A Day in a Life

Chapter Three

Elijah

“ M AY I ?” I ask, curious.

“Of course.”

I limp over to study the four framed paintings, immediately mesmerized. They each boast a representation of shadow and light. The first is a comforting image of the shadows of blind slats on a wall after darkness has fallen, cleverly portrayed as though there’s more light than darkness. There’s a small glimpse of a backyard fence dotted with decorative lighting in the background, representing the light that’s causing the shadows.

The second portrays the shadow of a window on a floor as light pours into the room. I can’t express why it’s comforting, but it is.

The third painting is intricate. It boasts the shadow of a lamppost sitting outside the window. The lamppost’s perfect replica lies across a tile floor, next to a bed. Behind the lamppost is a full bright moon. The moon causes the lamppost—the very thing that gives light—to be cast as a shadow.

The fourth painting contains elaborate details of the shadow of a tree across concrete in the full light of day. It’s so lifelike, I can almost see the movement of the leaves as a breeze passes through.

Impressive work.

It would appear Sydni was obsessed with shadow and light. An interesting choice for a talented artist. I’m not sure what it says about her heart’s desires, but I feel there’s a message hidden deep within her artwork. I wish I knew what it was.

Her signature at the bottom of each picture is large and loopy, a signature that implies happiness.

“Her work is unique.” I limp back to the couch. “So you wanted her to pursue her career, and she chose motherhood.”

“Yes. Syd was crazy happy and excited, buying baby clothes and talking baby names. I couldn’t burst her bubble. She already had a name picked out. Saige Riley. It wasn’t to my taste, and I told her so.”

Husband of the year, right here. “What did you want to name the baby?”

“I wanted to name her after my childhood nanny, Helga.”

I wait for a hot minute for him to burst into laughter. He doesn’t. “Sydni didn’t like the name?” Shocker.

“Sydni hated the name. With a passion.”

I suspect there was an odd sort of power play going on in their marriage. His arrogant smirk tells me he thought he was being rather clever, like he knew the name was awful, but he suggested it just to torture her. What kind of man does that to his wife?

“So it was a girl?” I confirm, even though I already know the answer.

“That’s why the back bedroom’s still pink. It’s an eyesore. I keep the door closed and locked.”

Sometimes you can’t hide the inner jerk. This is Greer in the role of grieving husband and father. If this is him trying, I’d hate to see what he’s really like behind closed doors.

I’m confused. “Why keep it at all?”

“Just in case Sydni came home. Changing the nursery back into an office felt somehow thoughtless.”

Or a constant reminder of what she’d lost. This guy’s either clueless or cruel. The jury’s out.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say quietly.

He shrugs. “Like I said, it wasn’t a real person yet. It was a nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Cruel. Definitely cruel.

Moving on. “When did you pick Sydni up from the hospital that morning?” I’ll never understand why they don’t keep people in the hospital longer. A car in an auto shop garners more respect.

“I didn’t. They released her, and she took an Uber home.”

“She took an Uber home by herself?” I ask, keeping my voice calm when I’m shocked. Maybe disgusted. Sydni had just suffered a traumatic experience. She deserved more.

“Evidently, I was supposed to pick her up at eleven a.m. She was upset with me for making her wait. It’d been a late night, and I was exhausted. I didn’t remember. My phone was off so I could get some sleep.”

He needed sleep? After his wife just lost a baby? I mean, he lost his baby as well, but his wife’s body suffered the trauma. Greer doesn’t seem to care either way.

My breath hitches in my throat as I picture a broken-hearted Sydni waiting to be picked up by her husband while sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital foyer, an impatient nurse asking where her ride is.

Sydni was probably in pain, both mentally and physically. She waited, and he didn’t show? After she… I swallow, concealing my emotions.

“Look, Elijah, let me be clear. Syd and I, we weren’t doing well. The age difference was too much. I felt like her father most of the time. She needed constant guidance or she’d get distracted. Wouldn’t finish a painting unless I hounded her. She had no self-discipline. She arranged counseling sessions to ‘save our marriage,’” he says, using finger quotes. “They weren’t a good experience—only designed to fix me. If she’d lived, I’m sure we would’ve divorced.”

