“Chef?It’s Daniela Agudelo from class.I’m so sorry to call this late.”
“Daniela?”His voice sharpens.“Is there news?”
“Not exactly.”I pace to the window.“I found out Belinda was messaging someone online.She arranged to meet him the night of the sleepover with Gwen.”
There’s a pause on the line.“Messaging…?”
“Yes.They were supposed to meet outside your house.Around three a.m.”
“What?”His voice cracks.“No, no, that can’t be.I told the police everything.I haven’t seen her since that morning.Gwen is so upset.She’s been crying nearly nonstop.But I swear I’ve told you everything I know.”
“I believe you,” I say quickly.“I just need to confirm something.Do you have exterior cameras?A Ring doorbell?Anything?”
“Yes, yes, of course.Two in the back, one out front.”He hesitates.“You think this man actually came to my house?”
“I don’t know.But if he did, there might be footage.”
Chef exhales heavily.“All right.I’ll check it all out in the morning.”
“The morning?”I gasp into the phone.“I can’t sleep.Not until I know if someone was there and Belinda met with him.Please, Chef.I know it’s a lot to ask, but can I drive over now?Can we?—”
“Daniela—”
“Please, Chef.Please.”
A long pause.
Until—
“Okay.Fine.I’ll check the feeds now.”
“I want to see them.”
“Daniela…”
“Please, Chef.”Then, before he can protest again, “I’m on my way.”I end the call.
I might be getting an F this semester.
Who the fuck cares?This is way more important.
And Chef is a decent guy, as far as I can tell.He won’t hold this over me.
Vinnie crosses his arms.“You’re not going alone.”
“Yes, I am,” I say.“You two need rest.And if the cops find out I went poking around again, they’ll lose it.I’ll just look at the footage, get a time stamp, and bring it back.”
Raven frowns.“Be careful.”
“I will.Chef Charleston is a good man.I’ll be perfectly safe.”
The drive to the Charlestons’ place is dark and quiet, the kind of silence that feels thick enough to touch.Every shadow looks like a threat.Every mile stretches longer than the last.
I keep replaying Belinda’s chatter from that morning—her laughter, her bright eyes, the bright orange cheeseball dust on her shirt.And beneath it, the nagging image of her slipping out a back door under the cover of night.
By the time I reach the Charleston property, my stomach’s a knot.
The front gate clicks open automatically, the security light spilling over the driveway.Chef Charleston is waiting at the door, hair tousled.His eyes are tired but kind.
