The Other Mrs. Miller by Allison Dickson

Author:Allison Dickson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-07-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

BEFORE THEY GET started, Nadia takes out her phone and asks Wyatt to do the same. “What’s this about?” he asks.

She opens her camera app. “I want you to stand next to Phoebe.”

The color drains from his face. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. And then you’ll take a picture of me on your phone.”

“Let me get this straight. You want us to pose with my murdered wife’s body? Jesus, what kind of sick game is this?”

Nadia sighs. Patience, girl. “If you can think of a better way to ensure that one of us won’t run off on the other at the first given opportunity, I’m all ears.”

“But we’d be implicating ourselves in a murder, which innocent people don’t do.”

“Like I said, I’m open to suggestions. Until we trust each other, we need something.”

He stares at her with his mouth open, but no words come out. Finally, he shakes and lowers his head, a sure sign of resignation. “I don’t like this at all. Not only is it just . . . grotesque, but nothing is safe in the digital age.”

“We’ll figure out how to encrypt the files or whatever. Unless you have a better idea, Wyatt, we need to get this done. Time is really getting away from us here.”

He finally surrenders, and holds up his phone. “I’m not putting all of her in the picture. We only need to see her . . . her face, right?”

She thinks about it and nods. It’s a fair enough compromise and enough to serve the purpose, given Phoebe’s head injury. “That will be fine.”

They both snap pictures. Wyatt puts his phone back in his pocket with a shudder. “I feel sick even having this on my phone.”

“Perhaps one day we’ll mutually decide it’s time to delete them.”

“Let’s hope,” he mutters.

Nadia volunteers to wrap the body, but Wyatt insists on helping. “She’s my wife. We’ll do it together.”

She appreciates his egalitarian outlook, but his skin has grown remarkably sallow, probably because the smell of death in here is even stronger now than it was earlier. Hopefully he won’t puke or faint. Nadia is barely holding it together, and she can’t spare the energy to babysit him or clean up even more mess. She decides to give him a distraction.

“Do you have a tarp or some plastic sheeting we can use?” she asks.

“I’m sure I have something downstairs. Be right back.” While he rustles around beneath the house, Nadia begins planning the next stage of the game. Their best option is also the riskiest. They’ll need to drive a few hours south of here. It’s a long distance to go with a dead body in the trunk, with the potential for disaster increasing exponentially with every mile. A wreck. A phantom flat tire or breakdown. A bored sheriff or state trooper looking for any stupid reason to pull someone over.

Nadia briefly considers other options. The lake. She’s disposed of a lot of things in that ubiquitous body of water over the years, but it’s too

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