“Poor kitty,” Gray said. “She loved that cat.”
“Oh yes she did. I can let you in, if you need. She left a message on my machine a few days after she left. She said that you’d be coming by to pick up some mail and her key.”
Gray’s skin tightened. “Huh?”
But the old lady had already shuffled back into her home. “Took you a long time to come round. Hold on.”
Panic exploded near Gray’s heart. She said that you’d be coming by. What did that mean? “She?” Who? “You?” Who?
“I found the key,” Beatrice Tompkins shouted.
A camel-colored man with broad shoulders and a crew cut strolled in from the entry gate. He wore army fatigues and clean boots. As broad as a linebacker, he was several inches taller than Gray, six feet at least. “May I help you?” he asked.
“Kevin,” the old lady called out, “that you?”
He kept his gaze on Gray, and shouted, “Yes, Mom. It’s me.”
Gray offered her hand. “Hi. I’m Maya.” She pointed to Isabel’s door. “Her friend.” The lie made Gray buoyant and light as a balloon. So far, lying was her favorite part of the job.
The old lady returned to the breezeway with three keys on a pink ribbon. To her son, she said, “How you doing, baby?”
Kevin kissed the top of his mother’s snowy head. “Mom, you should be resting.”
She waved her hand at that. “What you think I been doing all day?”
He frowned. “Just because your hip feels like it’s healed, doesn’t mean—”
“Boy, hush now.” She touched the soldier’s chest, then turned to Gray. “I’ll let you in.”
Kevin glared at Gray and shook his head.
Gray’s stomach wobbled, and her open mouth popped closed, then opened again to say, “That’s okay, Mrs. Tompkins. Really. Kevin’s right—you should be resting.”
Her phone wiggled in her hand and she glanced at the screen. Tea!
“You sure?” Mrs. Tompkins asked.
Gray met Kevin’s eyes—hard, dark, resolved—and glanced at her phone again. “I’m positive.” She offered the old woman a reassuring smile. “Thanks so much for helping Izzy. You’re incredibly kind.”
“I can’t wait to see her,” Beatrice Tompkins said. “Maybe she’ll have dinner with my Kevin. He’s been in the army going on fifteen years. He’s a sergeant now. He likes fishing and photography and he’s the most generous man she’ll ever meet. And he’s handsome, too.”
Kevin almost smiled. “Okay, Mom.” To Gray, he said, “Nice meeting you, Maya.”
Gray hurried back to her car, praying that Tea Christopher’s message would bring her one step closer to Isabel Lincoln.
8
Back in the Camry, Gray read Tea Christopher’s text message.
Did Ian hire you? I have nothing to say
Frustration, anger, distrust—each emotion bristled from those nine words.
I don’t want her to come back. If you met him you’d know how awful he is.
Gray had met him, and now she wanted to drive back to UCLA and yell in Ian O’Donnell’s face, Just leave her the fuck alone! This was so unfair, so unnecessary, and she was pissed that Nick had given her this case.
I told her to move on but now he wants her to come back and I don’t so NO I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU. BE blessed.
Gray laughed—Be blessed—and that relieved some of the tension in her shoulders.
If Ian was truly an abuser, as Beth had suggested, Tea was probably the frustrated BFF who had stayed up late at night consoling her distraught friend. Tea had probably cried, I’ll do anything for you, Izzy, I don’t care. Let’s just go. You can’t let him do this. Words that all concerned friends said out of desperation. Words that ultimately fell on deaf ears. Words like:
Well, when is the right time to leave?
Do you hear yourself?
What kind of life is this?
But words? Just distinct elements of speech used with other elements to make a sentence or to form a thought. As concrete as air.
Gray paused before responding, and her fingers hovered over the phone’s keyboard. Her body hot again, she watched a hawk circle the sky as she waited for her pulse to slow.
3 minutes, 3 questions. Then you’ll never have to hear from me again.
Back at the condos, Kevin was pushing a trash bin to the curbside. Dressed in those fatigues, he looked heroic, strong, like America back in its heyday, America before the Nazis and the anthem and the uranium and the wall and the treason and the porn stars.
Another text, from an unknown number.
Gray read words—distinct elements as concrete as air—that stole breath from her chest. Words that screamed at her from the seven-inch screen.
PLEASE LET ME BE MISSING!
9
Please let me be missing!
Not typical for a missing woman to respond with text messages. One didn’t need to be a cop to know that missing women usually communicated via left-behind femurs or ragged fingernails crammed with the scraped skin of their murderers. Not Isabel Lincoln. She was one of a kind.
And now Gray had proof in her hands.
Isabel Lincoln was alive!
Excitement bounced around her chest—she was talking with her target! And doing it on the first day of the investigation!
The text message had been sent from a phone with a 702 area code. Las Vegas.
I promise I will let you stay missing but you have to help me first.
Day was dying in the west, and the dying sun had tinted the sky carnival pink. It was hot in the Camry, and it smelled of yesterday’s In-N-Out burger and cold French fries.
Gray saved the 702 number in the “Lincoln case” contacts list, then sent a message to Clarissa, her coworker at Rader Consulting: Please find out more re: this number ASAP origin, IP, whatever, thanks!
And how would Isabel Lincoln respond? The missing woman wasn’t Gray’s client—Isabel’s jerky boyfriend was. Also? How had Isabel found Gray’s unlisted number, created just hours ago on a Burner account? Had Tea given it to Isabel?
Kevin Tompkins had finished arranging the trash and recycle bins at the curb and was now picking up litter from the sidewalk. Was he currently on leave? Was he as interested in dating Isabel as his mother was interested in him dating Isabel?
Gray’s phone vibrated.
How will u help?
Isabel!
Easier to explain if I call you.
Gray would ask the three questions.
Isabel would answer them.
Her phone buzzed again.
It was a text and selfie from Hank Wexler, the hot bartender at Sam Jose’s. He was holding a strawberry margarita.
Your name is on this & something else.
His dazzling blue eyes looked silver, Nosferatic.
Gray’s stomach flip-flopped, and the Camry’s temperature rose to Jupiter levels.
Then Isabel texted:
Don’t want to call. Can be traced. U don’t understand!!! He will kill me if I come back. Please drop this!
“I do understand.” Gray could give TED Talks on “Ways That Life Sucks.”