‘People are talking about the miscarriages?’ he croaks.
‘They are,’ I admit. ‘That’s how I met Alexa. We were at the hospital. We had appointments on the same day. Alexa, she… she told me things would be okay.’
Otis’s chin wobbles, as does my own. I fill my lungs with air, a task that’s been getting harder with the weight of grief compressing my chest.
‘I know what it’s like to lose a child and feel like life will never be the same again,’ I say. ‘I know how awful it is to wake up every day and find yourself in a world you no longer understand. I know that losing a child is the worst thing to happen to a marriage, and what it feels like to be Alexa. That’s why I’m here. I want to help her, like she helped me.’
Furious with myself for welling up in front of a stranger, I dry my eyes with the sleeve of my jumper, but witnessing my upset seems to defrost Otis.
‘The day we met, Alexa talked about you,’ I continue. ‘She told me she shut you out of her life so much it felt like you were strangers.’
Otis’s expression pinches. ‘She said that?’
‘She did. She also told me not to do that to my own husband. I don’t think she wants to do that to you, Otis. I think maybe she’s just… lost.’
Dropping his head, Otis nods. ‘Lex has been that way for a while now,’ he says softly. ‘We both have. When she wasn’t home, I thought she’d gone to stay with a friend or gone to the village B&B. She’s done that before. I thought…’ Otis trails off, then shakes his head. ‘This is crazy. I’m not offloading my life to someone I’ve just met.’
‘But I want to help,’ I push, but Otis continues to back away.
‘Look, you seem nice and I’m sure Alexa would appreciate you reaching out, but right now I need to focus on finding her and making sure she’s okay. I don’t have time to go through everything with a stranger.’
‘But I can help. I’m a thriller author.’
Otis blinks at my random revelation. ‘So, what, you want to send me a free book or something?’
‘No, but missing people, unreliable narrators, twists and turns are in my wheelhouse. I have a talent for imagining every possible scenario. My husband won’t let me watch a detective show with him because I always give away the ending.’ I hope my smile makes my outburst appear less odd, but I’m not immune to how strange my presence here is.
Otis’s bewilderment proves he most definitely finds me odd. ‘You really think that because you’ve written a few books, you can help find my wife?’
‘I do.’
There’s a split second where I think Otis might accept my offer, but as quickly as it arrives, it disappears.
The second I sense him withdraw, I step forward. ‘I’m known for going all in on my research. I’ve shadowed a team of detectives working on missing persons cases. I learned all about profiling. I know how to create timelines and look at the bigger picture to find someone. Alexa helped me when I most needed it. Please. I want to do the same for her.’
Otis studies me for what feels like the longest time. ‘You’re really not here for gossip?’
‘No, I swear. I’m new to Bramblethorpe. I barely speak to anyone. I’m practically the village recluse.’
Otis laughs, but sadness tinges the sound. ‘I thought that’s what they were calling Lex?’ he says, then he shakes his head. ‘This is insane. I’m not asking a random writer if she can pretend this is a book and imagine where Lex might be.’
‘I ask questions,’ I say, a little too loudly, but my outburst stops Otis from turning away again. ‘Too many questions, myhusband jokes, and I never give up until I find an answer. Please, Otis. I have skills that could be of use.’
Otis hovers. ‘You really think you can find Lex?’
‘I do.’
‘I guess you’d better come in then,’ he says.
CHAPTER 11
A CCTV camera stares down on us as Otis unlocks the front door. I gulp as I imagine it watching me before, skulking around like a woman possessed. Shame bathes me, increasing when Otis shoots a wary look in my direction before opening the door.
When we step inside the house, it takes everything in me not to react.
The entrance of the Clarkes’ home is as impressive as the exterior suggests it would be. A grand staircase sweeps up the centre of the foyer, leading to a mezzanine with a cosy seating area and tall doors that must lead to the bedrooms. I don’t have to see them to know they will be more luxurious than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in, even the fancy one my publisher put me up in for my London book launch.
While I try not to gawp, Otis leads me through to the open-plan living area. My attention shifts to the messy table, but Otis is clearing the papers away before I can get a look at them.