Page 14 of The Vanishing Wife

“Her guardian?” The victim’s middle name latched into Leigh’s brain. It was an unusual name, Etta. Not the kind of middle name most parents gave their kids. Unless to honor a family member or ancestor. “Has there been any contact with her parents?”

“Ruby lost her parents when she was five. The courts arranged to have her adopted by an aunt. Her mother’s sister.” Detective Moore flipped through the first few pages of her notebook. Leigh had known another investigator like her. Obsessed with potentially forgetting details that could make or break a case. Turned out, he’d only kept a detailed log to cover his murderous tracks. “Her guardian tried to make contact multiple times through the victim’s cell phone, email, and friends. No one remembered seeing Ruby after school that Friday. The last reports were from the afternoon before as she was dropped off at her home by a friend. As the responding detective, I searched her room for signs of a secret boyfriend or anything that might tell us where she’d gone, but there hasn’t been any progress in that regard. Friends told me there were no rivalries or problems at school. Her teachers hadn’t noticed anything off about her mood or schoolwork, but it’s hard to judge based on the fact there are thirty-plus students in each of their classrooms going through puberty at the same time. Ruby wasn’t into drugs or sleeping with boys. It was like she’d just… disappeared.”

Like Elyse. Without a trace. Except Elyse held to specific set of patterns and routines. She didn’t have the impulsivity of a teenager looking for the next hit of dopamine with social media, friends, and risky behavior. Her friend arrived at the OG/GYN office at 7:00 a.m. without fail. She ate the same lunch every day. Homemade peanut butter and honey sandwich with green grapes, a few cubes of cheese, and a meat stick. It was easier for her to remember to pack her lunch that way. Make it as simple as possible. Elyse worked in tandem with Dr. Wilson throughout the day, taking notes, performing Pap smears, diagnosing issues for their patients. There’d been no hints of problems or an affair at work. Elyse would’ve told her. Though Leigh couldn’t be sure of Wesley’s fidelity at this point. Not after Leigh had learned about the time Elyse had gone through chemotherapy. But Leigh had no proof now. No reason to believe Wesley had hurt his wife. Yet.

“Ruby charmed everyone she ever met.” Detective Moore got a better hold of herself, straightening. “I don’t know if it was her smile or the way she seemed to always know exactly what people wanted to hear, but like any teenager, she used it to her advantage. She could get anyone—especially boys—to do what she wanted. Like a game. But Ruby is… was really sweet when there was no one to perform for. She liked mindless action films and monster movies. Godzilla especially. She and her guardian would spend hours together watching them on the weekends. They’d make popcorn and see what kind of weird combinations they could create. Like they were a real family.”

Detective Moore let that hang for a moment. There was a softness in the way she said the victim’s name. A love Leigh imagined she might feel toward her own adopted child one day. The same tone she’d found herself using when talking about her brother all those years ago.

Leigh closed the distance between them. “Considering the state of the body, Detective, I think you’re aware of the possibilities that led to Ruby’s disappearance. Had Ruby started her menstrual cycle yet?”

“No, but she was getting close.” Detective Moore swiped her hand beneath her nose. An attempt to stay in the moment, to look at the case objectively. “I’ve interviewed the registered sex offenders in the area. There’s no evidence to suggest one of them is responsible, but I haven’t discounted the possibility either. Truth is, I didn’t have much to go on. Until now.”

A heaviness sank in Leigh’s gut. The kind made of personal relationships with victims. Officers weren’t allowed to investigate personal cases. Which meant Detective Moore hadn’t divulged that information to her commanding officer or Gulf Shores brass. “You aren’t just a detective investigating Ruby Davis’s disappearance and murder, are you?”

“No, Agent Brody. I’m not.” And the fact Detective Moore hadn’t been able to keep her charge safe punctuated the sallowness in her expression. “Ruby was my niece.”

TEN

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Tuesday, September 17

2:15 p.m.

She’d stared at the detective’s card for hours.

But Elyse knew what she had to do.

It was her only recourse, wasn’t it? To prove she’d been at that house. That her attack had been real.

She listened for the shower to start from the attached bathroom off the main bedroom. Despite the assault and the concussion and the questions surrounding what’d happened yesterday morning, Wesley wouldn’t let anything interrupt his extended lunch routine. There were no missed leg days or pool laps. No rescheduled meetings. Because the mental torture he put himself through for failing to stay on top of his goals would be far worse than anything she or his employer could dole out. There was always surfing lessons, a round of golf at the club, a lunch date with an old data science buddy from his days at University of Illinois, where they’d met. It was unhealthy the way he drove himself day-to-day, but over the years she’d learned working on a project really was a kind of rest for him. Whereas she seemed to have to earn it.

The shower glass door suctioned shut with a hard thud.

That was her cue.

Elyse grabbed for Wesley’s phone left on the dresser and thumbed in the password. Her breath shook as she considered what might happen next, that her brain could be feeding her the wrong information. No. She wasn’t crazy. She’d been attacked at that house. And she wanted to know why.

She punched in Detective Moore’s number—a direct line—and hit the round phone icon at the bottom of the screen. Her fingers ached as she gripped the phone and brought it to her ear. One ring. Two. There was a possibility the detective might not answer.

Surely, Elyse’s case wasn’t the only investigation on her plate. There was that missing girl. The one Elyse had read about in the insufferable hours she’d been forced to take it easy yesterday afternoon. Police were asking the public for any information as to her whereabouts. What was the girl’s name? She was fifteen. Just a little older than Ava. Ruby something. Davis? She was sure Ruby hadn’t been one of Ava’s friends here in Gulf Shores, but it was all too easy to replace that young woman’s face with her daughter’s.

The line connected. “Moore.”

“Detective.” Elyse floundered with the sudden thrust back into reality. “Hi. It’s me.”

Except she and the detective weren’t on “it’s me” terms, were they? They didn’t know each other. They weren’t friends. She and Leigh had gotten there in the past few months, and the comfort of that greeting provided something she hadn’t felt since she and Wesley had first started dating. There was a sense of ownership, commitment, and familiarity. Not even her brothers—both of whom she’d practically raised their entire lives while their parents worked—used “it’s me.” When they bothered to reach out at all. “Elyse Portman. We met yesterday at the hospital.”

“I remember you, Mrs. Portman.” A screech pierced through the other end of the line. Like a desk chair overdue for a good greasing. “What can I do for you?”

The detective’s lack of small talk fused doubt alongside the strategy she’d devised over the past few hours. She supposed a woman like Detective Moore—Henrietta, according to her business card—liked to get to the point and would expect everyone else around her to do the same.

“You asked me to call you if I remembered anything more about what happened yesterday morning.” There was no turning back now. She had to pull the trigger. She had to know if these images in her head were real. “I know where I was attacked.”

Silence pooled in the line. Thick and heavy.

Elyse couldn’t stand it. “Detective?”

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