Chapter One
Molly stared at what she had found while she flushed hot, then cold, and the roaring in her ears was the sound of all the balls she’d been juggling for years that were now crashing at her feet.
Her fingers shook as she pulled out the strange pair of underwear from the narrow space between her husband’s nightstand and their king-sized mattress. She dropped the panties onto the bed. They were outrageously feminine, a dark purple with lace trim.
They were a size smaller than what she wore.
Her gaze listed around the shadowed, quiet room, a foundering ship in search of a safe harbor. Years ago she had decorated the master bedroom to reflect serenity, but at the moment it felt anything but serene. A storm had rolled in, and the sky was so dark outside it looked like twilight.
Rain lashed against the windows like a wild creature trying to break in. Water ran in rivulets down the glass pane, and thunder growled. Inside, the house felt too still, as if it held its breath, and the heavy, dense air was thick with an electrical charge.
Her attention snapped back to the purple panties. They were a shocking intrusion, the purple violent against the pale cream duvet.
What kind of woman trysted with a married man in his own bed, then forgot to put on her panties when she left? What kind of husband did that to his wife?
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Something tightly leashed inside her tore, and her emotions raged uncontrollably.
On the landing at the head of the stairs, the antique grandfather clock stopped ticking. The bedroom plunged into semidarkness with a sizzling electric pop that made her nearly leap out of her skin.
From his office downstairs, Austin shouted irritably, “Goddammit, Molly—a circuit blew again. The party’s in two hours, and I’m still in the middle of crunching the numbers I need to go over with the other partners tonight. Would you fix it?”
Go ahead, Molly. Fix it.
Go into the basement and reset the circuit breaker.
Then bake the puff-pastry hors d’oeuvres by 5:45 p.m. The chicken should marinate until 6:10 p.m., and then you need to put it immediately into a preheated oven. Check the wine cooler to make sure the white wine is chilled to fifty-two degrees, slice lemons and limes for cocktails, and don’t forget you need to ice the sponge cake with buttercream frosting and top it with the fresh fruit that you’ve washed and left to dry on paper towels.
And you need to shower, put on your makeup, and dress well so you can do your part and charm your guests tonight.
Would the owner of the purple panties be at the party?
She couldn’t feel her fingers. Carefully, she folded the panties and stuffed them into the pocket of her old cardigan. Then she went downstairs, picked up her purse, located her car keys, and walked out of the charming six-bedroom, four-and-a-half-bath Cape Cod house.
The gray sky spat needles of chilly rain as she climbed into her Escalade in the driveway. After starting the engine and cranking up the heat, she took the panties and laid them out on the passenger seat. Then she fastened her seat belt and pulled out.
Her shoulders felt crushed, and her face was streaming. She couldn’t get a deep enough breath into her cramped lungs.
She drove to the end of the street and then turned and drove back on the neighboring street, passing large well-tended lawns and equally large familiar houses. Zigzagging back and forth, going nowhere, her mind a blank.
Her cell phone rang. She ignored it. It rang several more times until she put it on vibrate. Then it buzzed like an angry hornet. She didn’t want to ever talk to him again. She felt like she could drive for weeks and weeks. Just watch the road as it came scrolling toward her. Why couldn’t she do that? When she thought of how trapped she felt, a wave of anguish rolled through her.
Every light on the dashboard of the Escalade lit up, and the engine sputtered. Suddenly calming, she listened as it gave one last cough before it died. Using the SUV’s momentum, she steered to a stop at the curb and put it in park opposite a large, landscaped retention pond at the edge of the neighborhood.
She told the absent woman who owned the panties, “Today’s Thursday. The cleaning service came yesterday morning. I got home from visiting my mother last night, and I only just got around to straightening the bedroom today. So you were in my bed yesterday afternoon.”
“True,” admitted the woman in her imagination. “There wasn’t any other time it could have been.”
Molly could picture her. The woman would be leggy. Perhaps lightly tanned, with golden-blond hair and freshly returned from a trip to the Caribbean. The purple panties would look good on her. She would be intelligent as well as pretty, educated, a knowing expression in her worldly eyes. She might hold her mouth in a slight ironic slant.
She probably looked a great deal like Molly. Austin had a type.
Molly said between her teeth, “You left those panties on purpose. Nobody forgets something like that. You left them for either Austin or me to find. If Austin found them, it would remind him of what you and he did. If I found them, I would learn about your affair. Either way would work for you.”
In her mind, the woman smiled and crossed her long legs. “Indeed. What else have you got?”
She clenched the steering wheel with both hands. “Austin wouldn’t bring an unknown hooker into the house. If he were going to have a hooker, he would go to a hotel. This is a relationship. You and he have been together before.”
The woman gave her a conspiratorial smile. “You’re not quite as stupid as Austin thinks you are.”
This time when Molly glanced at the panties, the passenger seat didn’t seem quite empty. An indistinct, transparent form of a woman appeared to be sitting there, although she wasn’t the tall, leggy blonde Molly had been envisioning. She got the impression of a small, curvy figure, dark hair, and a bright gaze.
Her heart kicked hard. Blinking rapidly, she dug the heels of both hands into her dry, burning eyes. When she looked again, the strange hallucination had vanished. The seat was as empty as it had always been.
What the hell is happening to me?
Shaken, she wiped her face. When she had composed herself, she found her phone. Ignoring the multiple text and phone messages, she called roadside service.
It took them almost an hour to arrive. As she waited, she slipped out of the car, and ignoring the light rain, she walked the path alongside the pond while keeping the Escalade in her line of sight.
The wind was chilly, but she barely noticed. She felt like a walking bruise.
Everything in her life had been about Austin’s career. Every decision they had made had been carefully plotted out.
They had met in college, and after graduation they had moved to Atlanta where Austin’s father had a small law firm. Then his father’s firm had been bought out by a larger one. Austin had been made a partner in the new, larger firm while his father had retired.
So they had settled here, making more money as the years rolled by, increasing in influence and reputation, developing important connections, and buying a showcase house with an open floor plan that was perfect for throwing frequent dinner parties for powerful people.
Out of the corner of her eye, bright red flared. Turning, she watched as the lights of a tow truck appeared at the end of the street. While the mechanic parked, she walked back quickly and stuffed the panties into her cardigan pocket.
She waited in the Escalade as he changed the battery. Afterward, she paid with her credit card, and he handed her the paperwork. “That car is less than two years old,” he told her. “The battery should have been fine. If I were you, I’d contact the dealership. This is probably still under warranty.”