Chapter Eleven
T he Lawrence family rents a three-bedroom, one-story house on the outskirts of Germantown. The faculty addresses are all on a mailing list, out in the open on a shared server for any staff member to access. Apparently, the college cares far more about protecting a student’s privacy than a professor’s.
“I’m just saying, I would have thought about changing that when one of your staff murdered another.” Tony feels this point should be obvious, but what does he know? He’s only the driver in this situation, and it’s taking up a larger part of his concentration than it ought to. He never drives to Germantown, and stretches the car isn’t used to are getting harder and harder to manage.
From the passenger seat, Colette makes a disgruntled noise. “Stacy didn’t murder Mario at his home.”
“That is the barest technicality—”
“Take a left here.”
Germantown isn’t big enough to have suburbs, but these sure look like the suburbs. Half of the lots are active construction sites for new single-family homes.
“There,” Colette says. “Right over there.”
Tony parks at the curb in front of an empty lot across the street from the house Colette indicates. They’re far enough away they shouldn’t draw too much attention but close enough they can see into the back yard.
“How do you know your way around here?” Tony asks, irritated by the abruptness of the directions and the shitty parking job. As far as he knows, Colette doesn’t drive, though she has a car. When she has to go anywhere, she takes Amtrak or has someone drive her.
“The Continuum,” Colette says, which means absolutely nothing to Tony. She must see as much on his face because she adds, “The movie theater I used to go to with…you know—”
“All right.” Tony cuts her off before she can continue. The last thing they need is to start talking about Mario. “Did we bring snacks?”
Colette elbows him.
“What? In the movies, the cops always spend hours on stakeouts. They change the lighting between shots and everything!”
“They also conveniently cut out all the parts between the beginning of the stakeout and the part where something interesting happens.”
“Not true.” Tony takes a deep sip of the coffee in his to-go mug. “There have been at least five episodes of Bones where the people on the stakeout have a meaningful heart-to-heart right before the suspect does something.”
“I blotted those from my memory.”
Tony laughs at the blatant lie. She complains about the show too often to have forgotten anything. Then he sobers immediately. He shouldn’t be laughing. Daniel’s missing, possible injured or—or something. He looks over at Colette and sees the guilt on her face as clear as it must be on his own.
They lapse into silence for a while, watching the house.
It’s a perfectly normal house. The yard is maybe a little overgrown, but the local HOA will have to accept extenuating circumstances for Mr. Lawrence forgetting to mow the lawn. The kitchen window has those little lacy half curtains Tony remembers from his grandma’s place. A cutout of a pumpkin in transparent paper hanging above them must color the room light orange in the evening, something Francie made in preschool or kindergarten or wherever she goes.
A half an hour passes before a family-sized Subaru pulls up in the driveway.
Quickly, Colette snaps a picture of the license plate.
The cruel, cynical part of Tony wants to point out there’s not a lot they can do with a license plate. If the car belongs to Lawrence, they’re already watching him. If it doesn’t, getting the numbers run would involve letting Detective Taylor know what they’re up to.
A middle-aged woman in a black coat gets out of the driver’s seat as the front door to the house opens. Francie runs out and throws herself bodily at the woman. She bends to hug Francie, and the movement turns her face toward Tony.
“That must be Lawrence’s mom,” he says.
“They do look alike,” Colette agrees.
They mostly both look heartbroken.
Mr. Lawrence appears in the doorway. He appears worse than he did a few days ago at the memorial. He still hasn’t shaved, and Tony’s willing to bet he’s wearing the same shirt, the buttons now misaligned and a stain near the collar.
The woman pulls away from Francie to draw her son into a hug. He crumples against her like a puppet with its strings cut. For a moment, Tony thinks they’ll both fall, but Lawrence catches himself before he can put too much weight on her, stepping back and away.
From behind the door, he pulls out a purple suitcase, followed by a laundry basket full of stuffed animals and pillows. The last thing is a ludicrously tiny backpack with one of the Paw Patrol dogs on it.
The woman starts loading things into the trunk of the Subaru while Lawrence crouches in front of his daughter.
Francie won’t even look at him.
His hands are tight on her shoulders, perhaps too tight. He says something they can’t hear, but it must be important because he’s impressing it on her so intensely. When he finishes, he pulls her into a rough hug she doesn’t return.
