And Now She's Gone(42)

“Maybe.”

“Could you take him his lunch? I forgot to give it to him. He works at the recruitment center, the one over by the food court? I’d drive over, but my hip…” She winced and rubbed her left side. “I shouldn’t be driving.”

“Anything to make it easier for you. You’ve been so helpful. Oh … Somehow, Morris came up in my last conversation with Izzy. She just started crying her eyes out. I never found out how he died. Did I hear that he was poisoned?”

Mrs. Tompkins sighed. “I feel just awful about that. We was having rodent problems, and I told Kevin to put out some poison to kill ’em, and somehow Morris got into it and…” She clutched the front of her housecoat. “I told Isabel that I was sorry. Gave her money for it. Two thousand dollars, even though Morris wasn’t no purebred, just an old orange cat. But I felt just awful about it.”

So … Ian O’Donnell didn’t kill the cat after all. But Isabel had told Tea that he had. Why? To make him sound worse than what he was?

“You know what else I’m supposed to give you?” Mrs. Tompkins shuffled back to the kitchen, plucked an envelope from beneath a refrigerator magnet. “A friend—I’m guessing that’s you—was supposed to pick this up way back in June. It got here but ain’t nobody asked me for it. I didn’t wanna put it in that bag with the other mail. Looks like it got a check inside.”

Gray studied the envelope—JCI Insurance Services—then said, “I’ll be sure that she gets it. She probably called JCI looking for it.”

“Must be nice, not having to worry about money coming in. Just make sure she gets it.”

“Oh. I’ll be sure. I’ll let her know.” And that’s when I’ll meet her for sure.

Money always pulled people from deep, dark spaces.





22


Beatrice Tompkins reminded Gray of Mom Naomi, the ancient senior citizen who’d fostered little Natalie only to keep food in the apartment. Natalie’s two-month-long presence in that stuffy, overheated unit meant milk, bread, and grits. The orphan got a toilet that worked, and the old woman got round steak and orange juice. Over warmed Hostess fruit pies, the orphan would listen to the old woman read from the book of Daniel. He’d overcome adversity, walked through fire, went from prisoner to the second in command. Naomi had prophesied that, one day, Natalie would be Daniel. “From victim to victor,” Naomi had said. “Just you wait.”

Gray stuck Isabel’s house key into the lock.

Am I a victor now? Sneaking into people’s houses?

The condo still smelled of bleach and bananas. The only sound was the steady and smooth hum of the refrigerator. She slipped on the latex gloves and then held her breath as she flipped the light switch.

Empty couch.

No Isabel.

At the small dining room table, Gray opened the grocery bag from Mrs. Tompkins and sorted through Isabel’s mail.

Gas and light bills addressed to Ian O’Donnell, thirty days past due.

July Vogue to Isabel Lincoln.

Coach sale postcard to Elyse Miller.

Offer from T-Mobile to Rebekah Lawrence.

Mail Boxes Etc. promo card to Elyse Miller.

Honda Financing bill to Ian O’Donnell.

There was a greeting card, but its envelope didn’t have a postmark. Her address had been written in green ink by a familiar hand—Kevin Tompkins’s hand. Unlike the notes he’d written and tossed, the soldier hadn’t been able to snatch back this card in time.

Mail check complete, Gray crept over to the bottom of the staircase.

It was dark up there.

Gray swallowed—she wasn’t supposed to be here. Isabel hadn’t given her permission. Neither had Ian. She glanced at the front door and thought about slipping on the security chain. But then if someone did try to come in but was blocked from entering, they would know for sure that someone was there.

She climbed the stairs and was trembling by the time she reached the second story. She crept past the guest room and reached the master bedroom. Before entering, she listened …

Her booming heart …

The quiet hum of a healthy fridge …

She hustled over to the closet and reached in the corner, beneath the darkness and the dresses and winter coats. Her hand hit hard steel and she pulled the object to the light.

A metal lockbox.

She found the tiny key beneath the bundles of lingerie.

Outside, a door slammed.

Gray’s breath caught in her chest and she froze.

Footsteps tapped against the pavement.

Hinges on the entry gate squealed.

Bam! The gate.

Footsteps echoed through the breezeway.

A door slammed close.

But it wasn’t Isabel Lincoln’s door.

Gray stuck the key into the lock.

Click.

There was a Social Security card ending in 6303, for Isabel Lincoln. There was also a birth certificate and pictures showing a bruise beneath Isabel’s left arm, a purpling lump on her forehead, another bruise beneath her black eye, and a cut on the inside of her lower lip.

Gray groaned. Who’d done this, Ian or Kevin?

Both. Maybe Ian had beaten Isabel. Maybe Kevin had rescued Isabel. But once she rejected Kevin, he had killed her. Maybe.

Gray scanned the birth certificate. Christopher and Hope Walters Lincoln listed as parents. She took pictures of the birth certificate. She took pictures of the Social Security card and those snapshots of Isabel’s injuries.