Table for five by Susan Wiggs Page B

you?”
    “I’m not exactly sure.” There was a muffled sound, as though he was intimately cupping his hand around the mouthpiece. “I’m here at Crystal’s house, watching her kids. She’s not home yet.”
    “I see.” What a loser, she thought. Couldn’t look after his own flesh and blood without calling for help. “And how can I help you?” she asked.
    “I figured you might know where she is.” Tension crackled in his voice.
    “Well, I don’t,” Lily said. “You should call her cell phone. I can give you her number, or you can get it from the kids—”
    “I’ve been trying her cell phone all evening,” he broke in. “She doesn’t answer. Derek doesn’t answer his, either.”
    Lily’s grip tightened on the receiver. She frowned, causing her glasses to inch down her nose. “That’s not like either of them.” With three kids and two households, both Crystal and Derek were vigilant about making sure they could be reached at all times. They had tormented each other through separation and divorce, but to their credit, they’d tried to shield the kids from the worst of it.
    “I agree,” said the stranger.
    “When was the last time you were in touch with them?”
    “As near as I can tell, you were the last one to speak with them,” he said, and Lily wondered if she detected a hint of accusation in his voice. “Crystal forgot to pick up Cameron from the golf course and Charlie from her friend’s house. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
    Now the phone felt damp and slick in Lily’s hand. “No. I’m afraid I don’t.”
    “I see. Well, then.” He made an impatient sound, clearly about to hang up. “Thanks, I guess.”
    Lily flashed on the notion of hanging up and going back to her movie. Finishing her wine and reading up on the Amalfi Coast. Now, however, that was no longer a possibility. She would simply worry about Crystal and the kids all night.
    “Why did you call me, Mr. Maguire?” she asked.
    “I heard your message on the answering machine, so I figured you might know something.”
    She wondered what Crystal would think of her ex-brother-in-law, in her home, listening to her messages. “Well, I don’t know where she is. Sorry.”
    “All right. Just thought I’d ask. I have a night job, and I figured—never mind. I’ll call in and let them know I can’t make it.”
    “Mr. Maguire—” Lily broke off when she realized he’d hung up. “Nice,” she muttered, setting down the phone. She paced back and forth, trying to decide what to do. A few minutes ago, this was her living room, her refuge, a cozy place filled with books and one shelf of framed photographs. A favorite shot of her and Crystal, laughing on the beach in front of Haystack Rock, caught her eye. Something was the matter, Lily knew it in her heart.
    As she grabbed her purse and rummaged for her keys, she glanced in the hall tree mirror. “Nice,” she said again with an even more sarcastic inflection.
    She was dressed for DVD night in heather-gray yoga pants and an oversize hockey jersey, which was the only thing of value left behind by Trent Atkins of the Portland Trailblazers. He hadn’t been a serious boyfriend, just someone she’d gone out with a few times. She couldn’t remember why a basketball player was in possession of a hockey jersey and decided she didn’t care.
    She wore no makeup and her brown hair was caught back in a scrunchy. So what? she thought, pushing her feet into a pair of red rubber gardening clogs and donning a rain hat, thus completing the look. “Early frump” might be a good term for it.
    Like that mattered, she thought, grabbing her raincoat and dashing out the door.

chapter 8

    Friday
7:40 p.m.

    S ean Maguire wasn’t pretty anymore, Lily observed the moment she opened the door. He was utterly, undeservedly, unjustly devastating. He was what the girls at school liked to call the whole package, in perfectly faded jeans that hugged his body, a golf shirt with the Echo