“Sure, I guess.”
He slid his hands in his pockets as he backed down the sidewalk to his car. “I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
I watched him go, wondering if he would be so excited about this field trip if he knew how steeped in my research he already was.
CHAPTER 30
“You do realize this is breaking and entering,” Vero said stubbornly.
I wedged my cell phone under my jaw and adjusted my wig-scarf in the rearview mirror. “This is not breaking and entering. I have a key.”
“A stolen key,” she pointed out.
“It’s not stolen,” I argued into the phone. I had offered to drive Steven home, and in his inebriated state he had relinquished his keys. I had just neglected to give this particular one back.
“Well, don’t get caught. Detective Anthony is picking you up for your field trip in an hour.”
Theresa didn’t have a Mrs. Haggerty to worry about as far as I could tell. Still, I parked Ramón’s loaner a few car lengths farther away than the circumstances called for and pushed my oversize sunglasses higher on my nose. My wig-scarf itched like hell. I resisted the urge to rip it off until I was safely inside Steven and Theresa’s house.
I shut myself in, my back against the door, my cell pressed against my ear, breath held as I listened. The house was quiet; the only sound was Zach’s babbling in the background through the phone.
“I’m in,” I whispered. I stuffed my scarf in the pocket of my sweatshirt and slipped off my sneakers, tucking my keys inside them and leaving them beside the door.
I crept upstairs to Theresa’s bedroom.
“Find what you need and get out of there.” My anxiety spiked with every squeak in the floor, and Vero’s nagging wasn’t helping my nerves.
The bedroom door swished open over the dense carpet. The blinds were drawn, and the room still smelled faintly of Steven’s hangover—stale liquor, sweat, and unwashed breath. His side of the bed was a restless mess of tangled sheets, and a packet of Excedrin sat on his nightstand beside a bottle of Mylanta.
“Where are you?” Vero asked.
“Theresa and Steven’s bedroom.” I slid open Theresa’s nightstand drawer and rummaged through the contents. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for. A note, a phone number, or a receipt. Some clue to Aimee R’s identity. Proof that they’d definitely been together that Tuesday night, preferably nowhere near The Lush.
I closed the drawer and crept down the hall, pausing in front of Delia’s room. The bed was unmade, the pink princess sheets rumpled, the dense feather pillow hollowed in the shape of a grown woman’s head. A pair of Theresa’s dress heels was tossed on the floor beside the Dreamhouse. “Looks like Theresa slept in the spare room last night.”
Vero choked on a laugh. “Good old Mrs. Haggerty must have told the whole neighborhood Steven got drunk and came looking for you.”
“I just hope she didn’t mention anything about Nick,” I muttered.
Vero sobered. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
I walked toward the cone of sunlight streaming through the door of Theresa’s home office. Her desk was cleared of clutter. A loose connector hung where her laptop should have been plugged in. No antiquated PC. Not a speck of dust. I drew open the top drawer, the random contents threatening to spill over the edge onto the floor. Nothing inside revealed who Aimee was or where they had been the night Harris Mickler was murdered, but knowing the mess was there made me feel better.
I turned to the bookshelves on the opposite wall. “Bingo.”
“What is it?”
“Her college yearbooks.” I pulled a thick hardbound book from the shelf: GMU Class of 2009. I sank to the floor and opened it to the index, then flipped back to Theresa’s sorority photo, skimming the names in the caption. Her sorority sisters were identified in order by row, and there beside Theresa was Aimee.
“Aimee Shapiro,” I told Vero.
“Her online profile said her name was Aimee R.”
“Aimee must have taken her husband’s name when they married.”
A door slammed downstairs.
“What was that?” Vero asked.
I sat bolt upright as a set of keys dropped against the table in the foyer. Heels clicked across the hardwood floors.
Theresa.
I disconnected the call and silenced my phone. Then I slipped the yearbook back in place on the shelf and eased to my feet. My socks were silent on the plush carpet, and I was grateful I’d thought to leave my shoes by the …