Page 54 of The Vanishing Wife

Neither Leigh nor Detective Moore could argue when asked to leave.

“Thanks for the lemonade.” The detective excavated a business card from her slacks and handed it off to Saige, which her mother took on her behalf. “If you remember anything, please, don’t hesitate to give us a call.”

Leigh took the lead in heading outside to the porch. Looking out over the grass, she realized the property hadn’t been as picture perfect as she’d first estimated. The unfinished home projects inside, dead garden attempts outside. Thinning of dead grass, straight down to dirt. The newly reorganized Fuentes family wasn’t as stable as Mrs. Fuentes had wanted them to believe. “The mother’s afraid if Saige talks, it’ll only bring more misery. She’s not wrong. They’re never going to be the same after this.”

“No, they won’t.” Detective Moore checked her phone then pocketed it without much of a glance. “I’ve got a lead on Samuel Thornton’s sister. I requested a warrant for her financials when we were looking into family and friends he might go to for help. Turns out, she’s been staying in town at one of the hotels for the past week. I’m going to see if she can give us any answers, then I want to go back to the Portman house.”

“Let me know what you find out. I’ve got to check in on Ava. Make sure she’s doing okay.” Leigh crossed the expansive grass, phone in hand. “I’m going to request a ride-share to the hotel. Call me when you’re ready to go back to the Portmans’.”

“Will do.” The detective rounded into her own vehicle and collapsed inside.

On the curb, she gauged the closest ride-share as the sun beat down.

“Agent Brody,” a voice called from the front porch of the house. Leigh turned to catch Saige Fuentes coming across the yard. “There’s something I didn’t get the chance to say inside.”

“Something you didn’t feel comfortable saying in front of your mom?” Leigh cut her attention to the porch then back to the girl in front of her. “What is it?”

“She took me to a hotel after we escaped. The woman who was with me,” Saige said. “I’m not sure which hotel. I don’t remember a whole lot, but she told me to rest and made sure I wasn’t hurt. Checked me out. Like she was a nurse or something. I think she… saved my life.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?” It would be easy enough to corroborate Saige’s statement with a few calls to nearby hotels. Leigh turned fully, no longer on the watch for Annalea Fuentes. “Or her name?”

“No, but she asked me to do something for her when I got home. She told me to give you a message.” Saige extended her hand, fingers clenched in a fist. And handed off a gold disk necklace. Engraved with the letter P. “She said you would know what to do with it.”

THIRTY-SIX

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Monday, September 23

6:17 p.m.

Detective Moore’s call never came.

No returned messages. No response to the voicemails Leigh had left. Two of them. Gulf Shores PD dispatch had recorded the detective leaving the Beachside Resort Hotel two hours ago but wouldn’t disclose the name of Samuel Thornton’s sister. Calls to the hotel front desk hadn’t resulted in anything either.

Leigh walked past the news van parked at the curb and crested the twenty stairs at the front of the Portman vacation house. The driver was asleep behind the wheel, a hat over his head. Manny, Detective Moore had called him. Recognition centered him as the cameraman usually following behind the blonde news anchor who seemed to creep up at the slightest upset. Did the news industry have a term for ambulance chaser?

There were no officers positioned to hold scene security. No one with a clipboard asking her to prove she deserved to be here. Apart from the crime scene seal on the front door, it felt as if the world had righted itself. She was here to visit her friend while on medical leave. The past two days had simply been a nightmare that’d gotten the best of her.

Unpocketing her father’s old foldable pocketknife, Leigh moved to slice through the seal. Except it’d already been opened. She tested the door. It swung inward without her twisting the knob. Hinges protested as she crossed the threshold. “Detective Moore?”

Seconds ticked off without a response.

Gravity seemed to intensify its hold on her, rooting her to the spot. The detective never would’ve left a crime scene unsealed. Which meant something else was going on here.

A creak shifted from overhead. From the second story of the house.

“Agent Brody, FBI. Is someone here?” Leigh found herself reaching for her hip. Though she hadn’t worn a sidearm since going on medical leave, and she certainly wasn’t wearing one now, it was a habit she retreated to when her nervous system warned her to get the hell out and never come back. “This is an active crime scene. You’re trespassing, and I can guarantee at least three years in jail for cutting through that seal.”

Never mind she’d already cut through the one on the back door.

She took a hesitant step forward. Every cell in her body locked on figuring out if the house had moved on its own or if she was talking to an intruder. The floorboards protested as she moved down the hall toward the living room and kitchen. Shards of glass crunched under her shoes, reflecting back a hundred tiny Leighs in their surfaces. The medicine cabinet she’d dropped hadn’t been cleaned up by the crime scene unit. Then again, they’d been busy the past few days. Bodies seemed to be turning up all over Gulf Shores.

Leigh flipped on the light inside the hallway bath then wrenched the shower curtain out of the way.

Empty.

Yellow pup tents had been removed from the scene. All the evidence of what’d happened in this house catalogued and stored back at the station. It was a necessary step to finding the truth, but what had really happened here would be kept between those involved and these walls. Well, and the tile Elyse hated with every fiber of her being. Leigh pushed into the main room, kitchen on one side, living room on the other. And waited.

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