Francie gets into the car with her grandmother, and the Subaru drives off.
Lawrence watches them go, leaning against the doorframe as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“See?” Colette says. “He’s incredibly suspicious.”
Tony turns to look at her incredulously. “Are you kidding me right now? He’s miserable .”
“Guilty people often are.”
“No way. That’s a man who just became a single father. That’s a man who just lost the love of his life.”
Colette purses her lips. “And he’s sending his daughter away right after a tragic loss because…”
A sharp tap on the window makes them both flinch in their seats.
Lawrence peers at them through the glass.
Feeling very much the way he did the time his dad caught him sneaking in late from a party, Tony rolls down his window. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Lawrence studies them both. “You were both at Amy’s memorial, weren’t you?”
“Yup, we were.”
“What are you doing here?”
Tony glances over at Colette. She’s stock-still, frozen solid, staring at the dashboard.
Nothing for it but to go for broke. “You know Daniel? Daniel Rosenbaum?”
Lawrence squints. “That’s one of the guys who does admin at the college, right?”
“He’s a professor,” Tony corrects. “And a dean, now, I guess.”
“Right.” Lawrence straightens, pulling his face away from the window and giving Tony slightly more breathing room. “I probably owe him an apology, huh?”
“Have you seen him?”
“Huh?”
“He’s missing. And we think it might be…connected.”
“Connected,” Lawrence repeats. “I…listen, you’d better come inside.”
He turns on his heel and heads toward his house.
“We can’t go in there, right?” Colette asks. “If he’s a suspect…”
Tony shakes his head. “We can’t not go in there now. And thanks for all your help.”
“I’m an academic, not a spy!”
“Yeah, well, we’re all trying new things.” Tony unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. “Come on.”
“This is how Stacy got you.” Colette still opens the door and slides out.
“Totally different situation.” Tony fumbles his phone out. “Look, there’s two of us. What could possibly happen? I’ll record everything as a voice message to you. It’ll be fine.”
“All right. All right.”
Kid’s shoes litter the floor of the Lawrence house’s hallway and stacks of unopened mail cover the side table. Two letters have fallen down the crack between the table and the wall, and no one has bothered to pick them up.
“I know it’s a mess,” Lawrence says, ducking out of the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Sure.” Tony’s bloodstream is probably mostly caffeine at this point, but nothing matters, so he might as well.
Colette elbows him sharply. “None for me, thank you.”
Right. She probably thinks it’s full of sedatives or something.
They follow Lawrence into the kitchen. He dumps a used coffee filter into the overflowing trash and rummages in the cupboard for a clean cup. His own cup, he picks seemingly at random from the graveyard of used dishes piled up by the sink.
This man does not strike Tony as a criminal mastermind.
“So.” Lawrence leans against the counter while the coffee brews. “You were parked outside my house because a college dean went missing, and you think it’s connected to Amy. You think I did it, right?”
Blood shoots to Tony’s head, flushing his cheeks and his neck so fast he gets dizzy.
“The thought had crossed our minds, Mr. Lawrence.” Now of all times, Colette manages to be cool as a cucumber, perfectly collected.
“Call me Emilio.” He doesn’t sound even a little angry. Mostly, he sounds tired. “I didn’t, but I guess that’s what my wife’s murderer would say.”
Tony manages to find his voice. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“The police have been here four times in the last week. Doesn’t take a genius to know I’m the prime suspect.” Emilio rubs across his forehead. “Guess losing my temper the other day only put fuel on the fire, huh?”
The coffee machine beeps, and he turns to pour a cup. “Milk? Sugar?” he asks Tony over his shoulder.
“Milk, thanks.” Deciding there’s no way out but through, Tony adds, “I’m sorry.”
Emilio grabs the milk from the fridge and pours a splash into Tony’s mug before handing it over. “People have thought I was bad for Amy since the day I met her. What else is new?”
Colette clears her throat. “I don’t know if Amelia told you about Professor Lombardi, last year?”
“The other dead professor.” Emilio shrugs. “Sure.”
“I was arrested for his murder.” Colette says it plainly, openly, as though it’s something she talks about frequently. It isn’t. Much like the time Tony spent being forced around at gunpoint by Stacy Allan, they talk about it obliquely, if at all, in jokes and references, not in plain fact. “Wrongfully, of course.”
