The ghost of a smile floated over Professor Vitucci’s face. “A person is a compilation of so many experiences and qualities,” he said. “But, yes, perhaps you do know things about her that other people never have any occasion to learn about another, and good for them.”
Yes, good for them. That was for sure.
“This has all been on my mind recently because I’ve been looking into some similar situations of people who were abducted and caged. I found a man in Texas who has a similar story.”
The professor’s dark brows raised. “I see.”
“I think there’s a high likelihood that what we experienced might still be going on. Or . . . it was anyway, as of a couple of years ago. I only have his testimony, and the police already looked into it but . . .”
The professor watched him for a moment, a look of concern in his eyes. “You have ways to access information others don’t,” he said. “So I understand why you’d be tempted to pick up the investigation. Just be careful,” he cautioned.
“In what way?”
“That you don’t immerse yourself in something that you need to be distancing yourself from. That you don’t become stuck again.”
Evan nodded. He’d thought the same thing. But how could he not at least try if there was the slightest chance that others out there were—or would be—victimized in the same horrific way? “I keep coming back to one thing,” he said, thinking aloud now. It helped having someone to be a sounding board as he verbalized all the thoughts that had been rattling around in his head, disorganized and half-formed. “And that’s that Noelle and I knew each other. Our fathers had a connection.”
“Ah, yes. Remind me.”
Evan did, summing up the affair his father had had with Noelle’s mother, the stalking, his father accidentally killing her, and the court case.
“Yes,” Professor Vitucci said, “it’s coming back to me now. It is interesting. I believe I thought so at the time too. But the FBI didn’t uncover anything that might have explained that connection.”
“No, they didn’t uncover much,” he murmured. “But it’s the origin story here, and I think it might be important.”
“Ah, yes. Those tell a lot,” the professor said. “If you can access them.”
“It would help if I could ask Noelle some questions, especially now that she could look at things in hindsight, with clearer eyes,” he mused aloud.
“But you’re worried that those same feelings will resurface.”
“Yeah. I guess I am.” He paused. “Also, Noelle disappeared. I emailed her a few times years ago, but they got returned. I have no idea where she lives now.” Or if she’s married. In a serious relationship. Truth be told, that scared him. And it scared him that that scared him. What a mess.
“Well,” Professor Vitucci said, “good thing you’re not a private investigator or anything, because that would make it far too easy.”
Evan laughed, and it felt good. Something shifted inside, feeling suddenly lighter. “True enough.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Evan stepped from his car, looking around with some amount of awe. He felt like he’d arrived in a different world. Off to his left, just over a slatted walking bridge flanked by tall grass swishing in the slight breeze, the ocean cast off diamonds, sparkling in the sun. The call of a bird gliding up above caused Evan to raise his head and squint into the cloudless blue sky before looking back to the wooden sign announcing that he’d arrived at the right place: SWEETGRASS COTTAGES.
Where Noelle lived and worked.
His heart sped, and he took a deep breath of the salt-tinged air before shutting the door of his rental car and heading toward a brick walkway flanked by grand moss-draped trees that led to a plantation-style home.
Wow.
The website he’d looked at had been well done, but it didn’t do justice to the beauty of this property in person.
The grounds were beautifully maintained, some sort of fragrant red flowers growing in beds along the porch and vining through the slats of the rails. He climbed the short set of steps, taking in the comfortable-looking wicker furniture—currently unoccupied—the hanging ferns, and the pots of cascading flowers. Underneath the eave, fans rotated slowly. Evan stepped to the vast mahogany door with a small gold sign next to it that read RENTAL OFFICE. With another flutter in his chest, he pulled the door open and stepped into the air-conditioned lobby.
“Hello, sir,” a smiling blonde in a white blouse and navy shorts greeted, stepping behind the curved mahogany counter that sat in the middle of the foyer. There was a sweeping staircase behind her, with a velvet rope at the base that declared the upstairs private. “Will you be staying with us?” the young woman asked.