It quickly becomes apparent that Tom is going to work as long as I do, and it’s supposed to be his day off. So I declare the job “done for now,” and also declare that I am in desperate need of a shower. Tom takes the hint and says he’ll pop by tomorrow morning with the bike.
I suspect “and to see if you need any help” is the unspoken addendum. I’m not sure what exactly Tom is getting out of this. Companionship is a good excuse for hanging out with a person, but not for spending nearly four hours clearing a bramble-infested yard that allegedly doesn’t belong to either of us.
There’d been a moment yesterday when I thought he might be interested in a whole other kind of companionship. But in our hours of work today, he never so much as touched my arm. He’d joked with Celeste about the list of repairs he wanted me to do at his place, but when I asked today, he had nothing.
Should I be suspicious? My brain says yes. It reminds me that I’m basing my trust on a few summers of childhood friendship. A boy who is long gone. A man who doesn’t know that I’m that girl and therefore has no responsibility to honor the past by treating me fairly.
What else would Tom want?
Clearly, he’s after my grandfather’s treasure. I smile at the thought. There is no treasure. It’s a local legend that no one actually believes.
I have no idea what Tom’s up to. My ego would love to think he just wants to spend more time with me. I’m not Celeste, though. If guys want my attention, they offer me a beer and a lift in their pickup. Well, come to think of it, Tom has offered both, but I suspect that has more to do with who he is than what he wants.
I can’t let my fondness for Tom blind me. I’ll remain aware that he may have an ulterior motive. Beyond that, I’ll enjoy his help and his company.
When I go inside, Celeste’s in her office with the door shut. I don’t try sneaking into the attic. Too risky. I’ll make good on my shower excuse—I do need one. I pop into my bedroom for a change of clothing, and I’m collecting it when there’s a muffled beep-beep from under the bed.
I pause, trying to identify the sound. It’s familiar enough that I know I should recognize it right away, but when I don’t, it dances at the edge of memory like a word on the tip of my tongue.
I look under the bed and spot a dim glow, but when I shift myself to reach farther, it goes dark.
I grab my flashlight and shine it under the bed. There are thin blankets for winter. Extra pillows, too, and I tug one out and immediately regret it as the stink of mildew envelopes me.
I keep shining my light until it catches a small box. I reach under, steeling myself against whatever filthy thing I might touch. Good thing I haven’t had that shower yet.
My fingers close around something cool. I pull out…
A cell phone?
An iPhone, no less, and when I lift it, it tries to read my face. I roll from under the bed and peer at the screensaver photo of a sunset. I go to press the Home button, but there isn’t one. I’ve seen people swipe these, so I try that, and the lock screen fills with notifications.
Missed calls from Celeste. That’s what the beep was—a reminder of calls missed, the light coming on for a few seconds.
Why is Liam’s phone under my bed?
Was he in here last night? Did the phone fall from his pocket before he came out to ambush me?
The phone lights up with an incoming call, and instinct has me slapping my hands over it to muffle the ring. The moment I realize what I’m doing, I wonder why, but that doesn’t stop me from hitting Ignore fast, my heart rate slowing as the musical ringtone stops.
Footsteps sound in the hallway.
I dive for the bed and shove the phone between the mattress and box spring. Then I yank it out and switch it to silent before I shove it back in.
“Daisy?” Celeste calls.
I find my poker face and open the door with, “Hey.”
“Did you hear something just now?”
“Like what?”
“Music.”
I frown and push open my door as I turn to glance at the front-facing window. “I’ve heard music from passing cars. They like it loud around here.”
“It wasn’t…” She beetles her brows as she frowns, as if uncertain. Then she blurts, “It sounded like Liam’s ringtone.”
I perk up. “He’s here? Good.”
“His car isn’t in the drive.”
I match her frown, mine feigning confusion and deep thought. Then, “Wait! Call his number. See if that’s what you heard.”
She does, and as we stand there, my heart slams against my ribs. What the hell am I doing? Why did I hit Ignore? I should have shoved the phone back under the bed, and when she came in, I’d be on my hands and knees fishing it out with, “What is this doing here?”
Right. Yes, because finding her lover’s phone under my bed wouldn’t be the least bit suspicious. It isn’t as if he joked about sleeping with me last night.
My gut told me to hit Ignore, and my gut told me to hide the phone, and my gut dissolves in shuddering relief when she shakes her head and hits End on the call without any sound coming from the bed.
“Apparently, I’m losing my mind,” she says.
“You probably heard a passing car, and it sounded like his phone.” I lean against the dresser. “Is there anyone else you can call to check on him?”
“I tried that. Called one of the partners at his firm—Joaquin.”
“And…” I prompt.
“He hasn’t heard from him. He checked with Liam’s law clerk, who doesn’t know anything about any emergency client meeting.”
“That’s weird.”
“It is, but now Joaquin thinks Liam is spending the day with another woman, so he’s brushing me off to protect his buddy. I’m not going to get any more help there.” She glances down at her phone. “And Joaquin just texted to say that his call to Liam went straight to voice mail. He’s decided Liam’s phone is dead…despite the fact that he literally just told me Liam never lets it drop below fifty percent.”
Celeste sighs and pockets her phone. “So what are my options? Seem like an obsessed girlfriend, calling everyone because I haven’t heard from Liam in a few hours? Or tell myself it’s nothing when I know this is not normal?”
“But if he’s upset about last night, he won’t be acting normally, right? He might even have turned off his phone. That’d explain why his friend can’t get in touch with him, either.”
“I called earlier, and it rang a bunch of times. It wasn’t off then.”
“Is it possible you left a message that made him decide to turn it off?” I hurry on. “Not blaming you. If that’s the case, he’s being childish.”
“I’m overreacting.”
“No, no—”
“I am. This isn’t like me at all. I just…I got the idea that it’s weird, and now that burrows deeper every moment he doesn’t respond.”
“Maybe you should take a drive to Tampa.”
Her brows rise.
I shrug. “Go to his place. Pick up dinner or something, and if he’s there, say you thought he seemed upset and you wanted to talk about it. If he’s not there, maybe someone saw him earlier. Or just check for his car and be sure he’s safely at home.”
“That’s definitely irrational-girlfriend territory.”
“It’s worried-girlfriend territory. At the very least, it’ll give you something to do. Maybe there are errands you can run in Tampa to make it worthwhile?” Errands that will guarantee you’re gone even longer, giving me plenty of time to root through the attic?
Celeste squares her shoulders. “No, everyone’s right, and he’s upset and dodging me. I have work to do. I’m going to do it.”
She turns on her heel and marches back to her office, closing the door behind her.
Celeste doesn’t go to Tampa. I suggest it again after dinner, offering to go with her. That would hardly give me the time I need alone in the house, but I’m not expecting her to take me up on the offer.
No, no. I can’t ask you to do that, Daisy. But…maybe I should. You stay here, and I’ll be back before dark.
Instead, I get a flat no. She’s so afraid of being “that girlfriend” that she won’t follow her gut. I don’t argue.
How did Liam’s phone get under my bed?