Emilio takes a long sip of his coffee, studying her.
“We’re here because we don’t trust the police to be fast enough for Daniel,” Colette continues. “It’s not personal.”
“Fair enough.” Emilio spreads his arms out wide. “Look around. I’m not hiding him in the closet or anything. If you have any other leads, let me know. My faith in law enforcement is reaching new lows.”
“All right.” Colette sets her purse down and walks down the hallway, opening doors as she goes.
“Seriously, feel free.” Emilio gestures at Tony to follow. “I’m past the point of being angry or insulted.”
“No kidding.” Tony rolls up the sleeves on Daniel’s UCLA sweatshirt he borrowed this morning. “You look exhausted.” He turns to the sink and starts running hot water. “Sit down, man.”
“What are you doing?” Despite the question, Emilio sits.
“Your damn dishes. It’s the least I can do for barging in here and accusing you of murder and kidnapping.”
It’s not until he turns off the tap that Tony hears Emilio’s quiet sobs.
“Your daughter’s with her grandparents?” Tony keeps his voice steady and his back turned as he starts with the cups.
“Yeah,” Emilio says, hoarse and choked, trying not to cry audibly. “For the week. Until the…until the funeral. Got a week to get my shit together and be a good dad.”
Tony hums in assent. “Sounds like you’re being a good dad to me. Might be good for her and good for you.”
“She just…won’t get it. I keep trying to tell her mom’s not coming home, but she won’t stop asking.” Emilio draws in a shuddering breath. “I lost it last night. Yelled at her that her mom is dead, and she’s not coming home, and she…she won’t look at me.”
The water is hot enough to burn on Tony’s hands. He welcomes it; he hasn’t been feeling much of anything recently. “She’s, what, five? She’ll forgive you. She’s going to need you so much.”
“Christ.” Emilio’s chair creaks. Tony chances a look over his shoulder. Emilio, head tipped up to the ceiling, takes deep breaths. “She will, won’t she.”
Tony gets through all the cereal bowls in silence. There are too many cereal bowls. He has a suspicion Fruit Loops have been easier than cooking a meal for Emilio these last few days.
“Tell me about Daniel,” Emilio demands eventually.
Tony swallows heavily. “He’s, uh… Well, he’s a literature professor at Lobell. Dean of the department since the last one turned out to be a murderess.” Tony almost leaves it there, but with Daniel gone, missing, he can’t not say what it means to him. What Daniel means to him. “He’s my…we’re partners.”
“You must be worried.”
“Yeah.”
Worried is an understatement. Tony goes out of his mind every time he manages the full thought: Daniel is missing, possibly kidnapped, possibly by the murderer. And now that he’s seen Emilio, Tony gets the feeling the police’s prime suspect is a dead end. Banking on his one and only experience meeting a murderer isn’t a solid foundation of evidence, but Tony trusts his gut, and his gut tells him Emilio had nothing to do with it. Which means he and Colette are back to square one: cold-calling a college student who won’t pick up the phone.
“Worried enough to go check out some guy you think might have done it.”
Tony laughs humorlessly. “When you say it like that, it sounds dumber than it is.”
“Oh, it’s very dumb. Academics, man. Where’s your common sense?”
“Not to burst your bubble, but I’m a mechanic.”
Emilio tuts. “You should definitely know better.”
It’s not funny, but they’re both still chuckling about it when Colette returns.
“Daniel not locked in any closets?” Tony asks her.
“Not that I could find.” She picks up a dish towel and wipes off a clean dish. “If Emilio here is our culprit, he’s too smart to keep Daniel in his home.”
“Hm.” Tony hands her a plate. “Shame. Would have been easy.”
“Say I didn’t do it, for the sake of argument. What other ideas have you got?”
They explain about Lily as they move on to straightening the kitchen. By the time Emilio’s caught up, it’s a livable space again.
“Is there a reason no one told the police about this girl earlier?” The way Emilio’s looking at them makes the question seem totally reasonable, and suddenly, Tony can’t quite remember why they didn’t. Helplessly, he looks to Colette.
“She’s a student.”
“And…?”
“Daniel feels…responsible, I guess,” Tony tries to explain. “He’s her advisor, and as far as he could tell, she was a troubled kid in need of professional help.”
