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 manturns 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’sdeath?” 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?”
43EMERY
Do it,” Annie says, folding her arms across her chest. “In fact, I dare you.”
“Are you insane?” I shout at her and then turn to Betty. “No, Betty. Don’t. Annie is clearly having some kind of mental breakdown.”
“No, I’m not. It’s time to call the police, Emery. We are in way over our heads.”
“And say what? That Luca died but is totally fine now? What crime would we report? That Vince brought my dog back?”
Behind me, Betty holds up the phone and dramatically starts dialing. “Nine… one…”
Fuck.
We reluctantly explain everything. Betty is probably the same age as my grandmother—a woman who still signs her text messagesLove, Grannyand who refuses to use a debit card because she insists writing checks is simpler—but Betty barely blinks at any of it.
“So, what I’m hearing,” she says, clasping her hands primly in her lap, “is that I was right to be suspicious, and Luca really was killed.”
“That whole crazy story andthat’swhat you got out of it?” Annie says. “That you were right?”
