And Now She's Gone(17)

The steps groaned as Gray and Ian climbed them to the second level. “According to her coworkers,” she said to Ian over her shoulder, “you were supposed to propose that weekend.”

“Propose? Marriage?”

Gray nodded.

He laughed a laugh as real as Parmesan cheese from a green can. “She always expected me to follow this script in her head about what’s supposed to happen and when. Month anniversaries. Our engagement. How I was supposed to propose. Where I was supposed to propose. I got tired of her micromanagement, to be honest, and so I decided not to obey her and to propose when I wanted. Which would’ve been on July fourth, our one-year anniversary. But of course, she was gone by then.”

They reached the guest room, which was nearly bare except for a pair of battered sneakers and a large pile of clothes on the carpet. The blinds were closed. The room stank of sweat, other body odor, and that dirty laundry.

Gray and Ian entered Isabel’s bedroom. Books, pens, and notepads lay everywhere. The sheets on the full-size bed twisted around an empty gym bag. A thick fuchsia vibrator poked from the linens. Eye shadows, mascara, and lipstick tubes cluttered the nightstand and dresser. Two L’Oréal hair color boxes sat on top of the DVD player.

“Did she color her hair recently?” Gray asked. “On the intake form, it says her hair is a dark golden brown.”

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.