So why had he really been here tonight?
NINE
I dealt with two police officers for the next thirty minutes. I gave them a full report of what had happened, a description of the guy, and then told them I was certain I’d recognized him from our trip to Mexico. As far as I could tell, nothing had been stolen unless the guy had put something inside his pants pockets before our encounter. Two security cameras were on the property—one by the front door, and the other by the garage—but I didn’t have access to the phone security app to review the footage. I told the officers I would do that as soon as I got back home and was able to look on my father-in-law’s phone. I would call and let them know if anything turned up. The officers did one more sweep of the property and finally left.
I packed up a small bag with Lizzie’s essentials, put her on a leash, and then returned home with her. The guest bedroom was now dark, so I didn’t bother letting Carol know I had Lizzie with me. Hopefully, the dog would put a small smile on her face first thing in the morning. I left Lizzie in the laundry room, where we had a dog bed for her, and made sure she had fresh bowls of food and water. I then quietly returned to the master bedroom, where Taylor was still tucked under the covers with the lights out, and found my way to the back of our closet. Shutting the door to the closet, I turned on the light and spotted my backpack in the corner.
Sitting on a stool, I unzipped the front pocket and grabbed Joe’s cell phone from inside. I wanted to check the security app on his phone to see if either of the cameras at his house had caught a glimpse of the intruder. Powering up the phone, I began to see new message notifications appear on the screen. Ignoring them, I searched for the security app and opened it. I knew how to work the app because we had the same security system monitoring our house. I reviewed security footage from the past couple of hours but couldn’t find any sign of the intruder. The guy must’ve entered from the same place he’d exited—the back patio. No camera there. I again wondered about the house alarm. Why was it not armed? I would check tomorrow with the teenage dog sitter.
At the moment, I didn’t plan on telling Carol or Taylor about the break-in, especially when it didn’t look like anything had been stolen. They were both emotionally fragile right now—especially my mother-in-law. I didn’t want to send her over the edge. Not yet, at least. Still, I felt unsettled. Was Joe possibly targeted for a reason beyond being recognized as a wealthy American? I went back to the main screen on Joe’s phone and began scrolling through the various messages that had arrived since I’d pulled it out the other night. Not for any reason other than it gave me a brief escape from reality. The people who had tried to communicate with my father-in-law over the past two days had no idea he was dead. Other than family and close friends, we hadn’t yet gone to the effort to let the rest of the world know the tragic news. I envied these people. I also wanted to live in a world where Joe was still alive.
I paused on one of the unread text messages. It came from the same Greta who had sent Joe the unusual message the other night.
What is going on? Call me!
My eyes narrowed. The text message felt completely out of place among the other business-related messages. It seemed personal. I thought about the previous one. I think we’ve been found out. Found out? By whom? What did that mean? I didn’t recognize the area code, so I did a quick Google search and discovered it was a DC phone number. That gave me another pause. DC? Joe had just flown up to DC for a legal conference a few days before our Mexico trip. For a fleeting moment, a disturbing thought popped into my mind. An affair? I shook my head, quickly dismissed it. I couldn’t imagine my father-in-law doing something like that or keeping that kind of secret.
Still, the two texts from her were odd. Could they possibly be related to what had just happened to Joe? I called the phone number on Joe’s phone. Maybe I could put my anxieties to rest. It was nearly eleven here, which meant it would be midnight there. But this person seemed to want to talk to Joe right away. Plus, I was planning on reaching out to all his friends and associates starting tomorrow anyway.
The phone rang three times before a woman quietly answered.
“Thank God you’re okay. I’ve been so worried.”
For a second, I didn’t know what to say. Worried?
“Joe?” she queried in a hushed tone.
I finally responded. “Is this Greta?”
She paused, then: “Who is this?”
“My name is Alex Mahan. I’m Joe’s son-in-law.”