Chapter 42 Emery
I move immediately to the front door, walking robotically, no hesitation. I can hear Annie’s footsteps behind me, trying to catch up. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Normally, I would say this is the opposite of a good idea, but right now, what other options do I have? “She sees everything in this neighborhood. She writes it all down in a damn notebook.”
“Yes, and she also called the police and told them you murdered your husband and loaded him into your car. She’s not exactly your biggest fan.”
But she is Luca’s, I remind myself. I’m halfway across the yard when a truck pulls up behind me. For a moment I think it’s Luca, but it isn’t his work truck, it’s Crash’s.
“I was down the street,” he says, swinging both feet to the ground. He closes the door behind him and jogs over to us. He’s wearing a tie, and not even the kind printed on the front of a novelty T-shirt, either. “Nothing yet?”
“Crash, I don’t have time right now. I need to find Luca.”
“That’s why I’m here.” His eyes track the direction we were headed. “You’re going to Betty’s?”
“Yes, we are. She might have seen something.” Annie’s gaze sweeps down his body. “I see you own more than one shirt.”
“And I see you noticed,” he says with a grin, before turning to me. “And no offense, Em, but Betty doesn’t like you.”
“But she likes you?” Annie says.
“Let’s just say we have a certain rapport.”
They’re still arguing when I turn to cross the yard, taking Betty’s steps two at a time before ringing the doorbell. Not that the doorbell is even necessary; I’m certain she already knows I’m here. I hear Annie and Crash right behind me.
A few moments later, the front door opens, and Mrs. Caldwell stands stiffly in the opening. “Hello, Emery.”
“Betty—”
She folds her arms across her chest. “I would rather you refer to me as Mrs. Caldwell,” she says firmly.
Well, okay. I share a look with Annie, who wordlessly tells me to keep my shit together. “Mrs. Caldwell,” I say through a clenched jaw. “I was wondering if you’ve seen Luca today.”
“Today?” she repeats, eyes wide, her tone leaving no question she thinks I’m a terrible wife, never mind a liar.
She lifts her wrist, making a show of checking the time on a thin gold watch.
“It’s after six at night, Emery. Are you telling me you haven’t seen your husband all day?
First you lose your dog and now your husband. Goodness.”
Next to me, Annie puts a placating hand on my forearm to keep me from losing my shit at this.
“Mrs. Caldwell,” she says calmly. “My name is Annabella Rodriguez, and I’m a colleague of Emery’s. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Annie offers a hand to Mrs. Caldwell, who reluctantly reaches out to take it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Annabella.”
“Please, call me Annie.”
“Thank you, Annie. You can call me Betty.”
I try not to gape at this.
“And you know me, Mrs. Caldwell,” Crash says with a wave from behind us.
Betty peers at him for a solid five seconds. “You’re wearing a shirt, I see.”
“I’ve got a new client meeting today. I’m Crispin, by the way. I’m not sure I ever properly introduced myself.” He reaches a hand between us and offers it to her. She hesitates briefly before shaking it.
“Thank you, Crispin. I’m Betty.”
This is really getting insulting.
“So, Betty,” Annie starts. “Both Emery and Luca were home this morning, but Emery was called into a meeting at work. When we got back to her house a half hour ago, Luca was gone. The thing is, he’s still not back and he’s not answering his phone.”
“Perhaps he finally came to his senses and left,” Betty says haughtily.
“Does that sound like something Luca would do?” Annie asks.
This seems to pierce Mrs. Caldwell’s hostile shell, and she deflates a little.
“I know you don’t like me,” I say. “And believe me, I get it. I’m not always the most likeable person, especially when compared to my husband. He’s warm and funny, generous and selfless. Which is also why you adore him, I know. He’s always been the best part of my life.”
My chin trembles and I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. “I’m really worried about him, Mrs. Caldwell. And because you keep an eye on what’s happening in the neighborhood, I’m hoping you saw something that might help us figure out where he is.”
Mrs. Caldwell glances between the three of us and seems to consider this.
The longest fifteen seconds of my life pass by, and I berate myself for being a terrible wife and neighbor.
This woman is probably just lonely, and if I hadn’t been the one she suspected of murder, I’d be thanking her for looking out for my husband when I didn’t.
I should thank her. No wonder Luca was going to leave me, no wonder he—
“Call me Betty,” she says, her voice like a record scratch to my self-loathing. With a sigh, she steps back and motions behind her. “And come in before everyone sees you. You all look like the world’s rattiest Girl Scout troop. I have some things I want to show you.”
The houses in Rancho Amaro are all different.
It’s rare for Southern California and one of the things I loved about the neighborhood when we first saw it.
Some of the houses are massive, some are small, some are complete modern remodels, while others maintain at least a nod to the sixties, when they were built.
Betty’s house is clean and well-maintained, but walking into it is like entering a time machine.
I have never seen so many curio cabinets.
“Have a seat,” she tells us, motioning to a floral sofa in the front sitting room. “I’ll be right back.”
She disappears around a wall covered in framed photos of children and grandchildren, weddings, and a young old-timey couple standing in front of a huge naval ship.
In front of us is a large picture window, the rose-colored drapes held open by a tassel, while a panel of sheer gauzy fabric filters the sunlight. From that window you can see most of my driveway, the sidewalk, and the three houses across the street. No wonder she never misses anything.
“This is something else,” Annie says, taking in the space. Crash helps himself to a gumdrop from a crystal dish on the table.
