Vanishing Girls (Detective Josie Quinn #1)(85)
“She has a dog?” Josie and Trinity said in unison.
Noah gave the two of them a bemused look. “What? Strippers can’t have dogs?”
Josie rolled her eyes. Trinity, who had pulled out her own notepad and pen, asked “What kind of dog?”
Noah smiled. “A chi-wiener.”
“A what?” Josie said.
“A chi-wiener. Half chihuahua and half dachshund. It’s small and yappy, according to the friend, and Misty is obsessed with it.”
It had never occurred to Josie that Misty could be in danger. She had sent Noah to break the news of Ray’s death to Misty as soon as they’d finished watching the videos with Holcomb. She hadn’t wanted Misty to find out second or third hand; she was capable of extending the woman that courtesy at least. But Noah hadn’t been able to locate Misty either at home or at work. Josie had told him to let it go. When Misty was ready, she would surface. They didn’t have the time or the resources to track her down.
But now both her best friend and her boss had reported her missing.
The chief’s words came back to her. Get them all. Had they missed someone? Missed something? Had Gosnell or one of his accomplices done something to her before Josie called in the FBI? Josie had no warm feelings for Misty, that was for damn sure, but she didn’t want her to be another casualty of one of Gosnell’s conspirators.
“We need to check her house first,” Josie said. She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Misty Derossi lived alone in a huge Victorian in Denton’s historic district. As Josie, Noah, and Trinity ascended the steps to the large wraparound porch, Josie bit back a disparaging remark about how Misty paid for the house. Noah went from window to window, peering inside each one. “It looks dark,” he noted. “No barking, just like the best friend said.”
“Well, if the dog’s not here, then that looks more like she took the dog and left,” Josie said, hoping that Misty had simply left town. But the fact that Misty hadn’t taken her car gave Josie a bad feeling. June Spencer and Isabelle Coleman had both disappeared while on foot. “We need to find out where she would go if she thought she was in trouble. Has anyone checked… Has anyone…”
Noah’s face softened. “I checked Ray’s house. You know his mom has been there all week? She’s planning his funeral. Misty’s not there.”
Josie nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat.
“So, where else would she go?” Trinity asked.
Noah rattled the doorknob and pushed against the door frame, testing it. “Well, that’s just it. She doesn’t have many friends.”
Josie swallowed another sassy remark.
“Her parents live in South Carolina, moved there ages ago. The friend says she called them, and they haven’t seen her in five years. We checked with all her coworkers, and no one has seen her. The friend says if she needed a place to stay, she’d come to her.”
He stopped talking and looked the door up and down like it was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Trinity said, “You didn’t ask if the best friend had a key?”
He blushed and pulled out his cell phone. “She’s out of town, but she said she didn’t have one anyway. Misty was very private. But maybe she knows if Misty has one of those hide-a-key things—”
Josie pushed him out of the way and drove her heel as hard as she could against the door, just below the locking mechanism. It took three kicks, and the door swung inward. She stepped over the threshold. When Noah and Trinity didn’t follow, she glanced behind her and found them staring at her, open-mouthed.
“What?” Josie snapped.
“Boss,” Noah said. “You can’t… we need a warrant. That’s breaking and entering.”
“If she’s lying in there wounded or dying, I’m not wasting time waiting for someone with a key,” Josie said. The glare she shot them left no room for argument.
The house was completely empty. It was also immaculate. The three of them moved from room to room with a strange sort of reverence. It looked like it belonged in a magazine. Expensive, ornate antique furniture, perfectly matched, adorned every room. Some rooms looked so perfect, Josie felt like they should be cordoned off. Misty could open her house for tours. Josie thought of her own house and felt like someone was driving tiny spikes into her heart. While beautiful, it lacked all of the charm and style that dripped from every tasseled lampshade and every perfectly plumped cushion of Misty’s house. Hell, Josie didn’t even have furniture, and even if she did, it wouldn’t be as finely coordinated, as expensive, or as neatly kept as the pieces in Misty’s home. Josie tried to imagine Ray in this house with his perpetually muddy boots tracking dirt through every room. Or leaving his pit-stained undershirts over the back of the couch all the time, or leaving empty beer bottles around the house—sometimes even in the bathroom. Josie couldn’t picture it. Of course, now she would never have to; she would never know whether Misty could tolerate him. Emotion rolled through her like the tide, and then receded. She was here to work.
“Obsessed, much? Holy shit.” Trinity’s voice came from the kitchen. Josie followed it and found the reporter standing in front of Misty’s very modern refrigerator. “Look at this,” she told Josie and Noah.