“Yeah,” Emilio says, as if it should be obvious. “Which he is not. Isn’t there some sort of emergency service? One-800-this-crazy-chick-might-have-stabbed-someone?”
“The counseling staff on campus doesn’t have many availabilities.”
“Don’t tell me my wife died because of a fucking booking problem.”
Tony freezes at the counter, the words cutting straight through him. He glances at Colette and finds her similarly still and stricken. If Lily did do it, they have a lot to answer for.
“It wasn’t like that.” Even to Tony, it sounds weak as he says it. “Before—before it all happened, Daniel thought she was getting better. She had a therapist off campus, and she was looking forward to the school year. After…he thought…he thinks Lily was spiraling after she found your wife, which would be traumatic enough. For all we know, her issues are unrelated to your wife’s death. We have no evidence to the contrary. And if she did want to harm Daniel, she’s had ample opportunity before yesterday.”
Every word is true. On the off chance Lily has nothing to do with the crimes at stake, it’s still going to be a miserable story for her since finding a stabbed woman is traumatic whether or not she was involved. Tony can’t help but wonder if all of this could have been prevented if she had better care. If someone had intervened before Lily went over the edge upon finding Professor Lawrence, stabbed and dying in her office. Tony just doesn’t know who could have done it, if not Daniel.
A more bitter, jaded voice in the back of his head says that maybe Daniel, and by extension Tony and Colette, are clinging to the belief of her innocence because if she did do it, it would be a failure on Daniel’s part to see how close to the edge she really was.
At least Emilio seems to accept Tony’s excuses. “I think Amy said something about her. You know, not that I think your whole investigative duo thing is a good idea…”
“But?” Tony prompts, leaning against the counter and draining his lukewarm coffee.
“But I work in IT. And I know most of Amy’s passwords. I could probably find a paper trail if there is one.”
Colette opens her mouth to say something—probably something about how they can’t involve a suspect in their investigation, which would be true but, in Tony’s opinion, a moot point given neither of them are professionals in the first place—when Tony’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket.
He wipes his still-slippery fingers on his jeans and pulls it out. Guiltily, he ends the voice memo to Colette. Even more guiltily, he makes sure it’s sent.
He has five messages from his dad. Why was his phone on silent? What if Daniel tried to call?
“Shit.” Tony scrambles to return the call. “Shit.”
The phone only rings once before Pa answers. “Tony? Where the hell are you? You’re never late.”
“Shit,” Tony says again. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“Is everything all right?”
Abruptly, tears start to burn behind his eyes, in his nose. Colette and Emilio’s eyes are too heavy on him.
Tony escapes to the hallway. “Daniel’s missing.” It’s no easier for it being the third or fourth time he’s said it. “He never came home last night, and we don’t know if—the professor, the one who was killed—”
“Oh, fuck.”
Tony’s never heard Pa say the f-word. It sounds wrong. Upsetting.
“I guess I forgot to come to work with everything…”
There’s an impatient, guttural sound from the other end of the line. “You’re not coming to work today, kid. Or for the rest of the week. Stay in Rhinebeck. Do what you gotta do. Your ma’ll be there soon.”
“She doesn’t have to—”
“She’ll be there soon.”
Tony doesn’t bother trying to protest.
Returning to the kitchen, Tony tells Colette, “I have to get back to the apartment, my parents…”
She nods. “We should probably be there, anyway. In case he comes back. Or the police do.”
Tony gives Emilio a once-over, still slumped on the kitchen chair with deep bags under his eyes, listening to their every word. “You got a laptop you can bring, Mr. IT expert?”
Emilio looks up, shocked.
“C’mon, man. You gotta get out of this house for a bit. Anyway, if you did do it, better we keep an eye on you, huh?”
Colette gives him a look, but Tony meets her gaze, defiant. Emilio knows what they’re thinking anyway. They can at least give him the respect of saying it out loud.
“Such a soft touch,” she mutters. “Just like Daniel.”
They wait around for as long as it takes Emilio to find his laptop and charger, to put on shoes and a clean T-shirt. Colette even lets him sit in the front as they drive back to Rhinebeck.
Tony’s ma makes it to the apartment ten minutes after them. At a conservative estimate, she’s brought half the food in Target.
“Ma,” Tony protests as he lets her in.
She drops all her bag to hug him. “Tony, baby, why didn’t you call ?”
