The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,82
Martin can only pull so many strings.
Her email said she wanted to talk about Becca, so we’ll talk about Becca. But I don’t care if she reveals she made herself invisible and was in the basement with us that night. I’m not going to admit a damn thing. Besides, if she thinks she knows, why hasn’t she gone to the police? Why this game?
The minutes tick slowly by. At nine, the parking lot’s still empty. Five more minutes pass. No Lauren. I worry the steering wheel over and over again. At quarter after, I open my car door, swinging one leg out.
“Hello?”
The word echoes on and on. And there’s not a sound in return. I don’t understand. Why set up a meeting and not show? I told her at the hotel I’d see her tonight. Did she change her mind? Is she watching me from somewhere? Maybe she’s in one of the buildings. But I’m here, so why isn’t she coming out?
I step all the way out but leave the door open. Stand with arms akimbo, fingers wide. Spin in a slow circle, aiming for nonthreatening. Here I am. Come and get me.
I sense movement behind me and spin around. There’s someone standing at the window. Someone on the side of the building. I look closer. Only shadows and nothing more. More movement, behind me again. The suggestion of a shoulder, of an arm, hiding behind the front door of that building? My skin prickles with goose bumps.
No.
This is my imagination running wild in the darkness. There are too many gaping windows. Too much broken glass. This was pointless. No one’s here. It’s twenty after nine. She said nine o’clock. I’m not going to sit here all night. Fuck that. Fuck her.
Back in my car, I slam the door. My heart is racing; my mouth is filled with bitter panic. I tap the side of the phone on my lower lip. Should I email and ask where she is? Why she isn’t here? Is this a new game or part of the same? Does she really think I’ll wait forever?
More movement to my left, but it’s nothing. A whole business park of nothing. My tires kick arcs of pebbles as I drive away. Before I turn out of the lot, I give it one last scan. No Lauren. No one at all.
* * *
I call the hotel first thing but hang up before anyone answers. I’ve already called twice. Sure, I got lucky because I called on different days and spoke with two different clerks, but I doubt people call about the housekeepers on a regular basis unless it’s to bitch about something missing from their room or not enough towels during their stay. And I sincerely doubt they call about specific housekeepers.
Instead, I send Lauren an email: I WAITED FOR YOU, BUT YOU DIDN’T SHOW UP. By the end of the day, there’s still no reply.
It’s Ryan’s turn to meet with someone tonight—his brother—for drinks after dinner. Or maybe this is our new code for lying about our evening plans. Pot, this is kettle. I pick up dinner from Panera on my way home.
In the kitchen, I set the bag on the counter in front of the toaster oven, our usual spot for takeout. The bag slips off the edge. I grab. And miss. There’s a liquid thud, and the side of the bag goes dark. Goodbye, French onion soup and Greek salad. Hello, whatever I can scrounge from the cabinets and fridge. A wad of paper towels later, I figure out the reason behind the mishap: the toaster’s about six inches away from the wall.
Thanks a lot, Ryan.
He also pulled out the fruit basket and the coffeemaker. I don’t see anything different with the backsplash or the counter, and I think he would’ve mentioned a problem he had to repair, even with the way things are between us right now. Unless he just forgot.
But upstairs in our room, one side of my dresser is tugged forward an inch or two. The same with my nightstand. The comforter on my side of the bed is folded back. Yet I made the bed neatly this morning.
The clothes in my top dresser drawer seem fine, but in the second drawer my T-shirts are leaning toward the center, as though someone placed a hand there and whisked it around. The clothes in my other drawers show signs of being touched as well. Everything is in its place in my jewelry box, even