Page 22 of The House Guest

‘You are kidding me. I mean, what the fuck, Adam?’

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I checked the deleted items folder on my phone, just in case she’d forgotten to remove the pictures entirely, but it was empty.

Mona had got up and was looking around the room, inspecting shelves, opening drawers.

‘What are you doing?’ Jack asked.

‘What do you think? I’m checking to see if anything is missing.’

He jumped up like he’d been bitten. He ran up the stairs and I could hear doors opening and closing while I sat there, dumbfounded. This could not be happening.

For want of something to do, anything, I called Ruth’s number again. Once more, it went straight to voicemail. But then I saw the last messages I’d sent her had been read. That was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Except, why hadn’t she replied?

Jack came back downstairs. ‘I can’t see anything missing up there. But you should check your jewellery, honey, just in case.’

Mona nodded. ‘I will. I can’t see anything missing down here either. Did you check the laptops? What if she managed to get on to those? I have all my banking details saved on mine ...’

Jack swore and ran back upstairs to find their laptops, which they had apparently left behind while they went on their retreat. Mona thumbed her phone, and I guessed she was checking her bank balance.

I stared at my phone, at the unanswered texts. ‘Where are you?’ I said in a whisper.

Mona lifted her face from her screen. ‘What?’

It felt as if someone had removed my bones and replaced them with jelly. ‘Ruth,’ I said. ‘Where is she?’

Jack came back downstairs with a pair of laptops under his arms. ‘They need charging,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to wait—’

Mona shushed him with a gesture, then sat beside me. ‘Remind us when you last saw her.’

‘Friday night, like I said.’ I tried to keep the impatience out of my voice. ‘I slept through most of Saturday but she wasn’t here when I woke up. She’s not answering her phone or responding to messages. And now it’s Sunday morning and she’s still not back.’

‘Did she have any plans yesterday?’

‘Yeah, rehearsals.’

‘On a Saturday?’

‘Yeah. They do six days a week. Sally Klay would have them working seven if she could.’

‘And do you know if she turned up for the rehearsal? Can you find out?’

I thought about it. I didn’t have Sally Klay’s contact details. And when I’d bumped into Cara a few days ago I had given her my number but hadn’t taken hers. I wasn’t friends with any of the actors on Facebook.

‘No,’ I said, explaining the situation.

‘I take it her phone isn’t here?’ Jack asked. ‘Or does she have a laptop or tablet with Sally’s contact info?’

‘Her phone’s not here.’ I had kept an eye out for it while cleaning the house. ‘She doesn’t have a tablet. But her MacBook should be in our room.’

I ran upstairs and checked the bedroom. I knew the password for her computer and knew that if she had stayed logged in to social media I would be able to message Cara and some of the other cast members using Ruth’s accounts. Sally’s contact details would be on there too.

But there was no sign of her computer. I searched the obvious spots, looked under the pillows, even got down on my hands and knees and peered beneath the bed. I opened the drawers where she kept her clothes and searched the wardrobe. I checked inside her empty suitcase. It wasn’t there.

While I was in the room, I had a look round, trying to ascertain if anything else was missing. A thought struck me, and I rummaged through the wardrobe again and checked the laundry basket.

I went back downstairs.

‘There’s no sign of her MacBook. I also think the clothes she was wearing on Friday night are missing too.’ I could picture her clearly; she’d been wearing a black playsuit with a scoop neck and buttons up the front. I described it.

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