The Romance Revival(87)
“Today?” she repeats, eyes wide, her tone leaving no question she thinks I’m a terrible wife, never mind a liar. She lifts her wrist, making a show of checking the time on a thin gold watch. “It’s after six at night, Emery. Are you telling me you haven’t seen your husband all day? First you lose your dog and now your husband. Goodness.”
Next to me, Annie puts a placating hand on my forearm to keep me from losing my shit at this.
“Mrs. Caldwell,” she says calmly. “My name is Annabella Rodriguez, and I’m a colleague of Emery’s. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Annie offers a hand to Mrs. Caldwell, who reluctantly reaches out to take it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Annabella.”
“Please, call me Annie.”
“Thank you, Annie. You can call me Betty.”
I try not to gape at this.
“And you know me, Mrs. Caldwell,” Crash says with a wave from behind us.
Betty peers at him for a solid five seconds. “You’re wearing a shirt, I see.”
“I’ve got a new client meeting today. I’m Crispin, by the way. I’m not sure I ever properly introduced myself.” He reaches a hand between us and offers it to her. She hesitates briefly before shaking it.
“Thank you, Crispin. I’m Betty.”
This is really getting insulting.
“So, Betty,” Annie starts. “Both Emery and Luca were home this morning, but Emery was called into a meeting at work. When we got back to her house a half hour ago, Luca was gone. The thing is, he’s still not back and he’s not answering his phone.”
“Perhaps he finally came to his senses and left,” Betty says haughtily.
“Does that sound like something Luca would do?” Annie asks.
This seems to pierce Mrs. Caldwell’s hostile shell, and she deflates a little.
“I know you don’t like me,” I say. “And believe me, I get it. I’m not always the most likeable person, especially when compared to my husband. He’s warm and funny, generous and selfless. Which is also why you adore him, I know. He’s always been the best part of my life.”
My chin trembles and I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. “I’m really worried about him, Mrs. Caldwell. And because you keep an eye on what’s happening in the neighborhood, I’m hoping you saw something that might help us figure out where he is.”
Mrs. Caldwell glances between the three of us and seems to consider this. The longest fifteen seconds of my life pass by, and I berate myself for being a terrible wife and neighbor. This woman is probably just lonely, and if I hadn’t been the one she suspected of murder, I’d be thanking her for looking out for my husband when I didn’t. I should thank her. No wonder Luca was going to leave me, no wonder he—
“Call me Betty,” she says, her voice like a record scratch to my self-loathing. With a sigh, she steps back and motions behind her. “And come in before everyone sees you. You all look like the world’s rattiest Girl Scout troop. I have some things I want to show you.”
* * *
The houses in Rancho Amaro are all different. It’s rare for Southern California and one of the things I loved about the neighborhood when we first saw it. Some of the houses are massive, some are small, some are complete modern remodels, while others maintain at least a nod to the sixties, when they were built. Betty’s house is clean and well-maintained, but walking into it is like entering a time machine. I have never seen so many curio cabinets.
“Have a seat,” she tells us, motioning to a floral sofa in the front sitting room. “I’ll be right back.”
She disappears around a wall covered in framed photos of children and grandchildren, weddings, and a young old-timey couple standing in front of a huge naval ship.
In front of us is a large picture window, the rose-colored drapes held open by a tassel, while a panel of sheer gauzy fabric filters the sunlight. From that window you can see most of my driveway, the sidewalk, and the three houses across the street. No wonder she never misses anything.
“This is something else,” Annie says, taking in the space. Crash helps himself to a gumdrop from a crystal dish on the table.
Betty comes back with a cell phone and a laptop that both look fairly new. Setting the laptop on a lace doily on the coffee table, she opens it, bringing up her security system with surprising speed, considering she’s probably in her seventies. Luca’s mom is about twenty years younger and still calls Luca to ask questions about her voicemail.
When one story ends, it is nice to have another one nearby.
Browse Lokepub when you want to keep reading.
Just like with the security system at BioNEX, the screen splits into views from different security cameras around Betty’s house, and—wow, there are a lot of them.
Some are pointed at Betty’s yard, but others—most of them, really—are directed at the neighboring yards.
Mine included.
I want to be offended on behalf of the entire neighborhood, but if it helps us find Luca, I’ll help her calibrate each and every one of these fucking cameras. Unsurprisingly, none of them captures anything as far as the end of the street.
“My son set this all up,” Betty says sheepishly. Reading all of our expressions, she quickly changes the subject. “You say Luca must have left while you were gone?” She picks up a notebook on a table by the window. There are a lot of notebooks, all different colors, probably spanning years. Maybe decades. “What time would that have been?”