AllFreeNovel
Share Us
June, Present Day
Maple Ridge
* * *
My phone rings from my coffee table. I stop pacing, snatch it up, and check the screen.
Shit. It’s Simone, not Jess.
I go back to pacing and accept the call. “Hey, Simone.” Disappointment clings to my words. “What’s up?”
“Do you know where Jess is?”
“No, I’ve been trying to figure that out myself. She has my truck, but she’s not at her place. Bailey and Butterscotch aren’t there either.”
“Butterscotch is at Grams’s. She phoned me because Jess left Butterscotch with her five hours ago but hasn’t returned. And now Grams is worried.”
The concern coursing through me a moment ago spikes to full out worry and fear. “Did Jess tell her where she was going?”
“No. She told Grams that Bailey somehow ended up eating poison and has to stay at the vet clinic overnight. That’s all Grams knows.”
“Do you have any idea where Jess might be?”
“No. I texted Em and Zara to see if they’ve seen or heard from her. They also have no idea where she could be, and she isn’t answering any of our texts.”
“What about Violet Wilson? She and Jess were in yoga together. And I know they’ve met up for coffee a few times.” I don’t know Violet personally, but I do know she’s married to that asshole I went to school with. That asshole who liked to bully me as a kid.
“You don’t by any chance know Violet’s phone number, do you?” Simone asks. Jasper’s bark comes from her end of the line.
“Nope. But Rose is in yoga with them. Maybe she can ask their instructor for Violet’s number.”
“I’ll try that,” Simone says. “Thanks.”
“Let me know what you find out.”
Five minutes later, Simone texts to tell me Rose got Violet’s number from their yoga instructor, but Violet isn’t answering her phone. We’re no closer to figuring out where Jess went than we were ten minutes ago.
And she has my truck, so I can’t exactly drive around town searching for her.
I call Noah’s cell. “Hey, can you help me?” I explain the situation to him. “Can you check if my truck’s been involved in an accident?”
“Sure. Give me a moment. What’s your license plate number?”
I tell him, and he phones back after a few minutes to let me know nothing’s been reported.
“Let me know if you need any help locating her,” he prompts.
“If you can keep an eye out for her, that would be great. I don’t know if I’m overreacting”—because I’m in love with her—“or if my gut instinct is right and something’s wrong.” The twisting in my gut is the same feeling I’d get in the Marines right before things went to hell. The way the air molecules seem to shift and shrink and splinter.
“Will do. You might want to fill in a missing persons report. Have you checked the hospital in case she’s there?” There’s a solemn quality to his tone, like he’s hoping he’s wrong—she hasn’t been injured and is unable to talk—but he still has to ask.
“I’ll try that next.” I thank Noah and call the hospital.
“I’m sorry,” the woman on the other end of the phone replies, “but we can’t tell you anything. Patient confidentiality.”
“So you’re saying she is there but you can’t tell me anything?” I ask.
“No, I’m saying unless you’re family, I can’t release any information. Period.”
