her palm or pressed to one of her ears. If her car broke down on the way home, if she’s sitting on the edge of a highway with a flat tire and no clue how to switch it for the spare, she would have called roadside assistance, and then she would have called me.
Assuming she’s conscious.
My skin snaps tight at the thought of her bleeding on the side of the road or worse, floating facedown in the Arkansas River. I picture her bobbing in the currents or caught in the reeds that line our backyard. I see some sicko dragging her into the show house, her heels digging into the brand-new hardwood floor. Screaming into the empty house.
I’ve never loved the thought of her showing houses to complete strangers. It was one of the sticking points between us when she took this job, the idea that anyone could come by pretending to be a prospective client. What if a prisoner escaped from Randall Williams? What if he had a knife or a gun? She might as well put a sign out front and a target on her back. Pretty broker, here for the taking.
I pull out my phone and call her again.
“Sabine, seriously. This isn’t funny. Where are you? I get that you’re still mad at me, but at least shoot me a text so I know you’re breathing. I’m really worried here. I’m giving you one more hour, and then I’m calling the police.”
I hang up and haul in a deep, calming breath, but it doesn’t help. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is yet. I just know that something is very, very wrong.
I pull up the number for her sister.
Ingrid picks up on the first ring, like she’d been lying there with her finger hovering above the screen, waiting for it to light up with a call. Her voice is gruff and insistent: “Hullo!” Not a question, said with an upward lilt at the end, like how a normal person answers the phone, but a demand. More grunt than word. How these two women share the same DNA is one of God’s great mysteries.
“Ingrid, it’s Jeffrey. Sorry to call at this hour, but—”
“I have caller ID, Jeffrey. Put Sabine on the phone.”
I close my eyes and inhale, long and steady. “That’s the reason I’m calling you in the middle of the night. I don’t know where she is.”
“What do you mean you don’t know where she is? She’s not with you?”
“She didn’t come home after her showing, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Jesus, Jeffrey. And you’re just calling me now? What the hell have you been doing all this time?” I hear a rustling of fabric, the high-pitched squeal of bedsprings. Ingrid lives alone, in a condo a couple of miles from here, I’m sure because nobody else can stand to share a roof with her. “Who else have you called?”
“Nobody. You’re the first.” And already, I’m regretting it. Talking to Ingrid is like chewing on glass—you just know it’s going to be painful.
“Do you know the number for her boss?” I say. “She had that late showing tonight, so maybe Russ will know what’s going on.”
“Russ?” Ingrid’s voice is clipped with exasperation. “Russ moved to Little Rock in December. You should try Lisa.”
“Who?”
“Lisa O’Brien. Sabine’s boss?” She pauses for my reply, but I don’t know what to say. Sabine has a new boss? Since when? “Oh my God, do the two of you even talk? This all happened months ago.”
I huff a sigh into the phone, done pussyfooting around Ingrid’s shitty attitude. “Do you have Lisa’s phone number or not?”
“Not.” A door slams. A car engine starts. “Call the police, Jeffrey. I’m on my way.”
* * *
When early on in our relationship Sabine told me she had a twin, I remember thinking how lucky she was, how lucky I was. Somewhere out there was a carbon copy of this woman, the yin to her lovely yang. The idea felt like a novelty. Two Sabines for the price of one.
And then I met Ingrid, and the dislike was both instant and mutual. This was right around the time they buried their father, and their mom was starting to repeat the same tired stories often enough that the sisters noticed. In those first few weeks, I attributed Ingrid’s testiness to grief, to worry. I gave her a pass.
But Ingrid was accustomed to being the most important person in her sister’s life, and she made it clear she wasn’t