“Dylan, Washington is a huge school. Thousands of people have that sweatshirt.”
“I know, but that’s Washington. This is Florida. I’ve never seen another one here.”
“Okay. So you know the sweatshirt. Why is it a big deal?”
“Because why would it be here? He’s been gone for months.”
Casey took a deep breath, trying to keep her patience. “Dylan, whose sweatshirt is it?”
“The old instructor from the Flamingo.”
Casey’s mouth fell open. “Which one?”
“Two before you. The nice guy who knew nothing about exercise. His name was Richie Miller.”
Chapter Thirty
“Richie?” Casey’s head spun. “What is Richie’s sweatshirt doing here? Whose house is this? Rosa, su casa?”
Rosa shook her head. “No, no. Maria.”
“Maria?” Casey looked at Dylan. “Why is Richie’s sweatshirt in Maria’s house? And where’s Maria?”
Dylan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he left it behind and Maria grabbed it out of lost and found because she liked it.”
No. Maria was not the kind of woman to wear a man’s sweatshirt, or to give away lost and found items. She wore tailored business suits and completely put-together female clothes. The kind that were in the other bedroom.
Casey took a deep breath and looked around, her suspicions growing stronger. This was definitely not a home invasion. This was a panicked woman taking her family and running. Something must have made her believe her illegal status was about to be discovered. But why would Richie be running with her? If, indeed, it was Richie.
“Rosa, who lived here with Maria?”
Rosa blinked at her without comprehension.
Casey slowed it down. “Maria’s children? Ninas?”
“Si. Dos.” She held up two fingers.
“Anyone else? Just tres people?”
She brightened. “No, no. Quatro.”
Casey glanced at Dylan, who looked just as curious as she. “Who?” she asked Rosa. “Who made it quatro? A man?” Casey held up the sweatshirt.
Rosa nodded. “Si.”
“Was his name Richie?”
Rosa nodded, then froze, her hand going over her mouth. She then gushed forth with another slew of desperate Spanish.
Casey tried to take it in. Richie was living here. With Maria. And writing notes to Andrea about how “she” was so grateful and it would only take “a few more weeks.”
Whatever it meant, this connected Maria to Andrea in a way that was impossible to dispute.
Casey took out her phone and dialed Binns, praying she’d answer this time.
“This is Binns.”
“Where have you been?”
“Ms. Gray?”
“Listen. I have a lot to tell you, but first, I’ve discovered something you need to see.”
She told her the address, and ten minutes later Casey and Dylan were leaning on the Corolla out front when Binns and Gomez pulled up. Casey had put Rosa in the back seat, with the door open, where she alternately cried and stared into space.
Binns and Gomez parked behind Dylan’s car. Binns got out, eying the house, their little group, and the neighborhood. Gomez came to stand directly in front of Casey, looking down at her.
Casey kept her eyes on Binns, trying to ignore Gomez’s presence, until Binns had finished her visual inspection and come to stand beside her.
“Tell me,” Binns said.
Casey inched back from Gomez, explained Rosa’s phone call about what she’d thought was a burglary, and pointed out Rosa herself, who was in one of her staring into space moments. Casey went on to describe the discovery of Richie’s sweatshirt, and Rosa’s admittance that he’d been living at the house, which belonged to Maria Mendez.
“That’s all I can get from her, though,” Casey said. “She’ll only speak in Spanish, and I’m not fluent enough to catch much.”
Binns jerked her chin, and Gomez knelt beside Rosa. His voice was low and comforting, rising and falling with Spanish cadences. Rosa let out a sob, then began talking again, in halting spurts. Casey wanted to lay her hand on Gomez’ broad back, to steal some of that comfort for herself, to feel the vibration of his voice.
Binns waved her hand under Casey’s nose. “Hey. Gray. Any idea why Rosa called you?”
“She used Dylan’s phone.”
“What?”
Dylan gave a half smile. “I lost my phone in the gym today. She must have picked it up. She works there.”
“And she knows me,” Casey said. “At least, by name. I might have been the only one in his contact list she would feel comfortable calling.”
“About a burglary.”
“What she thought was a burglary.”
“And you came over here and went inside. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to do that? Don’t you watch TV?”
“No. Anyway, I wanted to be sure Rosa wasn’t in danger, that there wasn’t someone still in the house with her. I didn’t touch anything with my hands except