Ian didn’t answer. He was staring at the vibrator.
Gray cleared her throat, and asked, louder this time, “Did she color her hair?”
“Not that I know of.”
The hair dye was Black Sapphire. One box was unopened, the other was empty.
In the master bathroom, there was a black tinge near the bathtub drain.
Gray took a picture of the tub and a few close-ups of the stained drain. “She probably dyed her hair. The proof of life picture will confirm that.”
Ian pointed at an Apple Watch sitting in its slim white box. “She left it. I paid out the freakin’ nose for that thing.”
Isabel had followed the first rule of disappearing: don’t get attached to anything you can’t leave behind in five seconds. She sure as hell didn’t want to be tracked by a fancy location beacon on her wrist.
Nothing obvious in the room belonged to the doctor.
“Did you ever stay overnight?” Gray asked, trying to ignore her need to pee.
“Of course I did.” His phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. “It’s the hospital. Gotta take this.” He headed for the door, then looked back at her. “You do not have permission to take anything, understand? I don’t want her pissed at me when she comes back.”
“So, you do think she’ll come back.”
“Once she realizes she’s being stupid, yes, she’ll come back.” Ian pointed at her. “I just need you to help me help her accept that sooner rather than later.”
Gray gave him a thumbs-up to his face and a middle finger to his back. She opened the top dresser drawer. Panties and bras in every shade. Something else glimmered beneath the piles of lingerie, but she left it there and snapped a quick picture instead. In the second drawer, she found T-shirts and yoga pants. Nothing special.
There were framed pictures on top of the bureau—the same picture of Isabel standing between the Lou Rawls and Clair Huxtable look-alikes and a picture of a diverse klatch of women wearing ski gear, with white snow twinkling behind them.
There were no spatters of blood or ripped curtains hanging limp like a woman’s wasted-away corpse. Gray heard no screams in this room, but dread still coiled in her gut. Why?
In the closet, there were no red-bottom shoes, but plenty of heels, sneakers, and sandals that cost less than a concert ticket. Gray poked around in the darkness until her fingers found something hard, boxy, and cold. “What’s this?” she whispered.
“Sorry about that.” Ian’s face was flushed. “I’ll need to leave soon.”
Gray stood, then asked, “Would you mind if I…” She pointed to the bathroom.
Ian made a face. “Do you really have to? I mean … Sure.”
She flushed but quickstepped to the bathroom anyway. Completing her chore in less than two minutes, she returned to Isabel’s bedroom.
Ian, arms folded, was waiting for her.
“So,” Gray said, “quick question: Was Isabel married before? Engaged previously?”
“No. But she’s been in bad relationships. She’s done far worse than me.”
With a shark’s smile, Gray said, “The ladies at the Alumni Center said you were bad.”
He flicked his hand. “I don’t care what they think. I have more important shit to do in life than worry about bitter bitches.”
“Those past relationships. With the guys far worse than you. Know any of their names?”
He snorted. “Why would I ask for names?”
“You were never curious? She never complained to you about Michael, who used to shave and never clean the sink afterward? Or Paul, who’d clip his toenails in bed?”
Another snort from Ian. “Sorry. Not interested.”
Gray and Ian clomped back down the steps and wandered to the kitchen. This time, she noticed a half-filled mug sitting near the range—the inside was stained from evaporated coffee. On a saucer, there was a bagel schmeared with cemented cream cheese.
Had Isabel left suddenly on that Monday morning?
Couldn’t have. Mrs. Tompkins had mentioned that Isabel was carrying a suitcase. She’d had enough time to pack. And to dye her hair.
There was a blank notepad on the breakfast counter. There were no specks of dried blood on the oven door. No shards of broken glass or ceramic on the tile floor. No tufts of pulled-out hair beneath the refrigerator vent.
“Morris,” Gray said. “How did he die?”
“He ate something.”
“Poison?”
“No idea.”
Gray squinted at him.
Ian gaped at Gray. “Seriously? Now I kill cats? To be honest, I never saw Morris. He was always hiding anytime I came over. Iz never asked me to watch him, not once.” With a trembling finger, he pointed in the direction of Mrs. Tompkins’s condo. “You talk to that old busybody and not tell me?”
Before she could respond, he whirled away from her. “Fucking remarkable. And now I’m a cat killer. She steals my dog, but I’m the villain. She never cared about Kenny G.”
“Did she take care of him at all? Because of your schedule?”
“Please. Kenny G. had a dog sitter most times. Isabel was a flake and she’d forget to come over. I couldn’t rely on her. Yes, she’d help out every now and then. That’s why she had him on that Monday—she picked him up from the sitter that morning, around ten.
“And Tea is a liar—you should know that before you talk to her again. She’s so caught up in the Saint Isabel myth, she can’t even think straight. Take my advice: only believe ten percent of what she says.” He shook his head, then added, “I didn’t kill the fucking cat, okay?”
“Okay. I may need to come back here to look at some things.”
Ian blanched. “Nick said we were gonna be done by tomorrow or Saturday at the latest.”
“Maybe. I’m moving as quickly as I can.”
He ran his hands over his face. “I’ll try to let you in again, but I do have patients.”
Down at the security gate, he said, “And yes: it is Isabel’s birthday tomorrow. I know that. You just mentioned it at a random time. But, of course, you take that the wrong way.”
Once again, Gray pushed that synthetic smile to her lips. “Thank you for taking time out of your day to walk me through. I know you’re incredibly busy. Is there anything else I should know? Any relevant secrets that could help explain her disappearance? Is there another woman in the picture? Or another man?”
The doctor shook his head. “Other than that guy Omar? No. Nothing. No one.”
Gray kept her eyes locked on his.
What about the Big Secret? Or the Hot Nurse? What did you really do on the Friday night of Memorial Day weekend?
Ian O’Donnell dropped back into his Porsche. He zoomed down the hill without tossing her a wave or a nod.
As Gray returned to the Camry, she knew that she’d need to take a closer look around Isabel Lincoln’s condo. There was something about that blank notepad on the breakfast counter. And there was something about that tiny key hidden beneath the missing woman’s lingerie. And that hard metal box on the floor in the darkest reaches of Isabel’s closet …
There were big secrets everywhere.