Page 40 of Missing White Woman

By 8 a.m., I was willing myself to get up, telling myself I needed a run. That it’d help me clear my head. Instead, I went to the business center.

Ty had been found overnight. Several times, in fact.

Billie had posted another video. This one chock-full of sightings. People had seen him everywhere, from grabbing a leisurely coffee at some Au Bon Pain in Jersey City to driving down the New Jersey Turnpike to a guy who looked “just like him” scurrying off the Amtrak in Boston’s Back Bay. Someone had even managed to take a photo of that.

I was excited until I actually saw the pic and realized it was of just a random Black guy in a baseball cap. Not even close to Ty’s skin color. Gotta love how we all look alike.

Billie had declared Ty as “on the run.” Though I doubted any of those other sightings were him, I wasn’t surprised he’d decided to keep lying low.

Ty knew the optics as much as I did. Anyone Black did. That some chance encounter with a stranger—a white stranger at that—would look like so much more. There was nothing on that video to make you think something bad was happening unless you wanted to think that. The only thing Ty had done wrong was be Black and in the same space as some pretty white woman. But that still didn’t answer the more pressing question for me.

“Bree.”

I jumped as a hand touched my shoulder, then calmed down when I recognized the stilettoed nails. Adore. Once again looking like a TV version of a lawyer. Pale pink pantsuit that managed to look modern and not like she was stuck in the twentieth century. She’d paired it with a black silk blouse, offering a hint of cleavage, and black stilettos. Her straight hair was in a sleek, high ponytail with hair wrapped around the band, and she had on the same shade of red lipstick. It must’ve been her signature.

I glanced at the computer’s clock: 9:59. Adore was still punctual as all get-out.

“You could star in the next Halloween because you scared the hell out of me,” I said.

But Adore didn’t laugh. Instead, she leaned on the desk a few inches away. I smelled her same perfume. I was tempted to ask her about it, but the look on her face told me she wouldn’t answer. She was too busy staring me down.

Finally, I spoke. “What?”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” she said. “In that video from the press conference.”

I was about to open my mouth to lie like I had the night before, but she wouldn’t let me. Not today.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth, Bree.”

I nodded, just as much to confirm she was right as to let her know I understood. “What gave it away?”

“You always wipe your eye when you aren’t telling the truth.”

She’d told me that before, but I’d forgotten. I pushed back from the desk. “He’s a huge Sade fan. He loves that hoodie. His mother got it specially made for him last Christmas. He wears it all the time.”

She didn’t respond, just stared at the wall like some vision test.

“What are you worried about?” I said—because I still knew her too.

“That if he wears it all the time it will show up on his socials.”

“Not this weekend. Weather was too nice. I didn’t even know he’d brought it.”

“He wear it on any other dates?”

I shook my head. “We always dress up. It’s one of the things I like about him. The effort.”

“You said he got it for Christmas. He take a pic then?”

“We weren’t dating then. I don’t know.”

“What about some night out with his boys?”

I tried to conjure up his Instagram account. Instead, my mind went blank.

“Let me guess,” Adore said. “You don’t know.”

“I’m not the type of girlfriend who stalks my boyfriend’s Instagram.” I hated how defensive I sounded.

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