for some lies and some bluster. She looked at her father’s wall clock. The second hand ticked in the quiet.
“Okay.”
Emmy returned the receiver to the cradle.
She slipped her cell phone out of her vest pocket. Ignored the string of text notifications from Taybee. Pulled up a familiar number.
“Emmy!” Dervla McClatchy’s voice was raised to be heard over what sounded like a football game, two bickering teenage girls, and Taylor Swift competing for dominance in the background. “I’m sorry about that post on NextDoor. I thought it was set to private. You’re doing a great job. I was just making a stupid joke.”
Emmy guessed she knew what Taybee had texted. “Were you at home when Allison was shot?”
“What?” Dervla barked a fake laugh. “That’s crazy!”
The racket in the background slowly faded as Dervla clearly went somewhere more private. Her house was large. Her family owned a car dealership. Her husband was a lawyer who worked for the auto parts factory and traveled overseas more frequently than was good for his marriage.
“Hon, didn’t you talk to Brett?” Dervla spoke in a hoarse whisper. “He already asked me if I heard anything. I told him I left the house about ten minutes before it started. Had some work to do at the dealership. Didn’t even know what had happened until George called to see if I was okay.”
Emmy looked up at Brett. He’d started throwing things around his desk like a toddler. He snatched his jacket off the back of his chair. Stomped across the squad room. “Were you alone at the house before you left?”
“George took the girls to see his mama down in Florida.” Emmy had to hand it to her for keeping her tone conversational. “Were you alone at the house?”
