And Now She's Gone(59)
Tea. The communications associate who designed newsletters.
There were two addresses for Isabel’s best friend—one in Idyllwild, California, and one in Los Angeles—Westchester by its zip code, a suburb not far from the airport and just two miles south of Rader’s headquarters. The Westchester house had been purchased in 1983 by Zachariah and Bobbi Carpenter, and with their deaths two years ago, Tea had inherited the home. Tea’s name was also on the title for the cabin—the schlumpy slug was a member of the landed gentry. Not that it was a fancy cabin with a loft, skylights, and bamboo floors. No. The picture on the website showed a simple A-frame with a redwood deck and a stone fireplace.
“Idyllwild,” Gray said. “That’s outside of…” Palm Springs. Where Beth thinks Isabel is buried. Gray scribbled the Westchester address onto her pad. Later.
And then her phone buzzed.
Are we done now? You never responded.
It was Isabel again.
Gray’s mind raced as she texted, I’ve been thinking about what you wrote, about Ian lying and insurance.
You believe me? I’m so glad.
This could be Gray’s final chance to communicate with the missing woman. But if Isabel was with Tea, maybe Gray could catch her before she disappeared again. She waited to send her response to Isabel until she had slipped behind the Camry’s steering wheel. Then: I have one last question for you.
The city was slipping into shadow now, and Saturday night traffic was slowing her charge. Gray held her breath, light-headed even as she drove. She whiffed fried chicken and seasoned grease as she sped past Dinah’s and then swerved south onto Sepulveda Boulevard.
No more questions.
Ian said that he gave you a lot of money.
IS THAT WHAT HE TOLD YOU?
HE’S LYING! DID HE SHOW YOU A SLIP FROM THE BANK OR ARE YOU TAKING HIS WORD?? HE’S MANIPULATING YOU!!
Gray reached Seventy-Seventh Street and waited as pedestrians crossed the intersection before making a right turn. She then drove west, passing grand houses of a high-end Mayberry with oak tree–lined streets and blood-colored front doors. In the golden, dying sunlight, gnats swarmed over wet grass and around the heads of gardeners.
GPS told her that she was less than one hundred yards away from her destination. She passed the Christophers’ army-green ranch house and circled the block. She came to a stop three houses up from the Christopher house, neat and proper with rosebushes and brass fixtures. The sounds of this neighborhood reminded Gray of Monterey. Lawn mowers, the crunch of skateboard wheels against asphalt, dogs barking.
Fuck U I don’t have time for this.
Isabel’s response.
A battered green Altima with trolls lining the rear window whipped past the Camry.
Tea zipped into her driveway but didn’t immediately leave the car.
Gray texted—but she didn’t text Isabel. Hey Tea! Thanks for your help. I’d like to take you to dinner as a thank you.
Tea’s head dipped.
Ellipses filled the screen on Gray’s phone.
I’m not feeling well, so no thank you.
Then, Tea climbed out of the Altima.
Gray texted Isabel. I need to give you the keys you gave Mrs. Tompkins.
Tea stopped and dropped the phone into her bag, then held a second phone in front of her face. Her fingers flew across the screen as she slowly approached the porch. Text sent, she shoved the key into the door lock and entered the house.
Gray’s phone buzzed with a message from Isabel’s number.
Just give the key to Tea. Be blessed.
32
Could it have been a coincidence that Tea had just happened to be juggling two phones at the same time? Or had she been responding for Isabel? As Isabel? “Be blessed”—that had always been Tea’s signoff after every text string, not Isabel’s. So for Isabel to say that …
Because Tea has been doubling as Isabel.
Sure.
But why?
Gray chewed on that as she surveilled Tea Christopher’s home. Nick had called to let her know that he’d landed safely and was back in Los Angeles. Gray sent him a picture of her sitting behind the wheel of the Camry. I’m detectiving right now. He texted:
I asked a few of my contacts re: Sean. No contracts from him. Still looking. BE CAREFUL.
Back at the Christophers’ house, Tea stayed in, and the residents of the house where Gray had parked kept peeking out of their windows. With a bladder heavy from the strawberry soda she’d drunk while eating her hot link, Gray was fine with abandoning her watch.
The city was preparing for bed, but her mind still whirled with questions. She knew, though, that most of those queries would be answered on the other side of midnight.
Questions like why were there bags of hair and nails in that lockbox? Had those things come from Isabel’s hands and head?
* * *
Ian O’Donnell, now on speakerphone, had no clue. “That’s a little strange, right?”
“Oh yeah,” Gray said, now at her office desk on Sunday morning, eyes on that baggie.
The office was nearly empty—not even eight o’clock—and so quiet that she could hear the Keurig machine gurgle as it warmed water for a first cup of coffee.
“And you can’t prove that Tea answered that text as Isabel?” Ian asked.