Page 80 of You'll Never Find Me

“You said months—do you remember when?”

“Well—we brought over the baby present right before Halloween, I think. Marie was born in September. And Annie made homemade strawberry jam for Christmas and hand-delivered it. We chatted for a bit about the kids. Then—” she looked up as if trying to remember “—I saw her at Nat’s during spring break. My boys had a baseball tournament in Tucson and I went over to see if Nat could feed our cats for a few days, water my plants.” She motioned vaguely toward the breakfast nook where there were a dozen plants, mostly thriving. “Annie was there with the kids.”

“Was that middle of March?”

“Yes, week of the 14th.”

Nunez made a note. Two months ago.

“How was she then?”

“The same.” She frowned. “I remember Nat was trying to convince Annie to work her business with her, saying that it would be great to do it together, Nat could make more product if she had a partner, that sort of thing. Annie said Peter wouldn’t like it because it would take time away from the kids.”

She rolled her eyes.

Nunez had a little tingle. “You didn’t believe her?”

“I believed her. Look—I don’t think Annie has a backbone. Peter seems to be a good guy, worships the ground she walks on. Good dad, from what Nat says. They do a lot of things on his days off—go to the zoo, park, things like that. He even walks the kids at night. Told me once when I was out in the street playing catch with the boys that it gives Annie time to take a bath and relax. I thought that was thoughtful. I mean, what woman doesn’t love a hot bubble bath without calls of mommy, mommy, mommy?”

She hesitated, then added, “But if Peter told Annie he didn’t think something was a good idea, she wouldn’t do it. I had a feeling—not because she said anything—that Peter didn’t like her coming to the book club every month. And that’s why she stopped coming. Maybe she grew a backbone and stood up for herself, and realized that Peter was too controlling.”

“Controlling.” Interesting word choice. “How so?”

“He had a say in everything. They’re married, sure, and maybe I’m not one to talk. Josh and I were married for fifteen years and it wasn’t all bad, but if Josh tried to tell me what to do and not do with my free time? I would have put my foot down. Of course, I’ve always been independent. Anyway, I just think Annie wasn’t happy.”

“She wasn’t happy in her marriage?”

“I suggested she see a marriage counselor. Confessed that if Josh and I had done it when problems started, we might have been able to save our marriage before everything got out of hand.” She frowned. “You know, that was about the time she stopped coming to book club. I probably overstepped. I didn’t think about that at the time. I have no filter.”

Maybe not, but Kris Madera had given Nunez a much better picture of Peter and Annie’s marriage.

“Thank you for your time.” He handed her his card. “If you think of anything else, or know of someone else we can speak with, let me know.”

He left, and Nunez called Sullivan as he pulled away from the curb. He relayed the key points in the conversation and Sullivan said, “Sounds like she just wanted to get away. But it bugs me that she didn’t use her credit cards, hasn’t accessed her bank, didn’t fly anywhere. Who picked her up? Get any vibes from who you spoke with?”

“No. Everyone I talked to said she was shy, quiet, friendly, a good mother. Stunned she left.” Nunez paused. “This might be a leap, but is there any indication that the husband might have done something?”

He was intentionally vague. He didn’t want to put his suspicions on paper, and wasn’t certain about giving voice to them.

Sullivan considered, said carefully, “You reported that you didn’t see any indication of foul play.”

“None. And the girlfriend, Nichols, said the handwriting on the note was Annie’s. None of the neighbors saw him Sunday after he left for work, not until he came home Sunday night. We could check his vehicle log.”

“You think something is off.”

“It’s been seventy-two hours since anyone has seen or heard from Annie or her kids. She really could have just left her husband and disappeared, but she would have needed someone to help her.”

“Canvass the neighbors again. See if anyone has security footage. Carillo gave us her phone—she wiped it at eight in the morning, which suggests that she planned this and didn’t want anyone to know what she had been looking at, where she made reservations. She may have applied for a credit card in her name that Carillo doesn’t know about, maybe a separate bank account.”

Nunez hadn’t thought of that. He should have.

“Keep talking to people,” Sullivan continued. “Someone might remember something. I’ll go over to the house this afternoon and talk to Carillo. Take a look around, see if anything feels off. Tell him what his options are. With no sign of foul play and clear signs that she left willingly, this is a family court issue.”

Nunez said, “Not one person said she was happy. They didn’t say she wasn’t happy, but it just struck me as odd.”

“Maybe Carillo is right and she’s suffering from postpartum depression. It can be serious and debilitating. Maybe she is a threat to the kids, or to herself, but we need someone else to corroborate Carillo’s statement. We’ll find her. It’ll just take time.”

Nunez ended the call. This whole thing felt off to him, and he didn’t know why.

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