“Just that she didn’t go to college. She worked in New Orleans. Followed a boyfriend to Miami. And then she met me.”
“What about her aunt and uncle? Did she ever talk about them?”
“No. I had no idea about them. But we’ve talked since ... since Laura was found.” He releases another breath. “This is all so overwhelming. And I’m trying to explain it to Jasmine, but it’s hard.”
I want to tell him that taking his child to a crime scene and to this town is not the way to explain it, but lecturing him right now about what’s done is not going to help anything. Besides, I’m not a parent. I only know what it’s like from a child’s perspective.
“What did you know about my wife?” he says.
Where to start. Maybe with diary entries recorded by a girl named Jasmine. Hers were the shortest, and yet, something in the words she did write felt impactful. “She was like all of us,” I say. “Reckless and wild.”
“Were you friends?”
“Yes. But at Poison Wood friend groups were ... complicated.”
“Daddy!” Jasmine runs into the room out of breath, her pigtails askew. “There’s another staircase up there that goes to a secret room. It’s full of books and like a little nook. Can I go back up?”
“Sure,” he says.
She grins and runs back for the stairs.
“Some days I wish I could be like her,” Marshall says, exhaling. “Carefree. Not affected by all of this.”
The stone that lives in my rib cage shifts. “Don’t be fooled by that, Marshall. Be careful with her,” I add. “I lost my mother around her age. One day this will catch her, and she’s going to need to talk about it. Don’t make her hold it in.” Now it’s my turn to release a breath. “Anyway, I want to ask you about something else.” I stand up from the floor and sit in the chair next to the couch. “How was your wife acting in the days leading up to her death?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve gone over this dozens of times with the police. Laura was off. She was paranoid and drinking too much and taking sleeping pills like they were candy. When she said she was going to a spa for treatment, I was glad. I thought maybe she was trying to find a healthy way to cope with whatever it was that was bothering her.”
“And she didn’t tell you anything?”
He meets my gaze. “Nothing. Look, I’ve told the police everything I know. And I didn’t know much. I didn’t even know about the money stuff.”
My pulse quickens. “What money stuff?”
“After Laura was ... gone, I found a stack of Grey Wolf Capital envelopes in her bedside drawer along with her personal checks. Some checks were made out to Rosalie Adair.” He shuts his eyes a moment, then reopens them. “I think she was being blackmailed.”
Or she felt unbelievable guilt, I think, but I say, “Why do you think she was being blackmailed?”
“I think Laura knew something she shouldn’t.” According to one of the diary entries, Heather knew enough to creep into Meadow’s bed and whisper she knew something in Meadow’s ear.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
He nods. “She had a secret safe-deposit box. The bank owner said she’d been in recently to remove things.”
My hands start to tingle. Like me, Laura Sanders had a Pandora’s box as well.
“She sent me something,” I say.
He studies me. “What?”
“A pregnancy test.”
“What?”
“I think it was from our time at school. Did she ever mention being pregnant before she met you?”
He shakes his head. “Never.”
“Anything else?” I say.
