Laura Dave: The Last Thing He Told Me

Burner phones, paper trails. Why is Grady trying to make Owen sound like a criminal mastermind?

I start to ask him, but he presses a button on his key chain, a car across the street shining its lights, coming to life.

“I won’t keep you longer, you have enough to deal with,” he says. “But when you do hear from Owen, tell him I can help him if he lets me.”

Then he hands me a napkin from Fred’s, his name written down, GRADY BRADFORD, with two phone numbers beneath it, his numbers I presume—one of them marked cell.

“I can help you too,” he says.

I pocket the napkin as he crosses the street and gets into his car. I start to walk away, but as he turns on the engine, something occurs to me and I walk toward him.

“Wait. With which part?” I say.

He lowers his window. “With which part, what?”

“Can you help?”

“The easy part,” he says. “Getting through this.”

“What’s the hard part?”

“Owen’s not who you think he is,” he says.

Then Grady Bradford is gone.

These Are Not Your Friends

I go back into the house just long enough to grab Owen’s laptop.

I’m not going to sit there thinking about what Grady said, and all the things he seemed to leave out, which are bothering me more. How did he know so much about Owen? Maybe Avett wasn’t the only one who they’ve been following closely for the last year and change. Maybe Grady’s nice guy act—helping me with Bailey’s custody, offering advice—was so I’d slip up and tell him something Owen wouldn’t want him to know.

Did I slip up? I don’t think so, even as I go back through our conversation. But I’m not going to risk doing it in the future, not with Grady, or with anyone else. I’m going to figure out what’s going on with Owen first.

I take a left off the docks and head toward my workshop.

I need to make a stop first though at Owen’s friend’s house. It’s a stop that I’m not particularly eager to make, but if anyone will have insight into what Owen is thinking, into what I might be missing, it’s Carl.

Carl Conrad: Owen’s closest friend in Sausalito. And one of the only people on whom Owen and I disagree. Owen thinks I don’t give him a fair shake, and maybe that’s true. He’s funny and smart and totally embraced me from the minute I arrived in Sausalito. But he also habitually cheats on his wife, Patricia, and I don’t like knowing that. Owen doesn’t like knowing that either, but he says he’s able to separate it out in his mind because Carl has been such a good friend to him.

This is how Owen is. He values the first friend he made in Sausalito more than he judges him. I know that’s how my husband works. But maybe he hasn’t been judging Carl for other reasons. Maybe Owen doesn’t judge him because Carl returns the favor, by not judging a secret Owen felt safe confiding in Carl.

Even if that theory is wrong, I still need to talk to him.

Because Carl’s also the only lawyer I know in town.

I knock on the front door, but no one answers. Not Carl, not Patty.

It’s odd because Carl works from home. He likes to be around for his kids—his two young kids—who usually nap at this time. Carl and Patty are sticklers for their children’s schedule. Patty lectured me about it during our first night out together. Patty had just celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday, which made the lecture all the more enjoyable. If I was still able to have children—that was how she said it—I was going to have to be careful not to let them rule the roost. I’d have to show them who was in charge. That meant a schedule. That meant, in her case, a 12:30 P.M. nap every day.

It’s 12:45. If Carl isn’t home, why isn’t Patty?

Except that through the living room blinds, I see that Carl is home. I see him standing there, hiding behind those blinds, waiting for me to go.

I knock on the door again, pressing hard on the doorbell. I’m going to ring the doorbell for the rest of the afternoon until he lets me in. Kids’ naps be damned.

Carl swings the door open. He is holding a beer; his hair is neatly combed. Those are the first indicators that something strange is going on. His hair is usually uncombed, which he thinks makes him look sexy. And there is something in his eyes—a strange mix of agitation and fear and something else I can’t name, probably because I’m so shocked that he hid from me.

“What the hell, Carl?” I say.

“Hannah, you need to go,” Carl says.

He’s angry. Why is he angry?

“I just need a minute,” I say.

“Not now, I can’t talk right now,” he says.

He moves to close the door, but I hold it open. My force surprises both of us, the door escaping his grasp, opening wider.

Which is when I see Patty. She stands in the living room doorway, holding her daughter Sarah in her arms, the two of them dressed in matching paisley dresses—their dark hair pulled back into soft braids. The identical attire and haircut only further highlight what Patty wants people to see when they look at Sarah: an equally presentable but smaller version of herself.

Behind them—filling up the living room—a dozen parents and toddlers watch a clown make balloon animals. A HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH banner hangs above their heads.

It’s their daughter’s second birthday party. I had totally forgotten about it. Owen and I were supposed to be here celebrating. Now Carl isn’t even opening the door.

Patty offers a confused wave. “Hey there…” she says.

I wave back. “Hi.”

Carl turns back toward me, his voice controlled but firm. “We’ll talk later,” he says.

“I forgot, Carl. I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to show up during her party.”

“Forget it. Just go.”

“I will but… would you just please step outside and talk to me for a couple of minutes? I wouldn’t ask but it’s urgent. I think I need a lawyer. Something’s happened at The Shop.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he says.

“So why won’t you talk to me then?”

Before he can answer, Patty walks toward us and hands Sarah to Carl. Then she gives her husband a kiss on the cheek. A big show. For him. For me. For the party.

“Hi,” she says, kissing me on the cheek too. “Glad you could make it.”

I keep my voice down. “Patty, I’m sorry for walking in on the party, but something’s happened to Owen.”

“Carl,” Patty says, “let’s get everyone out back, okay? It’s time for ice cream sundaes.”

She looks to the group and flashes her smile at them.

“Everyone head out back with Carl. You too, Mr. Silly,” she says to the clown. “It’s ice cream time!”

Then—and only then—she turns back toward me. “Let’s talk out front, yeah?” she says.

I start to tell her that Carl is really who I need to speak with, Carl who is walking away with Sarah on his hip, but Patty is pushing me onto the front porch. She closes the thick red door and I am on the wrong side of it again.

This is when, on the privacy of her porch, Patty turns back to me, eyes blazing. Smile gone.

“How dare you show up here,” she says.

“I forgot about the party.”

“Screw the party,” she says. “Owen broke Carl’s heart.”

“Broke his heart… how?” I say.

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with him stealing all our fucking money?”

“What are you talking about?” I say.

“Owen didn’t tell you that he convinced us to go in on The Shop’s IPO? He sold Carl on the software’s potential, sold him on the enormous returns. Failed to mention that the software was dysfunctional.”

“Patty, look…”

“So all of our money is now tied up in The Shop’s stock. Actually, I should say, what’s left of our money is tied up in stock, which on my last check was down to thirteen cents.”