Chapter Five
Olivia watched the door close behind the cops.
“Do you really think they’re going to look for her? Because it sure feels like they already suspect me of something. I don’t even know what.” Dylan wasn’t wrong.
“It’s too early to assume what the police will do.” Olivia turned to study his face. His eyes were full of apprehension. But what was he afraid of? That the cops wouldn’t look for Zoe?
Or that they would?
Olivia shook off her own suspicions. She was letting the cops’ attitude affect her judgment. She knew Zoe better than they did. She should follow her own instincts.
And what were her feelings about Dylan? One, she didn’t know him all that well.
Two, Zoe had never expressed any fear of her husband.
She always seemed to love him, even if she was occasionally annoyed or exasperated, which seemed pretty normal for them.
Three, as far as Olivia knew, Dylan was more financially dependent on Zoe than the other way around.
Zoe had mentioned a time or two that her husband couldn’t save a nickel on his own.
Money seemed to disappear from his accounts like a coin from a magician’s palm, which was a good reason for maintaining separate bank accounts. Dylan needed his wife.
“You said you’d help me.” Dylan turned his nearly black eyes on Olivia. “What can we do?”
Do I want him working alongside me, knowing every step I make?
Olivia’s answer was in her own question. “Do you and Zoe share a cell provider? If you do, then I need the login information to try and find her phone. Access to your cloud storage account could also be helpful.”
Dylan walked to an end table, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pad of sticky notes. He jotted down a few lines and peeled off the top sheet. “Here, but if her phone battery is dead . . .”
“I have a friend who might be able to help with that,” Olivia said vaguely as she took the paper. She was hoping she could discover the last time Zoe had used her phone. “Can I look through Zoe’s things? Maybe she left a clue.”
Dylan shifted his weight. “I don’t know if she’d like that.”
Olivia raised a single brow. “She’s missing. You’re worried enough to call the police. Do you want me to look for her or not?”
“I do.” He gestured toward the bedroom door, then brushed back his thick hair. The light glinted on a few silver strands. He might be younger than Zoe, but he was aging too. He fought it hard, but no one could hold off time forever.
Olivia walked to the bedroom, where she thought it more likely that Zoe would keep something personal or valuable. Dylan followed her and leaned on the doorjamb.
The nightstands were covered with clutter. Olivia suppressed a shudder. “Which nightstand is Zoe’s?”
“That one.” Dylan pointed to the table closest to the door.
She crossed to it and scanned the objects crammed together on the surface: lamp, tissue box, earbuds, phone charger, notepad, pen, hand cream, coaster with coffee rings layered on top of one another.
She picked up the notepad and flipped through it.
The pages were blank. No impressions on the top sheet.
She set it down and opened the single drawer to view Zoe’s current knitting project, something quite large in soft blue wool.
A sweater? Olivia closed the drawer and went to the dresser.
The first drawer contained men’s underwear and socks.
“Zoe’s stuff is on the left side,” Dylan said, his message clear.
Olivia’s cheeks flushed as she closed the drawer and took a step to the left.
Zoe’s drawers were stuffed full of clothes to the point of barely sliding.
Olivia ran her fingers around the edges, then checked the underside of each drawer.
She moved the dresser a few inches forward and examined the back. Nothing.
“Do you think she hid something?” Dylan asked. “She didn’t keep secrets from me.” But his statement ended on a rising note, as if he wasn’t certain.
“I have no idea.” Olivia didn’t want to insult or embarrass him. She needed his cooperation to find Zoe. “I’m trying to be objective and look at the case from an outsider’s perspective.”
“Oh.” He sounded placated.
Olivia moved to the closet and opened both bifold doors.
A purse tumbled off the top shelf and landed at her feet.
For a few seconds, the sheer amount of clothing and accessories—both Zoe’s and Dylan’s—jammed into the small space staggered her.
The closet was a can of coiled paper snakes.
She waited for a few seconds, expecting more items to tumble out.
Then she settled in to search Zoe’s things.
Purses were precariously piled on the top shelf.
Olivia pulled each one down, opened it, and checked interior and exterior pouches.
She moved to the hanging items, packed so tightly she could barely move anything, and slid her fingers into every pocket of every jacket.
Stacked shoeboxes covered the floor. Olivia dropped to her knees and lifted each lid.
