Page 101 of Missing White Woman

I’d found a spare pair of cheap knit winter gloves in my handbag and thanked Past Me for not spring cleaning. I knew, wearing them, they’d be hot, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t already sweating. I put them on before quietly inputting the four numbers that had started this whole thing—1018—then said a quick prayer before I hit the Key button.

It worked. Both literally and figuratively.

The gate creaked open, feeling as loud as in a horror movie. Like some sound guy had put a boom mic mere centimeters away for the entire block to hear. I wiped the pad off with my T-shirt—gloves be damned—then pushed until the gate gave enough space to allow all my 135 pounds through. Then I waited.

For lights to come on.

For dogs to bark.

For neighbors to creak their own doors open to see what was out there.

But it remained pitch-black and silent.

I race-walked through the yard, then up to the back door, and repeated the entire process. Code. Clean. Creak. I stepped inside—noting they’d left the stove light on—then immediately regretted it as soon as my eyes adjusted. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but stepping back into a time capsule of one of the best days of my life was not it. The police hadn’t cleaned up anything. Not even the jug of orange juice we’d left on the counter that last night.

It was still there. So was the Nature’s Own bread and the glasses in the sink, my nude lipstick still visible on one rim. Even the Muddy Buddies Ty had given me were still half closed on the counter by the back door. I almost expected him to appear behind me at any moment, pressing against me while whispering naughtily in my ear.

But then I remembered it wouldn’t happen because he’d died. And there was a good chance Janelle Beckett had killed him. I did a cursory survey for the crypto wallet and promised I’d come back for a better inspection if I didn’t find it in the office or bedroom.

I left the time capsule for the living area, and at least I was prepared for that. I hadn’t turned on any lights, banking on remembering enough of the place to make my way through the first floor and up to the second.

That too served two purposes. Protecting both my body from folks passing by and my mind from actually seeing the blood that had consumed my brain. But that didn’t work either. I hadn’t accounted for the streetlights being bright enough to give the place an eerie, almost ethereal glow—even through the closed gauzy white curtains.

The blood was still there, dried up but still there. Another time capsule. This one of the worst day of my life.

I didn’t stop when I saw it. Didn’t allow myself to think of that poor body. Just arced around it, then rushed up the stairs like I was still in a horror movie and making a bad decision.

When I got to Ty’s office, it was clear the police had been just as interested in it as I was. It was the first time I could see their presence. Things were missing. His laptop. His files. Even the glass of Coke I’d spilled. All gone. The desk as clean as the first day of school.

I opened a drawer. Empty. So was the next and the ones on the other side. They’d taken everything. There was no way they would’ve left the drive.

I was tempted to leave then and there. Go back downstairs, ignoring the sound of my heart pounding as I rushed past the bloodstains and out the back door.

But then I remembered the safe upstairs, hidden in the walk-in closet. The police probably knew about it. Had called around to find how to unlock it without the code. Maybe even used brute force to split it open like someone’s head. But I still needed to check anyway.

Up I went.

The owner’s suite was another time capsule. I hadn’t made the bed. Hadn’t had a chance, though I probably wouldn’t have anyway. It looked like I’d just gotten out of it. The pillows were still how I liked to sleep, bookending me where I could press my back against one of them.

I went to the closet. The police knew about the safe, all right, but they hadn’t wasted time trying to bust it open. Instead, they’d just taken the entire thing out of the wall, leaving nothing more than a gaping hole.

I wanted to cry.

I’d been scared. I knew it was a ridiculous plan. But up until that moment I didn’t realize that I’d also been hopeful.

She was gonna get away with it. Janelle Beckett was going to kill two people—including my Ty—and get away with it. And there was nothing I could do.

I made it down the three flights in record time and was prepping myself for the blood in the foyer when I heard them. It sounded like there were two people outside the front door. One must’ve had a flashlight because a tiny beam bounced around the walls and the floor.

They knew someone had broken in.

I froze—just like I’d done that night. Still resisted the urge to go back up the stairs. Once again, I found myself running, this time as if someone was about to give chase. The front door buzzed just as I made it to the one in the back, and I instinctively looked behind me—cursing whoever had decided an open floor plan was a must.

I barely felt the counter when I damn near bounced off it, knocking the bag of Muddy Buddies over. I turned just in time to watch powdered-chocolate Chex Mix shoot out in all directions across the marble counter. But that’s also when I saw something else, the small plastic object half out of the bag.

The drive.

The front door began to open. I didn’t have time to think. Just shoved the drive back into the bag so I could take it with me and yanked the back door wide—not bothering to close it behind me.

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