Page 1 of The Birchwood House

CHAPTER ONE

Audrey Lowe’s heels clicked across her gleaming kitchen floor as she paced. Her face, usually smiling in a way that lit up her soft brown eyes with kindness, was furrowed in a deep frown.

She brushed her shoulder-length auburn hair back from her forehead, getting her manicured fingernails caught in one of her soft curls.

Letting out a huff of frustration, she turned around and began to pace in the opposite direction. She passed the refrigerator, glancing with a pained expression at the family portrait hanging there in a plastic magnetic frame. It was a picture of herself and her husband Clark with their arms around their beautiful daughter, Michelle, at her college graduation. It had been taken five years ago, and she thought to herself that everything had felt different then. Back then, she never would have dreamed of living through a week like this one.

She shook her head as she passed the end of the kitchen island, its usually spotless countertop now strewn with papers and wadded tissues from her late-night cry the evening before. Normally, Audrey was a very tidy person, and she took pride in keeping her gorgeous Scottsville home magazine-cover-ready.Ever since the night Clark didn’t come home, however, she had been an absolute wreck.

She slowed in her pacing, half closing her eyes as she tried not to think about that night, which still made her shaky with anxiety. She thought to herself that it was silly to feel that way, since she still didn’t know where Clark was or what had happened to him, but she couldn’t help it—thinking about the night he never came home seemed to churn up everything she was feeling, changing her emotions from eddies to a full-blown tempest of concern.

Clark had a well-paying job managing an office equipment manufacturing center. Every once in a while, he came home from work late, but in the past he’d always called or texted to let her know that was happening.

Two evenings ago, she’d stood in the living room, peering at the driveway and wondering why he was so late. She’d been waiting to eat dinner so that they could have it together—she’d prepared a lemon chicken with cream sauce and asparagus, one of his favorite meals. He’d been acting distant and preoccupied lately, and she’d wanted to do something to cheer him up.

She’d called him several times, wondering if perhaps his phone had gotten left in his office while he had to work elsewhere in the manufacturing plant. When two hours had passed, however, she began to get truly worried. After all, he must know what time it was. Clark had always been excellent with time. Why hadn’t he borrowed a coworker’s phone to give her a quick call and explain why he was so late?

She’d finally given up and reheated a portion of the meal for herself, tucking the rest of it inside the refrigerator. The entire time she ate, she’d listened carefully for the sound of Clark’s approaching Porsche, but it never came. She’d glanced at her phone screen every few seconds, jumping hopefully every time the screen lit up with a notification.

Hours had passed, and she’d started to worry more and more. She’d curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow and watching the driveway, hoping that he would call any second and explain that something crazy had happened at work and that he’d be home soon—hungry and excited to see her.

The next thing she’d known, she was waking up to the light of dawn streaming into the living room through the enormous picture window that looked out across their yard. She’d jumped off the couch, hoping that Clark had come home late and simply not wanted to wake her. She’d checked her phone as she raced to the door that led from the kitchen into the garage.

He still hadn’t texted or called her, but she’d told herself that his phone might have died, or it might even have gotten lost or stolen. She’d held her breath all the way to the door, which she’d ripped open, feeling her heart pound with a mix of hope and trepidation.

The garage had been empty. Her heart had sunk all the way down into the concrete, and she’d known with certainty that it was no longer the time to be hoping for the best. She needed to call the police and file a missing person’s report.

She’d called the police department first, doing her best to keep her voice steady. The policeman she’d spoken to sounded gruff and as if he was in a big hurry, which made her feel frazzled and more anxious than ever. After that, she’d called everyone who knew Clark, asking if they knew where he was.

She’d been told by his coworkers that he’d left work the night before at the usual time, acting normal and seeming as though nothing was wrong. That had scared her more than anything. If work hadn’t been the thing to delay him, what had been? An accident?

She’d been imagining the worst, despite her best efforts not to, ever since. She felt as though she was in a haze of worry and sadness, and she was exhausted from the friction that washappening inside her as she tried to have hope and tried not to be afraid of learning something terrible.

She glanced at the clock, slowing in her pacing again. It had been two hours since the police had called to say they’d traced Clark’s Porsche to an address across town and were sending an officer out to check on him. Ever since, she’d been almost frantic, wondering if the news would be good. She could feel a blister starting up on her ankle from all the pacing that she’d been doing in her high heels, but she couldn’t seem to stop moving.

Please let the news be good,she thought, crossing her fingers and her wrists and biting her lip.I just want him to come home safe.

The seconds had felt like hours ever since she’d gotten the call from the police, but still her phone wasn’t ringing. She checked the screen for what must have been the hundredth time, making sure there hadn’t been some kind of technical glitch that kept the phone from ringing even though a call had come through. She sighed when she saw that there were no new notifications.

Audrey picked up a glass of red wine that was resting on the end of the kitchen table. She’d started drinking it with dinner, but she’d hardly drunk any of it—and she’d hardly eaten any of the pasta she’d bought from the grocery store deli either. Normally she cooked, even if she was by herself. But she simply hadn’t had the energy, so she’d picked up a quick meal at the nearest supermarket.

She took a half-hearted sip of the rich red liquid, and its robust taste smoothed itself across her tongue. Ordinarily, she loved wine, but tonight, it didn’t interest her.

“I just need the phone to ring,” she whispered, her stomach in knots.

It did. At that moment, her phone began to vibrate and play the generic jingle that she’d set as her ringtone. It was a sound that made her think of Clark, since he called her more than anyone.

She raced across the kitchen and snatched up the phone. One quick glance told her that it was the police department calling.

“Hello?” she said breathlessly.

“Mrs. Lowe?”

“Speaking.”

She shut her eyes, hoping that whoever this deep-voiced cop was, he would just throw the information at her as quickly as possible, whatever it was. She was so tired of waiting, she felt as though she might burst.

A second later, however, she knew the cop wasn’t going to do anything of the kind. He paused for what felt like an eternity to her, and then he slowly said, “We found your husband.”