“Is there any chance Jen might be someplace else? Did she say anything to you? Did she have plans for this morning?”
“Not that I know of.”
She finally enters her car and slams the door shut.
“Wait,” I bark.
“What?”
“How far are you from home?”
“Like ten minutes or so. Why?”
“Can you wait a second?”
“I don’t understand. Is something wrong? Something happened?” she murmurs, puzzled.
“There’s a possibility something bad might’ve happened,” I say before swallowing hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. “Jen just called me, and she said something worrisome about Tina. And then some people in the background cut our conversation short so she couldn’t tell me more.”
Her car rumbles in the background.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks.
I try to think quickly.
“Go there,” I say, looking at the restaurant. “But don’t stop. Drive by and tell me what you see. Do it now, please.”
“Okay.”
She starts moving, and before long, she begins describing her street.
“There’s nothing unusual,” she says.
“No cars? People?”
“Nope. The street is quiet.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The house looks okay. I just rolled past it. The blinds are closed how I left them this morning.”
“The door?”
“Closed.”
“Is there any way you could park on a different street and check the back of the house? Maybe enter through the back door. But make sure no one’s inside.”
“Who do you expect to be inside? Is that about your father?”
“I wish,” I say, looking at the restaurant again.
Why does it take so long?
The windows are lit, and I see people inside but not Damaso. They must be in the back.
I spot their cars here. So he must be there.
“Okay. I’m here,” my aunt says.