Sarah’s shampoo concentrated here in the tiny bathroom with its vintage hexagonal black and white tiles and lack of ventilation, but suddenly he was swamped with a vision of Charlotte. It wasn’t one of his treasured memories, where she was smiling and laughing; this vision was from that last morning, as he pulled out of their driveway and caught sight of her leaving the house, phone to her ear, frown on her face.
Last glimpse he’d ever had of her. He had no idea who she was talking with, where she was going, or why she was upset. According to the police, she’d neither received nor made a phone call that morning—at least not on her regular cell. If she had gotten a call, it must have been on a second, untraceable cell phone, which implied an intent to deceive. Police jargon for: she was hiding something from Tommy.
The fact that they’d traced her route to several ATMs, where she’d withdrawn cash from accounts she’d kept separate from their joint account, had only confirmed their suspicions. The only other location where they’d placed Charlotte before her car was found two days later, abandoned at a secluded scenic overview beside theYoughiogheny River, was the Sheetz where she’d bought two prepaid cell phones.
Tommy startled, emptied the receipt from the envelope back into his palm. Stared at the address. The Sheetz where Charlotte had last been seen was the very same convenience store Sarah had visited Friday, the day before her accident.
He shook his head, tried to deny how rattled the realization that Sarah had crossed paths with Charlotte made him feel. It was as if a chill breeze swept through the room, despite the fact that there were no windows in the bathroom and the door was closed.
Nonsense, he told himself, almost but not quite speaking out loud—that’s how real this felt. Two women visit the same convenience store a year apart? Doesn’t even rise to the level of coincidence. Was he so far gone that he’d grasp at any will-o’-wisp that might lead him to Charlotte?
He shook his head, put the receipt back into the envelope, and continued his inventory. But it was hard to shake the feeling that someone was watching him. The goose bumps rising on his arms didn’t help.
Before he could start in on the scant contents of Sarah’s closet, the sound of a knock at the front door made him jump. He jogged through the living room and peered through the security peephole. It was Sarah.
He opened the door. She held a large package wrapped in plain brown paper in her arms.
“You have the only set of keys,” she said.
“Of course, sorry. What’s that?” he asked as he drew back to let her enter. It was strange to see her do a double-take at the sight of her own apartment. She moved awkwardly as if not knowing where to go.
“I don’t know. It was sitting at the mailboxes in the front lobby.”
“Wasn’t there when I came in. But that was around forty-five minutes ago.”
She hefted the package. “It’s not very heavy for how big it is.”
He ushered her around the corner to the kitchen/dining area, where there was a glass-topped circular table large enough to seat four. No place mats, no centerpiece, just the plain glass reflecting the light from the window beside it.
“It does face the morning sun,” she said as she set the package down. It was about three feet by four feet, a little less than a foot in height. No postage or barcodes, just her name and address on a printed label. No return address.
She left the package to rummage through the kitchen. “If I were me, where would I keep the scissors?”
“You didn’t come here alone, did you?” he asked, watching her open and close drawers.
“TK brought me. She’s downstairs at the rental office getting a copy of my application, since they were closed when Detective Burroughs stopped there earlier.”
“Good thinking.”
“Aha. Found them—although, for a junk drawer, there’s not a lot of junk, is there?” She
Last glimpse he’d ever had of her. He had no idea who she was talking with, where she was going, or why she was upset. According to the police, she’d neither received nor made a phone call that morning—at least not on her regular cell. If she had gotten a call, it must have been on a second, untraceable cell phone, which implied an intent to deceive. Police jargon for: she was hiding something from Tommy.
The fact that they’d traced her route to several ATMs, where she’d withdrawn cash from accounts she’d kept separate from their joint account, had only confirmed their suspicions. The only other location where they’d placed Charlotte before her car was found two days later, abandoned at a secluded scenic overview beside theYoughiogheny River, was the Sheetz where she’d bought two prepaid cell phones.
Tommy startled, emptied the receipt from the envelope back into his palm. Stared at the address. The Sheetz where Charlotte had last been seen was the very same convenience store Sarah had visited Friday, the day before her accident.
He shook his head, tried to deny how rattled the realization that Sarah had crossed paths with Charlotte made him feel. It was as if a chill breeze swept through the room, despite the fact that there were no windows in the bathroom and the door was closed.
Nonsense, he told himself, almost but not quite speaking out loud—that’s how real this felt. Two women visit the same convenience store a year apart? Doesn’t even rise to the level of coincidence. Was he so far gone that he’d grasp at any will-o’-wisp that might lead him to Charlotte?
He shook his head, put the receipt back into the envelope, and continued his inventory. But it was hard to shake the feeling that someone was watching him. The goose bumps rising on his arms didn’t help.
Before he could start in on the scant contents of Sarah’s closet, the sound of a knock at the front door made him jump. He jogged through the living room and peered through the security peephole. It was Sarah.
He opened the door. She held a large package wrapped in plain brown paper in her arms.
“You have the only set of keys,” she said.
“Of course, sorry. What’s that?” he asked as he drew back to let her enter. It was strange to see her do a double-take at the sight of her own apartment. She moved awkwardly as if not knowing where to go.
“I don’t know. It was sitting at the mailboxes in the front lobby.”
“Wasn’t there when I came in. But that was around forty-five minutes ago.”
She hefted the package. “It’s not very heavy for how big it is.”
He ushered her around the corner to the kitchen/dining area, where there was a glass-topped circular table large enough to seat four. No place mats, no centerpiece, just the plain glass reflecting the light from the window beside it.
“It does face the morning sun,” she said as she set the package down. It was about three feet by four feet, a little less than a foot in height. No postage or barcodes, just her name and address on a printed label. No return address.
She left the package to rummage through the kitchen. “If I were me, where would I keep the scissors?”
“You didn’t come here alone, did you?” he asked, watching her open and close drawers.
“TK brought me. She’s downstairs at the rental office getting a copy of my application, since they were closed when Detective Burroughs stopped there earlier.”
“Good thinking.”
“Aha. Found them—although, for a junk drawer, there’s not a lot of junk, is there?” She
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