Page 92 of Missing White Woman

But that last bit was drowned out by her dog barking. “Shush, you,” she said, thankfully not to me. “We’re going out. Give me a second.”

It was a perfect transition. “I don’t want to keep you. Just wanted to ask about Lori Stevenson.”

“She’s probably my favorite human on the block. Of course that’s not saying much with this group.”

“Have you seen her lately?”

She didn’t answer right away and even her dog got quiet. “No.” She kept on before I got too excited. “Just a couple of texts after everything that’s been going on. None of us have been out much and Lori’s a homebody anyway. I have theories about that…” She trailed off as if she was about to change the subject, then went right back to it. “Let’s just say the only time I know she’s home is because I can hear them arguing when I walk Chelsea.”

I wasn’t sure what to say next. I wasn’t some crack detective. This wasn’t Law & Order. I was just someone trying to figure out how a neighbor was connected to two dead bodies. “I remember you mentioning a trip…” I finally said.

“Yeah, but they’re back. He has some work convention a couple times a year he always makes her go to. She never wants to, but she also won’t tell him no.”

“That doesn’t get in the way of her job?”

“She doesn’t have one. Rod’s the type that likes to keep you financially dependent.” Her tone made it clear what she thought about that. There was another bark. “Give me a minute.” But her voice was farther away, like she wasn’t talking to me. When she spoke again, it was louder. More clear. “This dog’s brought me her leash.”

“It’s no prob. I should let you go.”

After we hung up, I did another few laps around the room, ignoring my stomach growling so loud it could rival a pit bull. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.

I glanced back at the alarm clock for the billionth time. It was only 8:05 a.m. Lori Stevenson was probably at home at this exact moment, looking at her own alarm clock.

Maybe there was a legitimate reason why she’d been talking to Ty. Maybe the family had been looking for a new financial planner. Maybe I could just go and ask her myself.

* * *

The walk over to Little Street took only ten minutes, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it was ten hours. There was no way I was risking another nosy Uber driver with a TikTok account and no fear of a bad rating. I put on my disguise—mask and sunglasses—and headed over, careful to keep my head down and stay out of people’s way.

The barricades were still up when I got there, but the crowd was long gone. The street was deserted. No one walked a dog or headed to their car. I refused to even glance at 110. Just seeing it out of the corner of my eye was enough. Folks must have come over right after the vigil because I recognized some of the candles.

I forced myself to focus on the next-door neighbor. The house was just as intimidating as it had been the first day I’d gotten here. I needed to talk to Lori. Instead, I stayed rooted to my spot, looking so suspicious I’m sure at least two houses called 911. But still I couldn’t move. Too afraid. I wanted answers. But now that I’d found the one person still alive to give them to me, I balked.

Because what if she didn’t just know what happened? What if she did it?

I didn’t know how long I’d been there when a hand touched my shoulder. It wasn’t much. So faint that the first time I thought it was a breeze even though the rest of the world was stock-still. But then it happened again.

I screamed, all the while stumbling forward without even looking at who the hand belonged to. A neighbor? A Stevenson? A cop? Each option worse than the last.

“Bree.” Ms. Morgane’s voice followed behind me as I kept walking. “Bree.”

That time I turned to find her exactly where I just was. Chelsea wasn’t with her. She’d clearly come to see me. But still, I didn’t head back toward her. I just didn’t move any farther away. We stared at each other for a few moments.

“Bree, what is going on?”

I flicked the sweat from my brow. “Nothing.” The lie was automatic, a longtime favorite from back when my mom would catch me doing something I wasn’t supposed to. But of course Ms. Morgane didn’t buy it any more than my mother had.

She glanced around—at windows, not the street—then came over to me. “Walk with me.”

She touched me again, but this time I was ready for it so it felt comforting when she linked her arm through mine. I tried to speak, but she shushed me and we walked in silence until we got off her street.

It was another block before she finally said something. “I called a few neighbors after that weird phone call of yours. I’m not the only one who hasn’t seen Lori. I tried to call her this morning. No answer. Made me think about how long it’s been since we talked in person. It was definitely before what happened.”

“I saw her. First night here. She had a suitcase with her, but she was coming,” I said. “Not going.”

Ms. Morgane thought it over. “That’s weird. I distinctly remember her telling me the convention started on a Thursday. You think Lori or Rod are involved in what happened?”

I told the truth. “Ty called her from my phone a couple of days before I found Janelle. Maybe that’s who he was having an affair with.”

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