Page 77 of Husband Missing

Given the scheme Lila had hatched to ruin the Slaters’ lives, it wasn’t surprising.

“That’s smart,” said Gretchen.

Erica’s fingers poked out of her sleeves, thumbnail chipping away at her nail polish once more. “You know how Snapchat has that location feature? Well, his was usually turned off but over the weekend I noticed it was on, and he was in Denton when he told me he was in Williamsport. My plan was to expose him as the big fat liar he was by coming down here and confronting him but when I got here, I couldn’t find him and his location was turned off again. He sent me a snap once with a picture of him, but you know those disappear. I wanted to save it but then he’d know I did and if I took a screenshot, he’d be notified.”

“This is too practiced,” Josie said through gritted teeth. “While my husband is God knows where, she spent the last three days holed up at the Patio Motel concocting this shit and rehearsing it.”

Erica had chosen to claim that Snapchat was her mode of communication with this mystery guy because its messages and photos disappeared within twenty-four hours. Most people had no idea that police could retrieve much of that data.

The furor swirling inside Josie’s core threatened to blast through her emotional walls and incinerate any restraint she had left. The metal chair quivered under her weight. She wastrembling all over and she hated herself for it. Hated her body for betraying her, especially here.

Turner kept gentle pressure on Josie’s shoulder, and she despised the fact that it made her feel grounded. “Do some of that weird breathing shit you do, Quinn.”

“Piss. Off.”

He chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”

“Why would he care if you saved a photo of him?” asked Gretchen.

Josie dropped into her box breathing, hoping Turner wouldn’t notice.

“He wouldn’t care,” Erica said. “But I didn’t want to look desperate. Anyway, my point is that I did look around the last place his location was turned on—down the street from that construction place—but it’s not like I had a photo to reference. I mean, I never met the guy. So yeah, I didn’t get to do the whole dramatic confrontation thing.”

Gretchen peered at Erica from over her reading glasses. “Your dad told us you were seeing someone.”

“I wasn’t. I just told my dad that because he definitely wouldn’t approve of me making contact with anyone I found online.”

“What was this guy’s name?”

“John Smith,” Erica answered easily. Too easily. “It’s probably a fake name, though.”

Gretchen smiled indulgently, like she was buying Erica’s endless stream of bullshit. “Is his profile still accessible to you on Snapchat?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you get from Lock Haven to Denton?” asked Gretchen.

Unsurprisingly, Erica had an answer ready. “Rideshare. My car is a clunker. There’s no way it would have made it down hereand back. Of course, I had to take like three rides since none of those companies go straight from there to here.”

“Which rideshare?” asked Gretchen.

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you intend to stay here for a few days?”

“No. I was going to go home after I made him cry.”

Turner smothered a laugh.

“Where did you lose your phone and purse?”

Erica’s eyes flitted toward Gretchen and then quickly away. “I, um, I’m not sure. It probably happened when we were attacked.”

We.

Gretchen didn’t bother to point out that none of her things had been left at the scene. It was pointless. Erica would probably say the attacker took them, and he very likely had. Hopefully.

“Turner,” Josie said. “Get her number from Alec Slater. Draw up the warrant to ping her phone. If this guy still has it and it’s turned on, we could find him. Even if it’s powered down now or he tossed it, we’d be able to see the last place it pinged and go from there.”

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