So Isabel was raised by a single mom, too. I wish we’d talked about this. I hoped we would still have a chance to.
“I’m babbling again,” Louise continued, her frenetic energy making her appear bizarrely chipper. “But my point is, even without these snazzy Nest cams, our babies still survived!” She started to laugh, then seemed to realize the weight of her comment and stopped laughing abruptly: her baby had survived her camera-free childhood, yes, but may not have survived whatever had recently happened to her.
Connor’s whole Nest camera alibi sounded flimsy to me. Couldn’t the camera have shown, like, a body-shaped pillow under the covers? Or, more realistically, Connor easily could have hired someone to abduct or kill Isabel, if he’d wanted to. Him being in the bed when she actually went missing didn’t clear him of anything, in my opinion.
“And did the camera pick up any clues about her disappearance?” Again, I knew I was probably crossing a line of nosiness at this point, but Louise seemed perfectly willing to discuss it. Vanessa was tending to Phoebe on the floor, but I could tell she was listening intently.
“Unfortunately, nothing helpful. She left the house at around ten to walk Murphy”—I’d totally forgotten that Isabel had a dog—“and then Murphy came back to the house by himself and apparently stayed outside all night. He’s still very spooked, poor thing. There are no street cameras until the next block, but they’re reviewing the footage. None of the people at nearby bodegas remember seeing her. She just truly disappeared. But something must have happened. I know she wouldn’t leave Naomi. Besides, if she had wanted to leave, which she didn’t, she wouldn’t have brought the damn dog with her.” This rang true. No one who’s planning to run away, or hurt herself, brings along the dog.
I was considering whether it’d be completely over the top for me to ask about the bloodstained sidewalk when Connor entered the kitchen. He was even taller and more handsome than he’d seemed from afar. He appeared to be freshly showered, and there was gel in his perfectly coiffed hair, which irked me. I knew I was being too judgmental about the way other people dealt with stress （especially given that I didn’t have the best coping mechanisms myself）， and I shouldn’t be comparing, anyway, but I did not think Tim would be primping and fixing his hair up if I were a missing person. Connor was cut and lean and looked as if he probably kept up with an intense workout regimen. The inconvenient kind, like six-hour bike rides, or triathlons in remote places or something.
“Hi,” he said quietly, his lips flashing the briefest closed-mouth smile, which was not reflected in his brown eyes.
Vanessa covered us again. I guess we had established that she was in charge of social niceties, and I was in charge of gracelessly asking invasive questions about the investigation. “Hi . . . I’m Vanessa,” she said to Connor, putting her hand on her chest. “I spoke to you here yesterday, briefly? We are so sorry for what you’re going through. We’re all praying that Isabel turns up soon. It’s just awful.”
“Thanks,” he said shortly, barely looking at her, instead turning to his mother-in-law. “Louise, just remember you aren’t supposed to discuss the case.” He took out a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee, not acknowledging Naomi in her bouncer.
“Of course. Of course,” Louise said, flashing us an ever-so-brief “oops” look. “I hope I haven’t said too much. But talking about it with friends helps me. It makes me feel like everything will be okay. That there’s an explanation. Of course, the bloodstains are most concerning . . .” She crossed the room and started rubbing Connor’s back. He looked visibly uncomfortable, and I could understand why. Tim and my mom had been close, but it had never gotten further than a very brief, friendly hug. This back rub was on a whole other level.
“Bloodstains?” I played dumb, pretending that Kira and I hadn’t seen the stains for ourselves.
Louise nodded and drew and released a deep breath. “Yes. Unfortunately, they found six large bloodstains between the house and the river—a few on the sidewalk, a few in Riverside Park. It’s Isabel’s blood type, A positive. They’re running more tests to see if it’s actually hers. It’s a common blood type, A positive. It’s easy for me to remember, too, because I always told her that it made sense that she had A positive blood because she was such an A-plus girl! Always trying her hardest, always looking on the bright side. She never gives up. She always finds a way.” She looked at Connor and smiled proudly, expecting him to share in her admiring reflection on Isabel’s character.