And that means Quinn isn’t being held captive somewhere. She left on her own volition. Probably right after she stabbed Derek to death.
This changes everything.
It means that if the police find Quinn, she’s going straight to jail. It means this is a manhunt, not a rescue mission.
The right thing to do—the legal thing to do—would be to call Scott Dwyer and tell him this new piece of information. He’s in charge of this investigation, and this is a significant piece of evidence.
But I don’t trust Scott. I don’t know what he’s going to do when he finds out that Quinn was alive and well and alone right after her husband was stabbed. But it won’t be good for Quinn.
I can’t let that happen. I have to play this right.
“Well, you could see how this looks,” I say. “A woman goes missing and you mysteriously have her phone. Doesn’t look good for you, Bill.”
“But I just found it in my truck,” he says in a tiny voice. “I swear, I didn’t touch her.”
“I hope for your sake the police believe that story.”
“Shit,” I hear him mutter under his breath. “I… I don’t know what to say. I’m a good guy. I’d never hurt a woman. And… Christ, my girlfriend would kill me if she thought I…”
“Look,” I say. “I believe you. I’m just not sure the police will.”
“Well, maybe I could give you back the phone and you don’t have to tell them…”
I glance at the door to the bedroom. Rob is still downstairs—I’d rather he not hear this. “Tell you what, Bill. Why don’t I come by and get the phone from you. I’ll bring it to the police tomorrow and I won’t tell them you were involved.”
“You would do that?”
“Sure. I can tell from your voice you’re an honest man. I just want to find out what happened to my sister.”
“Me too,” he says earnestly. “Quinn was a nice girl. She was my favorite babysitter. I… I hope you find her.”
“Me too.” I’m going to find her. And I’m going to find her before the police do.
“So can you come by tonight?”
I glance out the window. The snow is really coming down. If I leave now, Rob will have a fit. He’ll want to know where I’m going, and I’ll have to have a damn good answer. “I’ll come first thing in the morning. In the meantime, just power the phone down. If it’s off, nobody can track it.”
“Got it.”
I wonder how old Bill Walsh is. He’s younger than Quinn, if she babysat for him. Maybe early twenties. He sounds like a kid who will do anything I say. If I say it the right way.
“I’ll come by tomorrow morning,” I promise. “Just give me your address.”
Chapter 19
I don’t sleep very well.
I drift in and out of slumber, dreaming of Quinn. I remember the first time I saw her. Our parents told me I was going to get a new baby sister, and then one day they brought me to the hospital, and there she was. This tiny little scrunched up newborn lying in my mother’s arms. I wanted so badly to hold her, but they wouldn’t let me. They said I was too little.
Except when both of them were gone, I was the one who took care of Quinn. When I got the call about the accident, I dropped everything. I had exams the next day, but nothing else seemed important anymore. I left school and got a job so we could keep the house. I was all she had. And she was all I had.
She should’ve listened to me about Derek Alexander. I told her he wasn’t right for her. I’ve made every mistake in the book, so I should know. Obviously, I didn’t know this exact thing was going to happen. I didn’t know Derek was going to end up dead in the kitchen of their expensive home. But I knew she shouldn’t marry him.
Well, too late for that now.
I wake up at the crack of dawn. It’s Saturday, so Rob is sleeping in. He’s lying on his side of the bed, his mouth hanging open, a bit of drool sliding out of the left corner of his lips as he snores loudly. My husband snores like a chainsaw. I showed him an article once about that disordered sleep breathing thing, where you stop breathing during your sleep, and people who snore loudly are more likely to have it.
It means every night you stop breathing in your sleep, Rob, I told him.
You really believe that bullshit? he shot back. And he threw the article in the trash.
I get dressed as quietly as I can and go downstairs. When I look out the window, our entire driveway is caked in at least a foot of snow. I put on my heaviest winter boots, and I take the keys to the truck out of the little basket by the door. My Chevy won’t make it, but Rob’s rusty green truck will do the trick.