Chapter Twenty-Nine
TWENTY-NINE
Finn gets up early Thursday morning, walks Muffinhead and then Rosie, and arrives at the Costas’ house a few minutes before eleven.
He’s arranged it with Howie to work from four PM until closing today so he has a few hours to kill with whatever he and Caren have planned.
He tries not to show his alarm when she answers the door, her eyes bloodshot and puffy.
“Are you okay?” Finn asks. “You did say eleven o’clock, right?”
“Yup. I’m fine,” she says, her voice brittle as she steps onto the stoop and shuts the door behind her. “I just need coffee. Can you drive?” She tosses him the keys before he has a chance to respond.
Something in her tone makes him hesitate, his feet rooted to the spot. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure.” The words come out clipped, definitive.
He slips behind the wheel of her Honda minivan, noting how surreal it feels to be driving the quintessential suburban people mover alongside an actual Karen. He almost makes a joke, but a glance at the rigid set of Caren’s jaw changes his mind.
He drives to Tatte, leaving Caren in the car while he gets the coffee.
Inside, Finn’s eyes scan the counter eagerly, his heart sinking when he realizes Ellis isn’t working the morning shift.
The flutter in his belly from thinking of her catches him off guard—an unfamiliar optimism he hasn’t felt about the future in a long time.
The line moves fast, and he’s back to the car within a few minutes.
Caren is sitting perfectly still, sunglasses hiding her eyes, looking straight ahead.
“Okay, what’s up?” Finn slides into the driver’s seat, handing her the coffee. “I mean, if you want to tell me.”
“I don’t even know where to begin. Turns out my daughter and Van were involved for a short time fall of her junior year, when he was a senior and he tried to pressure her into doing things she didn’t want to.”
“Gross.”
“Extremely gross. And then when Rachel refused him, his awful little sister and her friends bullied Rachel to the point that she became so depressed she basically had to leave school.”
“That is a lot to deal with. How is she doing now?”
“Now she’s doing okay. But it’s going to take me a minute to process all this. I literally just found this all out last night. I mean, I knew Rachel and Elo?se had stopped being friends, but I had no idea the crap she was pulling. She was sending my daughter suicide memes.”
“That’s incredibly fucked-up.”
“I’ll tell you, I’m glad I didn’t know about the way Van and Elo?se treated Rachel when I went to talk to Jo yesterday.” Her voice cracks on the name. “If I had, I would have lost it on her. Jo is an entitled bitch, excuse my French, and she has raised two awful kids.”
“Wait, you went and saw Jo? What happened?”
“I kind of accused Van of maybe being the one who killed Autumn.”
“Wow.” He leans back in the seat, letting implication wash over him. “Okay, that’s a lot.”
“I know. She didn’t take it well.”
“I bet. What did she say?”
“She tried to change the subject. She did a good job actually. Turns out that Van was stealing from our neighbors, and that he gave my daughter a stolen bracelet, among other things. Jo knew, my husband knew, but no one told me about any of this. I found out everything yesterday, like a fool.”
“Oof. That’s hard.”
“Yeah, well, I know in my gut that the bracelet has something to do with what happened to me on Saturday,” she says. “I was looking for it the other day and couldn’t find it anywhere. And then the next day, voilà, it magically appears.”
“Wait, hold on a second. I completely forgot to tell you.” He puts the coffee in the cup holder and pulls out his phone.
“Tell me what?” Caren pushes her glasses onto the top of her head.
Finn fumbles with his phone, the adrenaline starting to pick up in his system.
With everything going on, the text conversation he saw on the Williamses’ iPad slipped his mind.
“Here we go.” He tilts the phone to Caren, who peers at the screenshots as he reads the texts out loud.
“The first one says, ‘Got it and dropped it off.’ Then Miguel says, ‘We’re all good.’ Then, ‘No problems with C?’ And then Miguel texts, ‘She doesn’t suspect a thing. ’”
“What the hell!” Caren grabs the phone and brings it closer to her face. After a few seconds of staring at the phone, she hands it back to him. “Who’s the number my husband is texting with?”
Finn shrugs. “I saw this on the Williamses’ iPad. At their house.”
Caren pulls out her own phone. “That’s not Kenya’s number.” She pauses, her mouth puckered as if she’s tasted something bitter. “It’s Shawn’s.” She looks up at him. “What is going on?”
He shrugs. “I think you better ask your husband. Or the Williamses.”
“Oh, believe me, I plan to.”
They sit in silence a moment, a silence so tense it seems to vibrate. Finn can tell Caren is furious, but he doesn’t know what to say. He thinks of his own mom, and what he would say to her if she were this angry.
