Do Not Disturb(32)

“Well, you could see how this looks,” I say. “A woman goes missing and you mysteriously have her phone. Doesn’t look good for you, Bill.”

“But I just found it in my truck,” he says in a tiny voice. “I swear, I didn’t touch her.”

“I hope for your sake the police believe that story.”

“Shit,” I hear him mutter under his breath. “I… I don’t know what to say. I’m a good guy. I’d never hurt a woman. And… Christ, my girlfriend would kill me if she thought I…”

“Look,” I say. “I believe you. I’m just not sure the police will.”

“Well, maybe I could give you back the phone and you don’t have to tell them…”

I glance at the door to the bedroom. Rob is still downstairs—I’d rather he not hear this. “Tell you what, Bill. Why don’t I come by and get the phone from you. I’ll bring it to the police tomorrow and I won’t tell them you were involved.”

“You would do that?”

“Sure. I can tell from your voice you’re an honest man. I just want to find out what happened to my sister.”

“Me too,” he says earnestly. “Quinn was a nice girl. She was my favorite babysitter. I… I hope you find her.”

“Me too.” I’m going to find her. And I’m going to find her before the police do.

“So can you come by tonight?”

I glance out the window. The snow is really coming down. If I leave now, Rob will have a fit. He’ll want to know where I’m going, and I’ll have to have a damn good answer. “I’ll come first thing in the morning. In the meantime, just power the phone down. If it’s off, nobody can track it.”

“Got it.”

I wonder how old Bill Walsh is. He’s younger than Quinn, if she babysat for him. Maybe early twenties. He sounds like a kid who will do anything I say. If I say it the right way.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning,” I promise. “Just give me your address.”





Chapter 19


I don’t sleep very well.

I drift in and out of slumber, dreaming of Quinn. I remember the first time I saw her. Our parents told me I was going to get a new baby sister, and then one day they brought me to the hospital, and there she was. This tiny little scrunched up newborn lying in my mother’s arms. I wanted so badly to hold her, but they wouldn’t let me. They said I was too little.

Except when both of them were gone, I was the one who took care of Quinn. When I got the call about the accident, I dropped everything. I had exams the next day, but nothing else seemed important anymore. I left school and got a job so we could keep the house. I was all she had. And she was all I had.

She should’ve listened to me about Derek Alexander. I told her he wasn’t right for her. I’ve made every mistake in the book, so I should know. Obviously, I didn’t know this exact thing was going to happen. I didn’t know Derek was going to end up dead in the kitchen of their expensive home. But I knew she shouldn’t marry him.

Well, too late for that now.

I wake up at the crack of dawn. It’s Saturday, so Rob is sleeping in. He’s lying on his side of the bed, his mouth hanging open, a bit of drool sliding out of the left corner of his lips as he snores loudly. My husband snores like a chainsaw. I showed him an article once about that disordered sleep breathing thing, where you stop breathing during your sleep, and people who snore loudly are more likely to have it.

It means every night you stop breathing in your sleep, Rob, I told him.

You really believe that bullshit? he shot back. And he threw the article in the trash.

I get dressed as quietly as I can and go downstairs. When I look out the window, our entire driveway is caked in at least a foot of snow. I put on my heaviest winter boots, and I take the keys to the truck out of the little basket by the door. My Chevy won’t make it, but Rob’s rusty green truck will do the trick.

Bill Walsh lives only a fifteen minute drive from my house. I found his profile last night on Facebook—he’s a big guy in his twenties like I thought, who sports a goofy expression in most of his photos. He looks utterly harmless, and I don’t think I’ll have much trouble wrangling the phone away from him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hand it over.

The roads in our town are still slippery with snow. I haven’t called the police station yet today, but I’m guessing they haven’t made much progress on finding Quinn. If they found her, I would know. My guess is she’s hunkering down somewhere for the night. The question is, where?

Bill’s house is even smaller than mine and even more badly in need of a coat of paint. I park right in front, and as soon as I get out of the car, my boots sink deep into the snow. I take a good minute to get to his front door. It’s like walking through molasses.

My coat isn’t warm enough for the icy breeze in the air, and I hug my chest as I wait for Bill to answer the door. After only a few moments, the door swings open like he’s been waiting for me. The guy towers over me, but there’s something young and vulnerable about his face and the scrap of a goatee on his chin.

“Claudia?” he says quietly.

I nod. “You got the phone?”

He hesitates a moment, then he holds it out to me. Quinn’s iPhone. Before he can change his mind, I snatch it out of his hand. It’s been powered down, just like I told him.