Betty comes back with a cell phone and a laptop that both look fairly new.
Setting the laptop on a lace doily on the coffee table, she opens it, bringing up her security system with surprising speed, considering she’s probably in her seventies.
Luca’s mom is about twenty years younger and still calls Luca to ask questions about her voicemail.
Just like with the security system at BioNEX, the screen splits into views from different security cameras around Betty’s house, and—wow, there are a lot of them.
Some are pointed at Betty’s yard, but others—most of them, really—are directed at the neighboring yards.
Mine included.
I want to be offended on behalf of the entire neighborhood, but if it helps us find Luca, I’ll help her calibrate each and every one of these fucking cameras. Unsurprisingly, none of them captures anything as far as the end of the street.
“My son set this all up,” Betty says sheepishly.
Reading all of our expressions, she quickly changes the subject.
“You say Luca must have left while you were gone?” She picks up a notebook on a table by the window.
There are a lot of notebooks, all different colors, probably spanning years.
Maybe decades. “What time would that have been?”
“I left around two,” I tell her. “Got home around four-thirty.”
She opens the notebook and sits on the couch next to me. “Okay, at 3:13 Crispin and another truck came over.” She moves her finger down the paper. “They both had Luca’s logo on the side, but the second truck had a dent on the front fender.” My eyes go wide. Betty really does log everything.
“That’d be Tony,” Crash offers. “He’s an idiot. Pardon my language, Betty.”
“Thank you, Crispin.” She lifts her chin, saying, “Annie, dear, can you scroll through to find that timestamp on the camera marked number four?”
Annie clicks on the laptop’s mouse pad and fast-forwards the security footage to 3:13 p.m. Sure enough, Crash pulls into the driveway in Luca’s work truck and disappears into the garage.
Right behind him, another truck parks at the end of the driveway and waits.
A few minutes later, Crash goes out the front door and hops into the waiting truck, which drives away.
Annie fast-forwards fifteen minutes… a half hour… and then stops when Luca’s truck appears again, this time backing out. Luca is visible behind the wheel for a split second before it’s gone, too.
“So, we’ve confirmed he left in his truck, but where did he go?” Annie asks.
I stare at the screen, asking myself the same question. A thought occurs to me. “Betty, did you see anything on your cameras after we came over and asked about Honey the other day? Maybe someone bringing her back?”
“I didn’t log anything, but let’s look.” Sitting between us, Betty goes to the footage for July twenty-fourth and scrolls through the different timestamps with a practiced ease. “Here you two are.”
In a view of Betty’s porch, you can see me and Luca standing, talking to her. On the small screen, Luca puts his arm around me. My breath catches in my throat.
“If a camera detects movement, it starts recording,” she tells us, pointing to another view.
“This is the sidewalk in front of your house.” It’s not a great view; only a small section is visible near Betty’s edge of the yard.
While we’re on one camera, another one captures a man moving down the sidewalk across the street, walking his dog.
But he doesn’t pass my house; he slows in front of the driveway before cutting across and going to our side gate. “That’s Honey,” I say.
Betty leans forward. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. We got back to the house, and she was just there, in the backyard. He’s bringing her back when we are literally next door.
” I huff out an irate laugh. Betty missed it and we missed it, too, because we were all arguing.
“We wondered if somehow she’d been in the yard the whole time.
” I can’t see the guy’s face, though, because of his hat.
“Betty, do you have any other views of this guy?”
“I’d imagine I do,” she tells us.
Annie, who’s been clicking between different cameras, blurts, “I’ve got it.” It’s the view from the very edge of Betty’s garage.
“Can you zoom in?” I ask. Annie enlarges the image just as the man turns his head. I can’t be seeing this right. He has a ponytail tucked into the collar of his shirt.
“Holy shit,” Annie says. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Sure is.” I am almost positive that the man I’m looking at is Vincent Barker.
Betty leans forward. “Maybe this is the man in the white car.”
I swing my gaze to hers. “The one Luca said he talked to before the cops came to our house?”
She nods.
“He said the driver was considering buying in the area,” I say, thinking aloud.
“And I told him that there aren’t any houses for sale in Rancho Amaro. Which he should have remembered,” she says pointedly. “Frankly, I think that man was just snooping around.”
“Annie, what kind of car does Vince drive?”
“A Tesla. It’s white.” She looks over at me. “I need you to say it out loud: Are we thinking the same thing?”
“You mean that Vince has been skulking around my neighborhood? That he took Honey?”
“And brought her back?” Annie asks. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
My mind is racing. “Honey was missing a small chunk of hair on her front leg. It looked like she’d had blood drawn. But why would he do that?”
“Possibly to draw blood and run a sample through mass spec,” she says. “To get the chemical makeup of Compound Y.”
“That wouldn’t work, would it? It’s been weeks since she was injected. I’m sure any chemical traces were metabolized a long time ago. And because of her weight, her dosage was relatively small. But Luca…”
“Don’t worry, I have no idea what they’re saying, either,” Crash says to Betty.
“Are you thinking—” Annie starts.
“That Vince had something to do with Luca’s accident? That he’s responsible for his death? I have no idea how, but yes,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Luca’s death?” Betty looks between us and then to Crash. When nobody answers, she reaches for her phone. “Okay, friends. Are you going to tell me what’s really going on, or am I calling my old friends at the San Diego Sheriff’s Department again?”