“I didn’t think…” He rests his chin on top of her head. “I’m not thinking straight.”
Case in point, the door’s still open, and the cat’s peering around the corner, interested in the scent of freedom. Tony pulls away to shoo Worf inside before closing the door.
“Oh, I forgot to bring treats for him.” Ma sounds crestfallen, like it’s actually a failing on her part.
Tony takes her jacket and picks up three of the four grocery bags. “We have cat treats. And food. You didn’t have to—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She immediately starts handing him things for the fridge. “We’re not leaving you alone with this; are you kidding? Come on. Give me that.” She takes the eggplant she saw fit to bring out of his hands, puts it on the counter, and shuts the fridge. “Go lie down, baby. You look dead on your feet.”
Between waiting up for Daniel last night and waking up at three, Tony’s running on caffeine and nerves at this point. She’s not wrong.
He peeks out into the living room. Colette and Emilio stare at Emilio’s laptop screen together, going over whatever it is they’re looking for.
“Hey, Colette?”
“Hm?”
“You guys okay if I take a nap for an hour?”
“Go ahead.” She gets up from the couch and peers into the kitchen. “You must be Tony’s mother. I’m Colette, Daniel’s neighbor.”
“Lovely to meet you.” Ma ignores her outstretched hand and pulls her in for a hug. “Daniel told us so much about you. Now, Colette, do you eat meat?”
Tony leaves them to it. He heads for the bedroom, pulls off his jeans, and roots around for the sweatpants he left in the bottom of Daniel’s dresser sometime in April when it got warm enough to sleep without them. He pulls his hair loose from its ponytail and sinks on top of the covers.
It feels like gravity is pushing him down harder than usual, like the weight of Daniel being gone is a stone on his back pressing him into the mattress, like he’ll never be able to sleep from the fear pulsing in the pit of his stomach. But the second his eyes close, he drifts off all the same.
By the time Tony wakes up, the whole apartment smells delicious.
He stumbles out of the bedroom, groggy and confused, until he finds his phone on the coffee table. It’s well past two in the afternoon. “Y’should’ve woken me up,” he mutters to whoever is in the living room.
“You needed rest.” Ma’s in the armchair, leafing through the coffee table book of ayahuasca-induced photos Paul from New York somehow managed to sell to the academic world as an anthropological project. He sent Daniel a copy to his campus PO box, which meant Daniel got called in during the summer to pick it up because the package was too big for his slot. Paul cited this as revenge for Daniel always calling him on the landline and nearly giving him a heart attack every time since no one ever uses the landline. Daniel, in turn, does this because Paul might be as New York as they come, but his parents were born and raised in Indiana and drilled an intense fear and respect of the city into him. This meant that when he and Daniel moved in together, Paul forced Daniel to repeat the number over and over until they could both remember it, in case one of them got mugged. Daniel complains about how much unnecessary space the number takes up in his brain every time he calls Paul, and therefore, he insists on calling the landline instead of Paul’s cell. Tony does not understand their friendship. He imagines having to call Paul and invite him to a funeral. The thought nearly sends him right back to bed.
There are no messages from Daniel on Tony’s phone. He spots one from an unknown number, and for a moment, hope climbs Tony’s throat, until he opens it.
Hi Tony, this is Meredith. I caught a flight to Albany. I should be there by 6:00 p.m. Can someone pick me up?
Tony pushes his hair out of his face. He tries to imagine a trip to Albany in his shitty car within the next four hours. “Daniel’s sister is flying in.”
“JFK or Newark?” Colette asks.
Meredith could take Amtrak if it were that easy, those are better and more connected airports.
Tony grimaces. “Albany.” The airport and train station in Albany are about an hour apart, and Meredith would have to find the right bus. Much faster to drive. “You have a car somewhere in this country, right? Could I borrow it?”
“Your father will pick her up,” Ma interrupts.
Daniel shakes his head. “Ma, I can’t ask that. I’m already not at the shop—”
“No arguments. Are you hungry? I made mac and cheese. We have enough time to eat before Gianna’s shift ends.”
Tony closes his eyes for a second. “Fine. Mac and cheese sounds good.”
It’s delicious, of course, it is. Ma leaves twenty minutes later, announcing Gianna and Lia will be by soon.
