“Wait!” Trae cupped a hand to his ear. “Could you repeat that last part? A little louder? I want to make sure I heard it correctly, because it sounded like you, eating crow.”
Hattie leaned in. “I said, ‘Fuck you, Trae. Fuck you very much.’”
* * *
Five minutes later, she tracked Trae down as he was hauling a mattress and box spring up the stairs. “Okay, so I think we can get everything we need at Clutter. And Leetha wants to send the camera crew along to shoot some B-roll. How soon can you leave?”
“Leave? Are you nuts? We’ve barely started unloading the moving van. I’ll be at least another two hours.”
“No good,” Hattie said. “They usually close at five on Fridays, but Lynn agreed to stay open longer, in return for on-screen credit. It’s now or never. If you want, I can go without you.”
“You?” His expression was incredulous.
“Yes, me. I’ve been staging and styling houses for years, Trae. But if you’re not willing to rely on my taste, that’s okay.” She started back down the staircase.
“Wait!” He set the edge of the box spring down on the top stair tread. “Okay, I’m out of options. The list is on the island in the kitchen. Text me pictures of what you’re getting, okay?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Trae. You’re just gonna have to trust me this time.”
67
The Disappearing Act
Detective Makarowicz pulled into the driveway at the Chatham Avenue house as Hattie was about to turn onto the street. He backed up until his driver’s side window was parallel to hers.
“What happened to our off-duty cop?” Hattie asked, gesturing toward the shoulder of the road where the patrol car had been parked on previous days.
Ribsy, who was riding shotgun, clambered onto her lap and stuck his head out the window to greet the cop.
“Good boy,” Makarowicz said.
“This is Ribsy,” Hattie said. “Now, what about our cop?”
“It’s summer, you know. Tourist season. Chief wants every man on duty, which means we can’t spare anyone for this. Anyway, looks like the sightseers have all lost interest in you.”
“Was that what you were coming to see me about?”
“No,” Mak said, his expression troubled. “Your friend is in the wind.”
“Which friend?”
“Davis Hoffman. I’ve been trying to track him down for questioning, but he’s gone. Not at the jewelry store, not at his house. I’m running out of places to look.”
Hattie felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. “Have you talked to his ex-wife?”
“Elise Hoffman claims she’s been looking for him too. He’s not answering his phone.”
“What about his mom? When I saw him a couple days ago, he said she’d asked him to come out to their house here to cut the grass.”
Makarowicz had a pained expression on his face. “Mrs. Hoffman was not what I’d call forthcoming about her son’s whereabouts.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Sylvia.”
“Thought I’d ride over here and see if you have any idea of where he might go,” the detective said.
Hattie pointed in the direction of the pale gray house two doors down. “Did you check the Titanic?”
“Mrs. Hoffman refused to give me permission to enter the house, but I walked down the driveway before I came here, just to see if his car was there. I looked around outside. No sign of him.”
She felt another ripple of dread. “Up until I went to see him about buying my engagement ring, I’d mostly lost touch with Davis over the past few years. He was more Hank’s friend than mine. I don’t have a clue where he might be.”
Makarowicz nodded. “Any chance he bolted after you talked to him the other day?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I tried to act nonchalant after I saw those burns on his hand and chest, but maybe he saw how spooked I was. Can you search his house or something?”
“Not without a warrant, which I can’t get because I don’t have enough probable cause yet. But his ex-wife has a key, and she says there’s nothing out of place in the house.”
“Davis knows you want to talk to him, right?”
“I left messages for him at the jewelry store and on his cell,” Mak said.
“Do you think he’s like, dangerous?”
“I’ve never met the man. You tell me.”
Hattie bit her bottom lip. “I’m starting to think I never really knew him either. Davis was always such a nice guy. He was … there. Not in the center of things, but maybe on the periphery. Cass says he was always watching, waiting for a chance to pounce, but I never saw that in him.”