Page 95 of Missing White Woman

And yet it brought up even more questions. The first being: How was Ty involved?

I relived our last moments together over and over—searching for signs of an affair. He’d been distant at times, way too focused on his phone. There was that fight because he’d had to work, thanks to some needy new client. I’d decided he’d been lying then, covering his tracks.

But what if he’d been telling the truth? What if the client was Lori Stevenson?

Ty worked in finance, helping people find the best ways to save money. He’d been the first person I knew who was into crypto—even with all the ups, downs, and uncertainty surrounding it. He’d make jokes about how it’d buy him a house one day. Had even tried to get me to invest. And I probably would have if I had any money to do so.

Maybe he’d told Lori to do the same.

I knew jack about crypto except for one key thing. The initial appeal was in the anonymity. You didn’t need any type of proof to buy it. Just some complicated passcode and a way to access it. What if Lori had been planning to leave her domineering husband—take the family fortune with her?

It was what my Ty would’ve helped her do. The one I fell in love with. The one I still loved. And it would explain all the secrecy. The stress—especially with Janelle suddenly missing. He wasn’t cheating on me. He was trying to help someone. And he’d paid for it with his life.

It all sounded so ridiculous—and there was so much I didn’t know. Didn’t understand, and Ty wasn’t here to explain it all.

But still, it made sense.

Janelle Beckett was the common link. She could’ve connected them. And she could’ve decided to kill them both and take the money for herself.

Maybe she wasn’t missing. She just wanted people to think that so they would think it was her body in the Airbnb. Maybe she was on the run—with Lori’s identity. It would explain why “Lori” had texted Ms. Morgane a few times but never picked up the phone.

It all fit—except for one thing. If Lori Stevenson was dead, why was her husband pretending otherwise?

It felt melodramatic, like something you’d find on a daytime soap—“stories,” as my grandmother called them—circa 1986. But still. I needed to run it by someone—and Ms. Morgane would definitely tell me if I was living in a fantasy world. I started to open my mouth, but she spoke first.

“He left. Come on.”

It had been only twenty minutes since I’d heard someone speak, but I’d already forgotten what words sounded like. I jumped, then took a full minute to comprehend what Ms. Morgane was saying. By the time I did, she already had her back door open.

I finally put down the fork I’d been holding in the general vicinity of my mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Going to talk to Lori.”

I rushed to follow her down the tiny path from her back entrance to the gate in her fence, still thinking. Once we got out Ms. Morgane’s back gate, we walked over to the one belonging to the Stevensons’ house next to it. Ms. Morgane yanked on the gate like she’d done this a million times before. Maybe to borrow sugar. Maybe to just say hello. She was so confident she knew the gate would open that it was a shock to both of us when it didn’t.

Ms. Morgane tried again. Still no luck.

“They never keep this locked during the day,” she said.

I glanced around. “You’re not gonna try to jump the fence, right?”

We were Black.

Ms. Morgane shook her head. “Of course not. You know how quick someone would call the police?”

I almost started to share my theory but then thought of a better option: checking online. I could see if I was the only one floating the “What if Janelle is still alive?” theory. What if there were already sightings? Maybe even in Boston.

I looked at my phone, only to be reminded the battery was dead. “What now?” I said.

Ms. Morgane started back toward her house. “I’m going to talk to some neighbors. If no one’s seen Lori, we need to do a wellness check.”

It was what I would’ve wanted a neighbor to do for me. It was also the last thing I needed. If Janelle Beckett was indeed alive and using Lori Stevenson’s identity, I couldn’t have cops announcing Lori was missing. Janelle would just chuck Lori’s ID and use whatever money Ty had put in that crypto account to buy another one. And she’d never be found.

I didn’t have much time. I called after Ms. Morgane. “Do you have an iPhone charger?”

* * *

She didn’t—but my phone was the only way I could get online. I left Ms. Morgane talking to some neighbor named Carl and making plans for him to call Rod himself.

---