Free Hush by Carey Baldwin Page B

Anna’s regret, he didn’t indulge it. He’d learned the hard way not to dwell on past mistakes. If you do, you’ll only lose today’s chance.
    He picked up a pen of his own, a green one, and started making notes on the board, scribbling and thinking aloud. “Sunday morning Simone went to the library, withdrew money from the bank.” His chin started to itch. “After the bank, Simone took Bobby to her in-laws’ house. No one has seen her since.”
    He scratched his chin, then wrote: Simone lied .
    “Yes. She lied about changing Bobby’s diaper.”
    He hadn’t expected Anna to handle this so well. Instead of rushing to Simone’s defense, she’d considered the facts objectively.
    “Simone forgot to change Bobby’s diaper. Or maybe she didn’t plan to change his diaper at all,” she added.
    Simone, by all accounts, was hypersensitive to her baby’s needs. “I don’t get it.”
    Anna tilted her head. “Me either. So that means it must be important—because it’s so out of character.”
    He tended to agree, although he had no idea how Simone’s strange visit to Lila and Caleb Carlisle’s home fit into the puzzle. He fell silent and began pacing the kitchen.
    While he paced, Anna turned back to the newspaper clippings, flipping them facedown as she finished each story. Soon, the light in the kitchen grew bright. So bright that something he hadn’t seen before, not last night, not earlier this morning, caught his eye. “Anna…”
    Intent on studying her stories, she didn’t answer.
    This cabin had supposedly been empty for years. He tried again. “Anna, did you put a piece of paper in the trash can?”
    She waved him off. “I haven’t got any paper—not except the clippings, I mean.”
    Someone else— Simone maybe, had been here before them. He grabbed the wadded-up paper from the trash and went to Anna’s side.
    At the table, Anna skimmed her finger over yet another headline, and suddenly the color drained from her face. “This is it!”
    Her hand trembled as she spread the newspaper article in the center of the murder board.
    Remembering Megan O’Neal.
    It wasn’t so much the title as the author that caused Charlie to take a stunned step backward.
    By Nathan Carlisle .
    Charlie’s temples throbbed unpleasantly. A dull ache spread across his forehead. And no matter how hard he blinked, the name on the byline stared menacingly back at him, unchanged.
    Nathan Carlisle .
    Charlie pounded a fist on his thigh. “Nate wrote a tribute piece to Megan.”
    “The story was so heartfelt, I remember thinking Nate should try his hand at journalism.” Anna looked up, troubled. “Of course he never did.”
    Charlie’s hands clenched into fists. In his mind, he could hear the puzzle pieces clicking ominously into place. It wasn’t easy to keep his voice steady, but for Anna’s sake he tried. “It was Nate . Nate was the man Megan was seeing while I was away.”
    He dreaded opening the paper he’d pulled from the trash. But there was no use putting it off. On a deep sigh, he said, “I think Simone has been here.” He smashed the paper open on the table. “This looks like expensive stationery. It could be the letter that Simone intercepted on Saturday night.”
    A flash of hope lit Anna’s eyes. She began reading the short letter aloud. At first, her voice was soft, but it grew stronger and more determined with every word:
    I know what you did to Megan. The necklace is the key.
    The letter was signed: C.T.
    They scanned the murder board and said in unison. “Catherine Timmons!”
    “But what does it mean, the necklace is the key ?” Anna closed her eyes, concentrating. “Is this about the necklace Nate gave Simone on Saturday night?”
    “No.” Charlie knew exactly which necklace was the key . He wished like hell he didn’t, but he did. Pointing his finger to the picture of Megan—the one in the newspaper article, he said, “Look.”
    In the photo, Megan wore the necklace Charlie had made