“Yet you have no qualms over collecting her life insurance money?” I allow my eyes to bore into his.

“I’m the beneficiary, whether we’re married or not. Legally, that money is mine. It’s very black and white, very simple to understand… to most .”

That was directed at me, the man who can’t understand simple things like collecting life insurance money for a woman you were about to divorce. Seems wrong. That’s okay, I’ll let him believe I’m the village idiot for now.

Greer goes on, trying to convince me he’s a good guy. “I’ve put my life on hold all this time. I haven’t married my fiancée or moved on at all, just in case Syd came home.”

I’m not convinced. Having a fiancée means he’s moved on. The more he talks, the sorrier he sounds. He’s his own worst enemy. “Help me understand. You’ve been waiting for her to come home so you could divorce her?”

“That is how the process works, Elijah. One wife at a time.”

I don’t comment. He’s getting defensive, and defensive men don’t tell me what I want to hear. “What was Sydni’s state of mind when she arrived home from the hospital?”

His eyes remain on mine. I can’t remember the last time he blinked. Does he blink?

“She was crying. Sobbing, actually.”

“Naturally. Anything else?”

“She sat on the couch exactly where you’re sitting right now and cried. She wouldn’t stop. She didn’t get angry or yell at me. She just cried. Sydni had a bit of a victim mentality.”

Maybe because she was the victim.

I’m sitting where Sydni sat. I’m living her last day vicariously. As a police detective and now a private investigator, I’ve seen a lot of horrific things that would give the strongest of the strong nightmares. But this story makes my heart hurt on a personal level. There’s nothing crazy here. Just real life gone wrong. Always the hardest cases because they hit home.

“How so?” I ask. Being a victim and having a victim mentality are two very different things.

“Her older sister was always the star of the show. Sydni felt unnoticed by her family. When she visited, she was told she was a guest, to go sit down and relax while her mom and sister prepared dinner. If they went out to eat together, the parents always paid for her older sister, but not for Syd, because they were worried about Hannah’s finances . Even though Syd was still in college and Hannah was married to a husband who earned a decent living. Stuff like that. All the time. Sydni never felt good enough.”

“Was she?”

“Was she what?” he retorts.

“Good enough.”

“Sydni was on the quiet side, but once you got to know her, she was deep. Most people mistook her quiet nature for cluelessness. Actually, she noticed everything.”

Hmm. I know the type. “You know the saying, ‘Quiet people have the loudest minds.’”

“That describes Sydni perfectly.”

“Did you continue to comfort her after she arrived home?” I look down at my notes to mask confrontation.

“The time for theatrics was over,” Greer says dully.

“You didn’t think she should be crying anymore? You felt she should’ve been over it?”

“Absolutely. What’s done is done. I knew she would be mourning for quite some time, but there was no reason for so many tears.”

I’ve seen a lot of jerks in my time, but this guy wins the trophy. The Jerk of the Year trophy. It’ll look great on his cold mantel in his cold room.

Something he said earlier hits me. “You mentioned she didn’t get angry or yell at you. Why would she have been angry?” Wait. Why wouldn’t she have been angry?

“I wasn’t there to pick her up at the hospital.”

After enduring a traumatic experience, I imagine she felt forgotten. Unnoticed again.

Just reading the emotionless, straight-up facts in the police report was tough. Hearing the husband speak as if it was no big deal is tragic.

“Was there anything else she was upset about?” I push.

“A few other things. Couple stuff. This and that. Like I said, we were headed for divorce.”

“Would you please explain what this and that means?” The village idiot would like to know.

“I’ve already told you, we weren’t in a good place as a couple. There was a lot of baggage that day. It overwhelmed her.”

“Explain baggage.”

Greer shifts in his seat. “Look, Mr. Garrett…”

“Elijah.”

“Elijah, I’ve never once claimed to be the perfect husband. We were trying to salvage our marriage, and it wasn’t working out. It hit her hard that day.”

“What exactly hit her hard?” His fist? His jerk trophy?

“Everything hit her at once. It was too much for her.”

“Did you argue?”

