CHAPTER SIX
“Coming. Coming.” Amelia crawled out of bed and pulled on a sweatshirt.
She wasn’t in the mood to deal with whoever was ringing the doorbell of her first-floor condo.
She’d had her fill of nosy neighbors for the past few days.
The news reports had spun Jonathan’s murder and Hailey’s disappearance as a possible domestic dispute.
They’d named Amelia as a witness who had mistakenly thought someone had broken in when she heard an unexpected disturbance.
Left out of the story were pretty much all the facts about what had actually happened.
For whatever reason, friends and acquaintances thought they should stop by to share condolences when she hadn’t answered their phone calls and text messages.
The only calls she’d taken were from Jonathan’s parents, who lived in France.
They weren’t exactly her family, but she supposed they were the only things she had left.
The doorbell rang again as she wiped the sleep from her tired eyes.
It was so early. Why would anyone stop by at this hour?
“Coming!”
She threw open the front door and pulled back abruptly.
It wasn’t the nosy neighbor patrol but rather the two men who had notified her of Jonathan’s passing and asked where Hailey was.
Amelia caught herself, semi-embarrassed that she had been dangerously close to yelling, “What do you want?” out her front door.
“Ms. Stone.” The man who had caught her elbow when her legs threatened to give out greeted her with a practiced smile.
She saw it was meant to make her feel more at ease.
Nerves skipped down her spine, and her hackles rose.
“Agent Frank Fitzgerald,” he continued, reintroducing himself.
“And this is Agent Michael Bennett.”
They both flipped open their badges and flipped them shut again, giving Amelia just enough time to see how official they were yet not nearly enough time to read what they said.
She kept a hand on the front door and had never wished more for a storm door or recording doorbell.
Both might be purchases in the near future.
“Do you have news about my sister?”
“Could we come in?” Agent Fitzgerald asked.
Tension made her lungs tighten as if the oxygen had been pulled from the fall air.
Why didn’t they answer?
Her fingers clutched the door.
“Did you find her? Is she—” She feared they were notifying her of Hailey’s death.
Blood rushed in her ears.
Amelia had turned her cell phone ringer off.
Maybe they’d called.
Maybe—
“Ms. Stone,” Agent Fitzgerald said, interrupting her tragic spiral.
“Take a deep breath. It’s okay.”
Liar .
Nothing would ever be okay again.
“Can we come in?” He offered an understanding nod that she didn’t trust.
Warning bells rang.
She wished someone else were home with her.
Why had she ignored her friends?
What about the man on the phone?
Did Camden know these men?
Did they work for the same agency?
Even if they did, she would feel more comfortable if Camden the Mystery Man had vouched for them or, better yet, had accompanied them.
“Ms. Stone, can we come in?” Agent Fitzgerald asked again.
Amelia bit her lip. “Do you know—” A fierce, instinctive wave of distrust cut her off before she said Camden’s name aloud.
“Please tell me if you found Hailey.”
“We have not.” Agent Bennett shifted his stance and leveled a hard, cold stare at her as though he and Agent Fitzgerald were trying to force their way into her condo without touching her.
“We’d like to ask you a few more questions about the man who followed you into the Callaghans’ home.”
Agent Bennett was the bad cop to Agent Fitzgerald’s good cop.
They were playing roles.
Amelia tried to appreciate that, but no matter who played what role, they didn’t bear news on Hailey.
Her shoulders slumped.
She reminded herself that no news was partially good news.
Hailey wasn’t dead—at least, not that they knew of.
Tears burned the back of her throat.
“Sure.” She stepped back and turned so they wouldn’t see her wipe her eyes.
“Come in.”
She led them into her small condo.
The lemon-yellow walls and bright white trim had always made her happy.
Right then, they were too much to stand.
“Would you like something to drink?” She switched the electric kettle on.
“Tea?”
“We’re fine.”
Amelia gestured to her living room and took a seat across from the men.
Their dark suits were like a uniform: generic yet uncommon, as though they would stand out in a crowd but be impossible to describe.
“Who do you work for?”
“The federal government,” Agent Fitzgerald answered.
“An interagency task force.”
If she’d had the energy, her eyes would have rolled hard enough to knock her over.
“Well… yeah. But specifically?”
“What do you know about Hailey and Jonathan’s employer?”
Why couldn’t she get a straight answer from these two?
“Their employer? As in they worked for the same place?” She stared at the agents.
They wanted to know what secrets she knew.
Truthfully, she didn’t know any, but she was starting to have guesses that didn’t make much sense.
“My sister worked for a college in DC, and Jonathan?” She shrugged.
“He worked for himself and contracted with auction houses.”
They waited with practiced silence for her to continue.
“But I’ve guessed recently that I didn’t really know who my sister was.” She bit her lip, which was already chewed and chapped.
“I didn’t. Did I?”
They were unreadable.
She’d always touted her talent for decoding emotion.
After all, as an event planner of corporate schmoozefests and decadent weddings, she had to be able to foresee emotions a mile away.
