“Ma’am, maybe you shouldn’t go back in there until the police get here.” The taxi driver begged her to stay put, his hand touching her elbow.
Natalie jerked her arm away. “It’s my house. There has to be an explanation. A house doesn’t empty itself, and—” She shrugged. “It’s like it’s never been lived in.” She reached out and touched the wall. “There was a scuff on this wall. I hit it with my suitcase the day we left.”
She started up the stairs.
The taxi driver followed a sheepish two or three steps behind.
“Marc!” Her voice echoed back. There wasn’t a single picture on the wall, and for all the decorating she’d done over the past few months, you couldn’t tell there’d ever been a nail.
“I lived here. Two weeks ago, this was my home,” she said, but the driver just stood there with a look of bewilderment onhis face. She tried to make him understand. “Furniture, paintings. Dirty clothes in the hamper.”
She opened the bedroom closet. Stark beige walls and empty dark cherry shelving greeted her. One wooden rod on his side, two on hers. Not one single hanger. She flipped the light switch. Even the lightbulbs were gone.
A loud bang came from downstairs. “Police.”
She ran down the stairs. “Thank goodness you’re here.” She almost slipped down the last step.
The taxi driver hightailed it right past her with nothing more than a nod to the officer. He was probably headed to the closest bar, if she had to guess. She hadn’t tipped him near enough for all of this.
“My boyfriend is missing,” she blurted out.
“How long has he been missing?”
“And my credit card didn’t work.”Was that connected to this somehow too?“Look!Everythingis missing.”
The officer looked past her into the empty house, then stared at her for a long moment. “How long has he been missing? An hour, a day, a week?”
“I have no idea. I just got home. That guy…” She pointed to the driver slipping behind the wheel of the taxi in the driveway. “He just dropped me off from the airport. We’d been on vacation.”
The officer’s brow lifted.
“Not me and the taxi driver. Me and my boyfriend, Marc. He left on Monday, because of an issue at the office. We haven’t spoken since then, but that’s not unusual. He’s a busy man.” She took out her phone and called his office. No answer there either.
“Yes, ma’am. Is this his house?”
“Yes. No. It’s both of ours. We lived here together.”
“How long do you think he’s been missing?”
“Since sometime between Monday and this minute. Or yesterday. Long enough for someone to clear out this place. This house was full of stuff when I left. Everything I own. Marc’s not answering his phone, and no one is answering at his office either. We have to find him.”
The officer looked past her into the room. “And you lived here. Together?”
“Yes. For months now. What does that even matter?”
“Areyouthe owner of the house?”
“I told you we lived here together. It’s investment property. We went in on it together. Both our names are on the deed. I own another house in town too.”
He pulled out a notebook and clicked his pen. “What’s your name?”
“Natalie Maynard.”
“Marc’s last name, and how long have you known him?”
“Marc Swindell. S as in Sam, w-i-n-d-e-l-l. Seven months, I guess. What does that matter?”
“Just trying to get the details. Were you getting along?”
