Page 46 of The House Guest

‘Take it.’

He snatched it up and left.

I stood outside Jack and Mona’s house, gripping my phone like it was a hand grenade that would go off if I dropped it, paranoid that if I let go it would vanish, taking the pictures of Eden with it. I had already messaged Callum to let him know I had the photos and he’d responded with a thumbs-up emoji. I didn’t tell him what I was planning, though, as I thought he might try to dissuade me. Tell me to wait. I couldn’t, though. I was sick of not being believed. I had to show Jack and Mona the proof. Then, I hoped, they would call Detective Krugman. With photos of Eden, surely he would be able to do something.

The house was bathed in soft light, the sky tinged with pink. It was less humid this evening, the heat not so unbearable; summer was losing some of its fierceness. I rang the bell and waited, the images of Eden ready on my phone screen. There was no reply. I rang the bell again, then peered through the front window at an empty room.

They weren’t home.

That took the wind out of my sails. What should I do? I could wait here on the front stoop, but they might be hours. I considered texting the pictures to them, but I wanted to see their faces when they saw the photos. I wasn’t only trying to prove I wasn’t lying; I was hoping they would recognise Eden, tell me they had encountered her somewhere. Maybe they would even know how to find her.

After mulling over my options, I sent a text to both Jack and Mona.

I have photos of Eden and really need to show them to you. I’m outside your place. Are you coming home soon?

There was no immediate response, and because the messages had sent as texts rather than iPhone messages, I couldn’t see if they had been delivered. Maybe Jack and Mona had gone to see a movie, or were at the theatre or somewhere else they wouldn’t be checking their phones.

I couldn’t just wait here on the stoop. I was too energised and restless. Mets’s fearful reaction to me made me believe that Eden had been back to Williamsburg. Maybe someone had seen her. Perhaps she’d been with someone else. It felt like, right now, every scrap of information could be useful.

I went into the frozen yoghurt place across the street. It was a popular hangout for teenagers and people in their early twenties. I showed Eden’s picture to the woman behind the counter, who looked at me like I might be a stalker before shaking her head. I needed to work on a cover story.

Next, I went to the Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner. A young man with an expression that matched the donuts – glazed – listened to my freshly minted story about my missing friend with little interest, before glancing at the picture and shaking his head.

For the next hour, I went up and down Bedford Avenue and the surrounding streets, telling anyone who’d listen about my friend who’d gone missing, asking them if they’d seen her. All I got were blank looks and shakes of the head, except for the few people who had seen and remembered Eden during that week. Like the guy in the Japanese place who’d served her on Friday night, or the man in the taco truck on the corner. But none of them had seen her since.

Only one conversation was notable. In the liquor store on North Sixth Street, the man behind the counter remembered selling Eden the bottles of tequila last Friday.

‘Yeah, I remember her,’ he said. ‘She irritated me because she was talking to someone on her cell when I was serving her. I hate people who do that.’

‘Did you hear what she was talking about?’

He paused, clearly reluctant to give out too much information. I tried my best to look pitiful. ‘Her parents are going crazy with worry. But if I can tell them she’s just gone off partying with a new boyfriend or something, that would make us all feel a lot better.’

‘I get it.’ He thought about it. ‘I don’t remember what she was talking about, to be honest. She said something like, “Tell him not to worry.” It sounded like whoever she was talking to was nagging her about something and your friend was pissed. Aggravated.’

A chill ran down my spine. Who had she been talking to? I remembered the day Eden and I had gone to the pool together. Somebody had kept texting her when we were on our way to the park, and Eden had seemed aggravated then too. Was it the same person? I had assumed it was her ex, but I now knew this ex didn’t exist.

‘There’s one more thing,’ said the guy in the liquor store before I left. ‘At the end of the call, when I was handing over her change, she said something in a foreign language.’

‘What language?’

‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure. Italian, maybe.’

That was weird. I didn’t think Eden was Italian-American. Who would she be speaking to in Italian?

As I stepped on to the street, my phone rang. It was Mona.

‘Adam? Where are you?’ She sounded a little out of breath, like she was walking fast. ‘Are you still in Williamsburg?’

‘I’m just around the corner from your house.’

‘Okay, cool. I’m five minutes away so I’ll meet you out front.’

‘Great.’ I began to walk in the direction of the house.

I was about to hang up when Mona said, ‘Did you already try knocking? Because Jack should be in.’

‘Yeah, I did.’

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