Finding nothing, she sat back on her heels.
Dylan never moved from his position in the doorway, nor did he offer to help, which made Olivia’s search feel even more intrusive. Did he suspect she didn’t completely trust him?
“Anything?” he asked.
“Nothing that seems relevant.” Olivia stared up at the packed closet.
She hadn’t even found a stray receipt, coin, or hair tie.
She was ridiculously, almost ruthlessly, tidy and organized, but even her purses would undoubtedly contain a forgotten bobby pin or receipt.
Zoe, on the other hand, was a slob. The absence of normal clutter among a mountain of it felt odd.
Olivia climbed to her feet. The bathroom was as small and overfilled as the rest of the apartment, but contained nothing that stood out as important or unusual. She left the room. She’d leave the more public rooms for Dylan to search.
She and Dylan returned to the living room. “Today is Sunday. Do you know what she did for the last couple of days?”
“Worked.” He shrugged. “Her calendar is on her phone. If she’s not recording, she’s researching or writing copy. A one-hour podcast takes a lot more work hours to produce than most people would think.”
Zoe might leave a trail of messiness everywhere she went, but she was meticulous about her show.
If her phone was set to automatically back up data, Olivia might be able to access her calendar—and other information—through their cloud account.
She almost said so, but then stopped. Her instincts screamed not to include Dylan, just in case he was involved.
Statistically, he would be the prime suspect.
“I need to make some calls,” she said.
“What should I do? Drive around and look for her?”
The police would do that, but she understood that he needed to feel useful.
“Sure. But also”—she made a gesture toward the living room—“go through the rest of the apartment very carefully. Every drawer. Between the cushions. Check all the places the police might have missed. Look for recent receipts, notes she might have jotted down, papers, that sort of thing.”
Dylan glanced around, no doubt realizing searching the piles of chaos would take many hours.
“Do you know anything about other cases she might be working on?” Olivia asked.
Dylan shook his head. “She’s always working on different ones. I can’t keep up.”
“Do you have a key to her office?”
“No,” he snapped, mouth tightening with irritation. He crossed his arms, and his posture stiffened. “She was at the office, so she had her key with her.”
And she’d never made one for him, Olivia noted, which he was angry about.
Maybe their marriage was on the rocks. She wished Zoe had been more of a complainer.
“OK, then. Make flyers. Use a recent photo. We’re going to want at least a hundred copies, maybe two hundred.
We can post them all over town.” Was she giving him busywork to keep him out of her way?
Yep.
She added, “Make sure your phone ringer is on. If anyone calls, you don’t want to miss it.”
Dylan’s face paled. His temper deflated, but she could sense it hadn’t completely dissipated. “Are you thinking she was kidnapped, and someone might call demanding a ransom?”
The question caught Olivia by surprise. “Uh. No. I was thinking Zoe might call, or the police, maybe a hospital ER . . .”
“Oh.” Realization dawned in his eyes. “If she was in an accident . . .”
“You could call local hospitals and see if she’s been admitted, though I’m fairly sure the police will do that.” They’d call the morgue too, but Olivia kept that to herself.
He swallowed. “I should have already called the hospital. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because your wife has never gone missing before.”
He nodded, his gaze at his feet. “OK. I’ll make the calls, search the rest of the apartment, drive around, and put together a flyer. You’ll get back to me later?”
“Yes.” Olivia should comfort him in some way, a pat on the forearm or shoulder, but she didn’t want to touch him, not with his short temper hovering just beneath the surface. Words would have to suffice. “We’ll do everything we can to find her.”
He nodded, but when Olivia left the apartment, he was still standing there, staring at his shoes.
Behind the wheel of her car, Olivia called Wendy, who didn’t answer. She left a message. Then she texted Zoe’s friend Shannon Green. She’d flown to Florida for her aunt’s funeral that weekend. Olivia couldn’t remember which day she was coming home.
Before she could put the car into gear, her phone vibrated from the cupholder.
Her brother’s name—Stephen—popped onto the screen.
He’d been transferred to Japan for the last two years, where it was currently dark o’clock.
She was too tired to do math. Olivia pressed “Answer” and the call connected via Bluetooth. “Hey.”
“Liv?” Her brother’s voice was rough, and he didn’t bother to tease her.
“What’s wrong?”