“Wanna go key someone’s car?”
Caren grins. “I do. I actually do. Shawn’s, maybe. He has this really obnoxious Porsche SUV.” She turns in her seat to face him. “You know what this means, right? That they had the bracelet. The Williamses did. And Shawn dropped it off and Miguel gave it to me, pretending he found it.”
“Possibly. But why bring it to Miguel, to have him pretend to find it?”
“Possibly? No. Definitely. Rachel told me yesterday that Noah, you know—Shawn and Kenya’s son—was involved in the burglaries with Van.
” Caren shakes her head and stares out the front window.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to let myself think that Shawn could have been the one who spiked my drink, but if he was after that bracelet… ”
“Listen,” Finn says. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to go see Tori Price.”
“This is a great time,” Caren says through gritted teeth. “Let’s freaking go.”
Finn holds his hands up in surrender. He’s not about to argue with Caren right now. Plus, he wants her with him. He doesn’t want to do this alone.
The drive to the apartment complex in Friendship Heights takes less than five minutes. With each passing block, Finn’s heart rate speeds up. He’s closer than ever to uncovering what happened to Autumn. Yet now, on the precipice of discovery, dread pools in his stomach.
They park on Willard Avenue, a few blocks from the building.
It’s only once they’re inside the over-air-conditioned main lobby that they realize it’s a mix of apartments and offices.
Finn approaches the front desk, where an older man with thick glasses sits hunched over a sudoku puzzle, red pen poised above the page.
He barely glances up when Finn tells him he is there to see Tori Price.
“No one by that name lives here,” he says dismissively and turns his attention back to his puzzle, effectively ending the conversation.
Disappointed, Finn rejoins Caren, who is standing in front of a large digital panel on a wall where a list of professional offices scrolls slowly by.
He tells her there’s no resident with the name Tori Price.
“You sure you have the right address? There’s also no Tori Price who has an office here.
Unless she works for one of the companies on this list. If that’s the case, we’ll never find her. ”
Feeling more desperate by the minute, Finn returns to the attendant’s desk. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you again, but I’m looking for a therapist by the name of Tori Price.”
“There’s a physical therapist on the second floor,” the man says, without looking up from his puzzle.
“No, a mental-health therapist.”
The man looks up, vaguely annoyed. “We got a couple like that. They’re both on the fourth floor.”
In the elevator, Finn fidgets uncontrollably—adjusting his messenger bag, fingering the tarot card in his back pocket, picking at his nails. But nothing can alleviate the feeling that the walls seem to be closing in with each passing floor.
“You’re nervous,” Caren says matter-of-factly, her gaze anchoring him. “We got this.”
The elevator door opens with a soft ding, and they walk slowly down the carpeted hall, searching each nameplate for Tori Price. The hallway seems endless, each wrong door ramping up Finn’s anxiety.
At the end of the hallway they come to a glass door etched with the words NEW HORIZONS MENTAL WELLNESS.
The office inside is empty and sterile—blond wood chairs with beige cushions and a glass coffee table upon which sit four business card holders.
Finn’s hands shake slightly as he picks up one from each of them.
They are all psychotherapists, but none are named Tori Price.
His stomach drops. “Could she have changed her name?” he asks.
A woman in a navy suit with a tight bun enters the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. “Can I help you?” she asks, her voice as cold and smooth as glass.
“We’re looking for Tori Price,” Caren says, stepping forward slightly as if to shield Finn. “The security guard sent us here, but I think we have the wrong office.”
“Oh yes.” A small smile plays at the edges of her lips. “That happens. You want the Cohen Group, all the way down the other end of the hall.”
The dark hallway seems to stretch forever as they retrace their steps. Above them, fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows, making the corridor feel like something from a nightmare. He prays that Ellis’s friend did not give them bad info.
Finally, at the last door, below a tarnished plaque that reads COHEN GROUP, they find a nameplate with TORI PRICE, LPC engraved on it.
Adrenaline shoots through him, and he can feel the blood rushing to his ears. He steals a glance at Caren, who gives him a smile.
“Do we just go in?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “And demand she talk to us?”
“Why not?” Caren asks, pushing open the door.
“This is a very Karen thing to do,” he stage-whispers, a feeble attempt at humor to mask his fear.
She looks at him hard, her eyes flashing with an intensity that takes him by surprise. “No, it’s a very middle-aged-mom thing to do. I’m no longer waiting for permission. Now, let’s go get some answers.”
Finn follows her into the office, praying that a little of that confidence might rub off on him.