“She was sobbing. I don’t think she could’ve spoken if she’d tried. Takes two to argue.”

“Look, Mr. Greer, I’m trying to retrace Sydni’s steps on that fateful day. I’m trying to determine her state of mind. Her death was ruled a suicide. I need sufficient evidence to prove it. If you could please tell me what hit her so hard, it would be extremely helpful for the investigation.”

He’s about to sing. I can see it in his expression. Anything to help the investigation. “She should’ve known better than to come home unexpectedly.”

Wait. What? “To her own home?”

“I’d met someone. She came over the night before to console me. Syd walked in on us. Saw more than she should’ve seen.”

It takes me a moment to absorb this new information. “Sydni walked in on you with another woman? And she didn’t know you were seeing someone else?”

“She certainly knew all those counseling sessions hadn’t worked. Hard to believe she was shocked.”

“Were you in the guest room?”

“No, I like the comfort of my own room.”

“So Sydni walked in on you with another woman in the bed she shared with you?”

“The maid had thoroughly cleaned everything. It was fine.”

That’s not why I’m shocked. And a little luminol would make him never sleep in his comfortable room again.

If I’m overwhelmed by this turn of events, I can’t imagine how Sydni must’ve felt. That’s two huge blows in a row. Life-changing events. The types of things that throw a person into depression. Combined, they might even make someone drive their car off a bridge. “She didn’t get angry with you? She didn’t fight with you?”

“No. Would’ve been easier if she’d raged at me. Instead, she cried. She just collapsed and cried. If you’re wondering if I feel bad, the answer is yes, okay? I felt horrible. She lost her baby and she lost me in a twenty-four-hour period. It was too much for her. But I didn’t expect her to drive off a bridge. I didn’t expect her to take her own life. Although I’m not surprised by her actions.”

What did he expect her to do? Shrug and move on? Act like it was no big deal? Tell him it was okay, that when one door closes, another opens? She would take her lemons, and gosh darn it, she’d make lemonade.

“What did you do next?” I ask with a calm facade that even I’m impressed by. Deep inside, I’d like to fall on my knees and cry for this poor woman. Or punch this jerk in the nose. I imagine the latter would be more satisfying. But I refuse to sink to his level.

“I left. I couldn’t take all the tears and the devastated glances. I had to get out of there. The dramatics were just too much. I was tired of being labeled as the bad guy. I’d already missed half a day of work, and I had a lot to catch up on. So I went to work. I didn’t return home until late that evening. Sydni wasn’t here when I arrived home.”

“Who was the other woman? What was her name?”

“Back then, she was my mistress. Now she’s my fiancée. Her name is Suzette Baxter.”

I know. I’m interviewing her next. It’ll be interesting to hear her side of the story. The police report mentions Sydni met Suzette, her husband’s coworker, that morning while they worked from home. It says nothing about Sydni walking in on her husband with Suzette in a compromising position. Huge difference . A lie of omission of the greatest proportion. Greer took full advantage of his right to remain silent.

“How did you meet Suzette?”

“She’s a coworker.”

“And she’s your alibi?”

“She is. We weren’t actually working, but we were together at work. That’s a fact.”

A rather obvious one. It should’ve been caught earlier.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

“That was the last time I saw Sydni. Got nothing else. Losing the baby was simply the nail in the coffin of our marriage.”

Huh. Interesting choice of words.

“One more thing. Why eight hundred grand worth of life insurance? It seems excessive.”

Greer shrugs. “Why not?”

Why not, indeed.

“Was she the beneficiary for the same amount of money on you?”

“She was. I’ve seen far too many people financially ruined when they lose a loved one.”

Okay. Fair is fair.

I feel for Sydni. Suicide must’ve felt like her only option in her collapsing world. Someone should’ve been there to whisper her worth into her soul. Her husband sure wasn’t going to do it.

But was suicide her intention? Or was escape her plan all along? Disappear without a trace? I wouldn’t have blamed her. In fact, I would’ve cheered her on.

Except her plans went awry.

Is that what really happened?

As of yet, no one knows about the newest development in the case of Sydni Greer, the one thing that says everything while saying nothing at all.

The go-bag.