As soon as the door is shut behind her, Tony turns to Colette. “Anything from the detective?”
Colette shakes her head.
Tony turns to Emilio. “What about you? Anything on Lily?”
Emilio grimaces. He hasn’t done much more than pick at his mac and cheese, which would be a grave insult if the man hadn’t lost the love of his life and then been blamed for her murder within the last week. “I found her email to Amy. Nothing you didn’t know in there. Amy told her she had to retake the class she dropped out of last year, and Lily never responded.”
Tony considers. “What about Daniel’s emails?”
Neither of them answers him immediately.
“Are you sure?” Colette asks eventually.
Pushing his hair out of his face again, Tony says, “Look, I think he’ll forgive the breach of privacy if he ends up not dead.”
“Not that.” Colette waves away the thought of the potential invasion of privacy with a lazy hand. “I’ve seen Lily Peterson. She’s tiny. Could she really have the physical strength to stab someone? Or kidnap someone?”
“Stacy Allan was tiny, and she kidnapped me just fine.”
She also had a gun, which helped. Tony’s not sure he’d have been as intimidated by a knife, especially given Lily might not have another one after taping the murder weapon to their door. Still, he’s not about to underestimate anyone.
“I think we should check,” he reaffirms.
Emilio shrugs. “Do you know his password?”
It’s probably Worf’s fucking birthday.
“I can give it a shot.” His hair is in his face again. Tony sighs. “Hey, could you two get up for a second?”
Baffled, they do it.
Tony lifts the couch, forcing Worf to trundle out from underneath and into the safety of the little cubbyhole halfway up his cat tree.
“Dude,” Tony tells him. “Give me my hair tie.”
Yellow eyes blink at him from the dark cubbyhole.
“Come on. I’ll give you a treat.”
Worf inches forward. The hair tie is still in his mouth. He must have stolen it right from off the nightstand.
“C’mon,” Tony cajoles.
Worf inches forward again, and Tony grabs his hair tie, the cat’s jaw no match for opposable thumbs.
“Gotcha,” Tony crows and puts his hair up.
Colette and Emilio stare at him again.
Tony shrugs. “He does this. If I had an explanation, I would give it, trust me. Let me give Daniel’s email a try.”
Emilio hands over his laptop with Daniel’s standard-issue university email username in the top field. The cursor blinks away in the password box, and Tony gives it his best shot.
It’s not Worf’s birthday.
It’s also not ‘worf0720’ or any variation thereof Tony can think of.
“Fuck,” Tony eventually sighs in resignation.
“I can try forcing it,” Emilio says around a yawn. “If you’re sure…”
“Yeah, I’m sure. But only after you’ve gotten some rest.”
“Can’t sleep.”
Tony looks him over. “Try. Bedroom’s next door. Sheets are reasonably clean.”
Emilio looks set to protest. But he came over here in Tony’s car. He’s got no way home and nothing waiting for him there but household chores and grief.
“Come on,” Tony cajoles, trying not to talk to him the way he talks to the cat. “You’ll feel better.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Emilio grimaces as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Colette’s eyebrow raise.
“How about this,” Tony offers. “Lie down for half an hour, and if you can’t sleep, I’ll forget about it.”
Emilio’s out like a light within five minutes, doesn’t so much as twitch when Gianna rings the security doorbell at the building entrance.
Tony buzzes her in, dread settling in his stomach along with the anxiety. “You don’t have to stay for the invasion of my entire family,” he tells Colette. “If you want some space…”
“It’s kind of your family to care so much.” Colette busies herself putting their plates in the dishwasher.
Tony opens the fridge to inspect the damage. It’s full to bursting. What he and Daniel could possibly use four whole mozzarella blocks for is a mystery, but apparently, Ma is planning on a round-the-clock d’Angelo presence, which is as comforting as it is invasive.
“After Mario…” Colette stops, takes a breath, and then forces herself to continue. “After Mario, I thought being alone would help. It didn’t. All I did was isolate myself and Daniel, and I regret it. I’m not leaving, and I’m glad we won’t be alone in this.”
“Oh yeah? Even with a suspect in the other room?”
Colette is poised to answer, but Gianna’s knock on the front door interrupts her.
When he opens, Tony finds Gianna also not alone.
