“Definitely. He treated me like a princess. We were vacationing in Cancún. Things were great.”
“You only knew him seven months.” He looked around at the empty space. “And you already bought a house together.”
“So things moved a little fast. That’s not a crime, but some kind of crime has happened here. Look around. Everything is missing! He’s missing.”
“How did you meet?”
“We were on the same flights to and from Dallas a few times. Finally, we started talking and became friends. Does this really matter?”
“And then you bought a place together?”
“Yes. We’ve lived here a few months now. It was an excellent investment. That’s what he does. Investments. Financial planning. That kind of stuff. You need to get people looking for him. He’s not answering his phone and no one is answering at his office either.”
“Can you give me those numbers?”
“Yes, sure.” She swept through her contacts and read them to the officer.
“What’s his office address?”
“Um, I’m not exactly sure. I know how to get there, but I don’t have the address in my phone.”
“And the crime you think has been committed?”
“I’m not even entirely sure. We’ve been robbed at the very least. Marc is missing. I can’t even take this all in.” Her body tensed at the possibilities.
And there it began, what felt like hundreds of questions. Or maybe it was only tens of questions that were re-asked in seven ways to a month of Sundays, because she felt like she was repeating what little she knew over and over.
From the corner of her eye, she saw her neighbor, Mrs. Brooks, approaching.
The woman race-walked toward Natalie. “I can’t believe my eyes. I told Frank that was you.” The woman turned to the officer. “Marc told us she’d been in a horrible accident. That she died!” The woman threw her arms around Natalie. “Thank God you’re alive!”
Natalie stiffened under the crying woman’s grasp. They hadn’t been close.
“Pardon me?” The officer glanced at Natalie and then back to the woman. “You know each other?”
“She lives next door,” said Natalie.
“Yes. Lived here since the houses were first built,” Mrs. Brooks said.
She stepped back from Mrs. Brooks. “You’ve seen Marc this week? When?”
“He was a mess,” Mrs. Brooks said, holding a hand to her heart. “Clearly, there’s been some mistake. You look fine. Better than ever, I always thought you were too pale.” The woman turned back to the officer. “I’m Joan Brooks. I sent my Frank over with a Tupperware of my famous cookies the day they moved in. They are such a nice couple. We’ve been friends ever since.” She patted Natalie’s hand. “She never returned the container, but you know people are like that these days. No offense, honey.”
Natalie pulled her hands together. “He came back because of an issue at the office. Why would Marc say I’d been in an accident? He knew when I was coming back. He booked the ticket.”
Mrs. Brooks withdrew. “I have no idea.” Her eyes darted back to the officer. “Frank said, don’t go over upsetting things, but I was just so happy to see that she was okay.” She turned back to Natalie. “I wasn’t sure why you’d be here, with the lease up and everything. I thought maybe you were confused after the accident or something. Is there something I can do to help you?”
“Wait. The lease? Mrs. Brooks, you’re confused. Marc and Iown this home.” The words came out in a rush. “More importantly, when did you see Marc? When? Tell us.”
“Ma’am.” The policeman raised his hand for Natalie to take a pause, which she did, but she wasn’t happy about it. Her hands shook, her heart rate as unsteady as a balloon flying across the room when you let go before tying the knot.
It felt as if the more Mrs. Brooks said, the less Natalie knew for sure.
The officer scribbled on his notepad, then dipped his chin toward the mic on his shoulder, calling for backup at 4410 Landover Lane.
Her senses became like goo swirling in a way that left her unsure if she was up or down.
Chapter Three
