I pull out the envelope and study the pictures again. Something about them feels wrong, and my skin twitches like there are roaches crawling around on it. I dial Paddington. The man answers on the third ring.
“Elliot,” he says, his voice smooth. There’s some traffic noise in the background.
“I need you to do something.”
“Yes?”
“Look into my wife’s finances for the last two years.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “What am I looking for?”
“Anything unusual. And also dig into the same for a Dennis Dunn. He’s an intern at Omega Wealth Management.”
“Popular guy.”
“Yeah, Gavin’s looking into him.”
He doesn’t confirm or deny.
“I’m going to be sending you a couple of photos. See if you can figure out who took them.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
“One more thing,” I say. “I want to know what kind of wild parties happened in my wife’s home town when she was around fifteen, and who attended them. Teenager parties.”
“Wild as in…?”
“Drinking. Probably skipping school. Pot, maybe other drugs.” I don’t know exactly what kind of stuff kids got into in
her town, but I think that covers it.
“Am I looking for anything specific?”
“Something with lots of alcohol.”
“Understood. How soon do you need the info?”
“I’m going to be out of the country starting tomorrow. Honeymoon.”
“Congratulations,” Paddington says in the same voice he used to ask me “What am I looking for?”
“My wife and I will be gone for a week.”
“I understand. I’ll get on it as soon as possible, but I can’t guarantee anything about the parties.”
“Fine.”
“Expect my reports next week.”
He hangs up. I run my finger along my wife’s face in one of the pictures. The glass it was taken through has muted the bright fire of her hair, but the lovely lines of her neck and ears are unmistakable.
FOLLOW THE MONEY.
Yes, I will. And I’m going to destroy whoever is trying to drive a wedge between me and my wife.
* * *
Annabelle