If the mother of the bride was getting ready to happy-sob like a rhinoceros with allergies in the middle of the ceremony, Amelia could see it coming and head off a scene-stealing nose-blowing sob session.
If the groom was having cold feet the night of the rehearsal dinner, Amelia sensed it before the groomsmen did.
If players in a hostile corporate takeover were trying to work over an overworked assistant and milk information, she could tactfully move the corporate henchmen along and save someone their job without so much as breaking a sweat.
But right then, Amelia was scoring zero out of two on Agents Fitzgerald and Bennett.
Neither man gave her anything to work with.
“Are you going to tell me anything, or do I stay in the dark and keep guessing?”
“We’re not authorized to share information on their employment.”
That was as much of a confirmation as she would get out of those two, but a nonanswer was something.
“Gotcha.” Though the kettle signaled the water was hot enough for tea, she didn’t bother to make herself a cup.
“Can you tell me why news reporters are dragging Hailey’s name through the mud?”
Bennett shrugged as though he hadn’t a clue.
Fitzgerald added, “It’d help to stay focused on this conversation.”
Her molars ground.
“What do you want to know about the man who tried to find me?”
“We’d just like you to tell us everything again. In case something slipped your mind—”
“Nothing slipped my mind. Every minute detail has been permanently carved into my brain.”
They offered understanding nods.
“Let’s go through the exercise anyway,” Bennett suggested.
A lilt in Bennett’s voice sent an eerie feeling up her spine, as if they weren’t looking for more information but rather testing her story.
“Starting with the description of the man that came into the Callaghans’ house. Short? Tall? Black? White?”
“White. Tall.” She’d already given them that information.
“If you met with a sketch artist, could you describe the man enough to get a visual representation?”
“I don’t know.” The details were clear.
She remembered the close-cut hair, the sharp shoulders, and a long stride, but she didn’t know how to explain that to an artist. Amelia chewed her lip again.
They didn’t like her answer, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the conversation was a test, one she didn’t understand and couldn’t have prepared for.
“Maybe. Probably.”
“That’s not what I expected you to say.” Bennett’s deep disappointment permeated his expression.
He glanced at Fitzgerald.
“Did you?”
“It wasn’t as if I saw his eye color. I was hiding from him.”
“All right.” Fitzgerald nodded at her reasoning and leaned back, relaxing against her couch like he and Bennett might be there a while.
“Have you heard from your sister? Seen her?”
Her head cocked to one side.
“What? No.”
“Are you sure?” Bennett pressed.
“ Am I sure ?” She drew back.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Did Hailey or Jonathan tell you anything and ask you to keep it quiet? Maybe they shared information but said not to share?”
“Other than the phone number and code words, they wouldn’t tell me anything at all.”
“ Nothing else ?”
She tried to piece together the night, but everything was very foggy.
Her memories weren’t even in order, like she could see the trauma in unorganized snapshots.
“I just wanted to call 911, but they said no.”
Bennett pursed his mouth.
“Anything else you want to share with us before we head back to the office and keep digging?”
Shouldn’t they go somewhere and look for Hailey?
“Anything at all,” Fitzgerald prompted.
They were putting too much pressure on her.
Amelia revisited her two conversations with Camden.
That didn’t feel relevant, and besides, they had to know about their first phone call.
The second one, she hoped they didn’t.
She’d redialed like a manic stalker until she reconnected with him.
That was embarrassing, but she had to speak with the only person who’d actually helped in this whole mess.
Camden was separate from what Fitzgerald and Bennett needed and sort of weirdly personal, even if he’d hadn’t given her any information.
“All right, then,” Bennett said, as though he didn’t entirely believe her.
“Thank you for your time.”
God.
That really pissed her off.
She leaned forward. “Don’t you think I would have mentioned if I’d seen Hailey?”
“Perhaps.”
Perhaps?
“I’ve been trying to get information out of anyone I could have for days . If Hailey had stopped by. If she’d called, if she magically stopped by, I would have said something.”
“We’re just doing our job,” Fitzgerald offered.
“ I asked you if you’d found her. Why would I ask that if I’d talked to her?”
They stood and promised to follow up, as if they hadn’t heard Amelia snap at them.
Their perfunctory farewells made her want to scream as she let them out of the house.
She closed the door with more gusto than was necessary and watched out the window to ensure they drove away.
Only once she was sure they were gone did she return to the couch.
Her incredulity doubled as she replayed the conversation.
They seemed to think she knew where Hailey was.
Did she look like a woman who knew anything right now?
She didn’t need a mirror to see her rat’s nest of hair that had been tied in a bun or her perpetually tear-swollen eyes.
Pain blossomed in her chest. Amelia missed Hailey so much that she couldn’t breathe.
Her gaze dropped to her arm, and she pulled the sweatshirt cuff up until she could see the faint numbers still legible on there.
Her sister’s handwriting was fading.
It reminded her of the worst night of her life.
Yet it was the last thing she had from Hailey.