Page 100 of Missing White Woman

She couldn’t afford it. She didn’t have the money that had cost Ty his life. Lori Stevenson’s too.

Ty and I hadn’t discussed his work much, but still some of it had seeped into my brain. Call it osmosis. If Ty had helped Lori move her money into crypto, he wouldn’t have emailed her any account info or even risked putting it in the mail. He would’ve wanted to get it to her in person. And it wouldn’t have been just handing over a piece of paper.

He would’ve used a crypto wallet.

The first time I saw one, I thought it was a USB drive. The last time I saw one was during our final argument. I might’ve assumed that if he did give it to Lori, or even to Janelle to give to Lori, it would’ve been during that earlier Monday encounter before I got there, but I saw it on Sunday morning—in the house.

I didn’t see it the rest of the day, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there.

Ty and I had been together the entire time minus one thirty-minute argument. Janelle could’ve swung by, but why risk her “disappearance” to come by in the middle of the day? Especially on a street where everyone knew her—was looking for her, in fact.

Of course the police could’ve taken it with Ty’s things. It could be sitting in some evidence drawer collecting cobwebs. But I hadn’t heard anything about Calloway releasing his stuff, and even if she did, it wouldn’t be to me. Of course Adore could probably get it, but I wasn’t that desperate.

Besides, there was one other thing that made me think it was still in that house.

The break-in attempt.

Everyone had assumed it was #Justice4Janelle groupies, but what if it had been Janelle herself?

It would explain why she was still here. She was just biding her time to try to get back into the house. Unless someone else got there first.

THIRTY

It wasn’t that I wanted the money. I just didn’t want her to have it. She’d used Lori Stevenson. Her abusive relationship. Her desperation to leave it. Her desire to be safe. Janelle literally took her life in more than one way.

She’d also used Ty. His knowledge. His kindness. His desire to help. She’d used society’s prejudice to her advantage. Because she knew how this would play out. And then she’d killed him.

She’d used me. My circumstance. My past. My love.

She’d thought she could get away with it all. And so far she’d been right.

She’d planned to ride off into the sunset with a shit ton of money to keep her company.

Now she just needed to find it.

Ty would’ve told me what a bad idea it was. That I needed to let the cops handle it. But he wasn’t here because she’d taken him away from me—and his good name too.

I didn’t have much black to wear so I had to settle for the darkest workout gear I’d brought with me when this had been just a quick romantic getaway. Ty was on my mind hard from the moment I’d decided to do this.

Besides learning about crypto wallets, I took lessons from Ty’s illicit visit the Monday night when he first arrived. Because of him, I knew where the Ring cameras were. I wanted to rush out immediately, just to get the entire thing over with. But it was too light out and I didn’t want to get caught because of impatience.

So I waited. And waited. And waited.

I passed the time doing my hair. It’d been loose and I’d barely given it a thought since I’d been here, not doing much more than barely putting it up in a pineapple each night before bed. Now it was long past wash day, if I was honest. I didn’t want to look like the me that Calloway knew. Or Ms. Morgane. Or everyone who’d tuned in to TikTok and Instagram.

As any Black woman will tell you, there’s an intricacy to the Black Hair Experience. It takes time and patience, and that was exactly what I needed at that moment. Something to take my mind off what was to come.

I went to work. Detangling with the wide-tooth comb I always had in my handbag. Washing with the hotel shampoo clearly not provided with our hair in mind. Carefully parting and twisting until I had a head full of twists—ones I could take out tomorrow and I would look completely different if need be.

By the time I was done, I still felt like myself but better. Stronger. Clark Kent right after he took off his glasses but before he ripped open his button-down. I was ready to go by the time I walked out of my room at eleven that night—in my own costume. Face mask included.

It was a Sunday night. A good day for a break-in if there ever was one. Nobody was out late on a Sunday. The partiers were recovering. The worker bees mentally and physically preparing for another Monday. The streets were deserted, which somehow put me on higher alert.

I was tempted to run the entire way, but I still wasn’t quite ready to exercise. It felt too much like before. Instead, I kept my hands by my sides and my head low the entire ten-minute trip. The barriers were still up, guarding against an inky blackness. There weren’t even any lights on in the row houses. It was as if the whole block was too exhausted to stay up late. It should’ve made me feel better. Instead, it just made me more scared.

I kept walking past the main block, until I got to the alley. It was so black I could’ve sworn my eyes were closed. I had to remind myself I’d been here before—earlier that day, in fact. The first step was tentative, crossing a literal line. A point of no return. But then I just went for it, quietly counting houses and sticking close to fences to avoid the Ring camera across the street.

A keypad lock was on the back gate at 110 Little, just like on the front door. And I was banking on them not having changed the code. It wasn’t like they’d be able to rent it out anytime soon—though I’m sure there would be some sickos jumping on the chance as soon as they did.

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