Page 31 of Missing White Woman

“Here you go, Ms. Wright.”

Jerry handed over a pink sheet blank side up. I didn’t need to flip it to know what it was. The flyer.

The hair. The hands. The jeans. The blood covering it all.

Jerry noticed my hesitation but obviously wasn’t a mind reader because he said, “That’s all I had. Sorry.”

I just smiled and took it, trying to force myself to think of what to say instead of what I’d seen. And to my credit, the note started off strong.

I’m okay. Phone still in the house.

But then I faltered. There was no way for him to contact me—unless I took Adore up on her offer and actually stayed in the hotel room she’d promised to get me. As much as I hated needing her help, I needed it. I couldn’t just wander the streets. I didn’t even have money to wait it out at a restaurant. And the hotel had the one thing I wanted more than anything: a phone.

Staying at the Crown. Call me as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting. Bree.

Jerry had left a weathered manila interoffice envelope on the counter. I folded the note—making sure not to look at Janelle’s smiling face—then put it in the envelope, wrapped the string around it until it was closed tight, and wrote Ty’s name on the first empty line. Next, I handed it back to Jerry and thanked him for his help.

TEN

The Crown lobby was as gray and desolate as I felt. The only people were me and a white attendant who looked like this was her first job and she wasn’t really too impressed with it. Her name tag said VALERIE. She was so focused on her phone she didn’t notice me until I cleared my throat.

“Sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound like she meant it. “They found Janelle Beckett dead in a neighborhood close to here. I’ve been searching TikTok for updates. Just saw the police are doing a press conference later.”

The hair. The hands. The jeans. The blood covering it all. I pushed the image away.

Much like Jerry before her, Valerie noticed my visceral reaction. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and this time it felt like she meant it. “I wasn’t trying to scare you. Paulus Hook is a very safe area. What happened to Janelle was—”

“I just need my key. Someone booked me a room earlier.”

“Oh, the pretty woman. Her bag was gorgeous. I’ve never seen a Birkin bag in real life before.”

It was a Kelly. Still I didn’t correct her. “The room should be under Breanna Wright.”

“Right,” Valerie said, but I could tell she was still thinking about Adore’s choice of arm wear. “I would need an ID to give you a key, but your friend—”

“She’s not my friend.” It came out more forcefully than I had intended because Valerie looked at me, finally no longer focused on overly expensive handbags.

“Your associate explained you lost your wallet. So she just left you a ‘note.’” She actually winked as she slid over a sealed envelope with my name on it.

Two key cards were inside for a room on the fourth floor. “Thanks,” I said, then hesitated. “Which way is the business center?”

It was down the hall. First door on the right.

The room was small and deserted with one lone black Dell desktop waiting to be used. It looked newer than I’d thought it would be. There was no log-in page; I just tapped the space bar and the computer lumbered to life. The desktop featured a shiny, happy photo of the hotel with rows of the standard Windows apps.

I opened Chrome and immediately went to iCloud.com, cross-contaminating tech-company platforms. The page was white and spare, with blurred-out images in the background. Blue, orange, and green. There was just one box underneath a directive: Sign in to iCloud.

I typed my Apple ID in the white box and clicked the right-facing arrow. Another box popped up below it. This one asking for my password. I typed it in, and after a nanosecond both boxes disappeared, replaced by something else: Two Factor Authentication. A message with a verification code has been sent to your device. Enter the code to continue.

Crap.

I clicked on the line below it: Didn’t get a verification code? Clicked on a few pages after it, but it was no use. I’d need my phone if I wanted to get into my account. I didn’t know who I wanted to curse out more: Apple or my damn self for being so vigilant about keeping my account secure. And of course Past Me had done the same thing with all my other accounts: Gmail. Twitter. IG. TikTok.

If I wanted to log in to any of them to contact Ty or get his info, I’d need my phone.

But if I had my phone, I wouldn’t need any of the apps.

I sat back in the chair. Willed myself to think. There had to be a way to make sure he was okay. Though I didn’t know his phone number, I did know his social media. Maybe I could create an account and send him a message? Hopeful, I checked his Twitter, scrolling past Ty’s pinned tweet about NFTs. Didn’t stop until I saw his last tweet. It was from two days ago. The selfie from the park. There were other pics from our day as well. He looked so happy. I know I had too.

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