Lie To Me

And it wasn’t enough to make the monthly nut.

So Sutton became the breadwinner. Sutton was the one bringing in the money.

It had gone to Sutton’s lovely little head, the one who couldn’t be bothered with all his money, but took a sort of sinful pride in hers. She’d callously talked about investments and 401(k)s over breakfast, ways to save for the future, how they would have to be careful from here on out.

No thank you for supporting us all these years, Ethan. No I am so grateful you wiped out your family money to buy us this house, Ethan. No don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll find your words again. I promise, either.

They were alone now. No nanny. No baby. Just the two of them, knocking around in the grand old Victorian, the incessant tap, tap, tapping away from her end of the house, at all hours of the day and night, Sutton pouring her heart and soul onto the page while Ethan suffered through his drought alone.

She could work. She could talk about finances. Why couldn’t she talk to him?

They hadn’t had a real conversation in months.

Bitch.

Stop that, Ethan. My God.

He felt odd sitting at her desk. There was a half-full teacup with a scum around the edge, notepads and notebooks and pens—her favored fountain pen, a simple Pilot Metropolitan. He ran a finger along the edge of the pen. It was white, pearly, and he imagined it still held a hint of warmth from her touch. Ethan preferred the Blackwing 602 pencil—sturdy, reliable, never running out of ink or exploding onto unsuspecting fingers. Sutton had laughed at how persnickety he was.

You’re dithering.

He didn’t want to see the bank accounts, because knowing it was all hers made him feel...less.

“Man up, you bloody fool,” he said, and opened the bank’s website.

They had two accounts, one for day-to-day expenses and one for the investments.

Neither seemed disturbed. The last entries on the daily account were for Publix, $124.76, and a $25 charge to Starbucks, both dated Thursday of last week. Groceries, and she’d refilled her card. Ethan much preferred the grocery delivery service, but Sutton liked going to the store. He used to tease her that she only went to show off the baby. Of course, that wasn’t the case anymore. They’d taken to using the service lately, so Ethan was a bit surprised by the fact that she’d gone to the store directly, but hey, there was nothing sinister about it.

The Starbucks card, though, that was a regular expense. Ethan knew she refilled the card religiously once a week. He saw the entry with a pang of... Was it happiness, sadness? He didn’t even know. Sutton always loved walking to the square, loved the crowded Starbucks with its skinny building and long wooden tables. She went there every day, either with Ellen and Rachel after yoga, or with Filly, when they could push the strollers, their ponytails bouncing, or with Ivy, when she was in town and didn’t have early-morning meetings, but every day, she was there. It was her favorite part about their house’s location in downtown Franklin—how everything that mattered to her was within walking distance.

Who buys groceries, refills their Starbucks card, then decides to run away? It made no sense.

He scrolled back through the records. As far as he could see, the day-to-day account had no unusual charges for the past several days, and the last substantial withdrawal was one he’d made that past Friday. Sutton used a debit card for everything, hated carrying cash. Ethan was the opposite; he loved the tangible feel of money.

Part of him was relieved, and part of him was frightened. She hadn’t fled with cash in her pocket.

Call the police. You need to call the police. Something is wrong. The note, it could have been written under duress.

The other side of his mind said, Just...assemble all the facts first.

He switched to the investment account. This one was much more complicated, with multiple subaccounts, separate ones for tax and investments, the latter loaded with high-performing stocks, puts and lets and shorts. There was even one account with a separate money manager who essentially did day-trading on a variety of stocks and bonds for their well-managed portfolio. He thought it a waste, thought they should use Ivy, but Sutton had put her foot down. Money and friendship never, ever mix.

He kept scrolling. He was surprised by the balance of the managed account, much more than he’d expected.

It took him an hour to find the pattern of withdrawals, because she varied the time of the visits and the amount, and made cryptic notes in the withdrawal slips. But when all was said and done, there was at least $50,000 unaccounted for.

It wasn’t a huge sum. Truly, he could probably explain it away as incidentals, money Sutton had spent on clothes, or things for the house.

But something in him said, No, mate, this is it, this is something.

He printed out the spreadsheet he’d built with all the withdrawals and their corresponding dates in it, then shut off the computer. He was barely out of the office when the phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID. Ivy.

He grabbed the phone, ignoring his fumbling desperation. Depressed the Talk button and practically shouted, “Have you heard from her?”

Ivy’s voice was smoky and low. He could hear a din in the background. She was at a conference, somewhere in Texas. Sutton had been invited—Sutton was always invited; Ivy thought the different locales good for research—but Ethan knew she’d declined this trip, saying she wasn’t in the mood to travel. She hadn’t been in the mood for much of anything lately.

“Ethan? I can hardly hear you.”

“I said, do you know where she is?”

“No, I don’t. There’s been no word, and her accounts are turned off. You still haven’t heard from her? Where could she have gone?”

“What do you mean, her accounts are turned off?”

“It looks like she committed social media suicide.”

“I thought she’d done that ages ago.”

“Oh. Maybe she did, I don’t keep up with Facebook like I should. Where could she be?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve been searching our bank accounts, and there’s some money missing. The note she left... Ivy, I don’t know if she’s run away or if she’s hurt herself.”

An intake of breath. “Have you called the police?”

“No. They won’t do anything, you know that. Not so soon.”

“Ethan, you need to talk to them.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you think I need to speak with a lawyer first? I assure you, I haven’t done anything wrong. There’s nothing to protect myself from. But the moment I call them, you know how this is going to look.”

To her credit, Ivy didn’t slam down the phone. Her voice got mean and tight. “Swear to me right now, Ethan Montclair, that you have not done something to my best friend.”

“My God, Ivy, of course I didn’t. I love Sutton. I’d never hurt her. I’m scared, okay? And embarrassed. I know how the world thinks. The minute I call them...”

She sighed. “They will look at you. The husband is—”

“Always the first person the police look at. I know. But I’m not worried about that. I haven’t done anything wrong. I swear. I was only thinking, just in case, a sounding board wouldn’t be a horrible idea.”

“The police may see things differently. Didn’t you guys have dinner a few months ago with Joel Robinson?”

“He’s not just a lawyer, Ivy, he’s a well-known criminal defense attorney. Wouldn’t hiring Joel look bad? I was thinking just a regular guy.”

“What, you thought you’d talk to the man who drew up the contracts on your house? Look, you’re a British national, even though you have dual citizenship. You’re a public figure. Your wife is missing. No matter what, when you involve the police, they are going to take apart your lives. If you’re going to talk to anyone, Robinson is the best choice. Trust me.”

“Okay. I’ll call him. I promise. It’s only...”

More noise, the fever pitch growing louder, then a sudden silence. Ivy’s voice echoed. “Sorry, it’s madness here. I’m coming home right now.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to help, Ivy. I don’t need—”

“Stop it. Of course you need help. You two always need help. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hang tight, okay?”

The relief he felt was palpable. Lately, Ivy was always better at handling Sutton than he was. His eyes closed and he said, “Okay. Travel safely. And, Ivy? Thank you.”

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