There’s Lia, of course, nestled against Gianna’s chest in the snug wraparound Ma bought the week she found out about the pregnancy. Standing next to the two of them, though, huffing slightly from the effort of carrying the stroller up two flights of stairs, is Blake.
“What…” Tony asks blankly.
Gianna shrugs. “I figured you’d rather have him here than me.”
“I got off night shifts this morning. I have a few days off,” Blake adds.
Sighing, Tony stands aside and lets them in.
“I left Lisa a voice message.” Blake kicks off his shoes before pushing the stroller into the living room. “Who knows when she’ll hear it, but she should be off work soon too.”
“She hates voice messages,” Tony reminds him. “As does every rational person over the age of twenty.”
“My mom loves voice messages.”
Tony gives Blake a look. “Is she rational?”
They both know the answer to that question.
“So, what do you know so far?” Gianna asks. She sits down on the couch, Lia still wrapped up tight and, as far as Tony can tell, fast asleep.
Colette sits beside her and starts filling her in on everything, from Daniel’s last messages to calling the detective to Emilio, asleep next door.
Tony pulls out the pitcher from the very top cupboard and busies himself filling it up with filtered water. He sets out glasses on the coffee table just as Gianna interrupts the story.
“Wait, you think Lily might have something to do with it?” She leans forward on the couch, dark hair swinging in front of her face. “Lily Peterson?”
“Yes.” Colette sounds utterly guileless as if Tony hasn’t told her Lily is Gianna’s friend. “Why?”
If Tony had room in his brain for complex emotions, he would be in awe of how well Colette can play a room.
Frowning, Gianna pulls out her phone and examines her recent text messages. “She hasn’t answered me since yesterday. I thought it was because…”
“I made a scene and got her pissed off at you,” Tony finishes.
Awkward silence descends on them, only interrupted when Blake exits the bathroom, beelines for the kitchen, and cries out, “Sick! Is this your mom’s mac and cheese?”
“Help yourself, Blake,” Tony says wearily. “Dishes are on the top left, silverware’s to the right of the stove.”
“Have you tried calling Lily?” Colette asks.
They haven’t tried since this morning, and maybe Gianna will have more luck since she isn’t calling from an unknown number,
Gianna wrinkles her nose. “I mean, I didn’t want to seem desperate.”
Colette makes a sound in the back of her throat, which Tony takes to mean, this generation is ridiculous .
Gianna presses the call button.
She shakes her head. “Straight to voicemail.” Tapping out something quick, she adds, “And texts aren’t going through.”
“Same as Daniel.” Tony looks over to Colette. Same as when they tried yesterday and this morning. If it was Lily—if she took Daniel—
“What if Lily got kidnapped too?” Gianna asks.
Tony swallows around nothing. He didn’t consider that possibility. It’s certainly kinder than what he currently thinks about Lily.
“It’s possible,” Colette says. Her face gives nothing away. She must have been a poker player in a previous life. “Has Lily been acting abnormally recently?”
Gianna tilts her head to the side, considering. Lia grumbles at the sudden movement. “She’s been pretty anxious. Coming back was harder than she thought, and she feels like everyone is judging her. She’s been kind of flaky. Keeps forgetting to answer texts, and then she talks about how stressed out she is about it all. Sometimes, she seems really good, though, like, incredibly good, given everything. Then she phases back into not answering messages. I don’t know if she was this way before…everything though.”
“How long have you guys been hanging out?” Tony should probably feel guilty for acting as if it’s an idle question and not mining Gianna for information. He comforts himself with the knowledge that if he’s wrong, she’ll never know.
“Just over the summer.” Gianna looks down at the top of Lia’s head, jiggling her a little. “We texted some in the spring when she was gone. She was here doing makeup classes in summer school, and we hung out toward the start. Then she met Sean in one of her classes and started spending more time with him.”
“So, she bailed on you for a guy.”
Gianna eyes him warily. “I mean, I guess? Or she wanted the normal college experience instead hanging out with a baby all the time.”
Guilt clenches in Tony’s stomach. He’s been so focused on how hard everything is for him when he should have spent more time worrying about how hard it is for her.
“Hm.” Colette folds her hands together, the first tell that she’s trying to play Gianna. “Do you know where her dorm room is? We could see if she’s there and why she isn’t answering her phone. Maybe she forgot to charge it, or it broke.”
Gianna considers. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”