And he held open the door of that car that looked like a ride at the county fair.
Chapter Four
At the Cracker Barrel, Emile found exactly what he expected—nothing. Cameron Snow wasn’t there and hadn’t been there. All the wait staff knew Emile from his visits there with Glaz, and he talked to each of them, showing a picture that he’d found on Snow’s website and saved to his phone. They had all been on duty the entire morning and were very sure they hadn’t seen him. Barbara Ann from the Shell station was the only one who had come in for takeout coffee, and she had gotten a sausage biscuit, too.
It would have been better if Amy had stayed in the car, but there was no stopping her from going in. As Emile questioned person after person, Amy deflated a little more and grew a little more demoralized—and shocked.
But Emile wasn’t shocked. He wasn’t even surprised. He’d begun to put it all together. He hadn’t come up with an answer, but this man was not dead, hurt, kidnapped, or detained. He was gone.
Maybe. Or maybe he’d never been here in the first place. Amy claimed he was her fiancé, but she wore no ring. Maybe she was delusional. His gut told him that wasn’t true, but life had taught him that his gut wasn’t very reliable.
He turned to Amy. “What would you like to do?” Because he might have shortcomings and plenty of them, but he damned sure wasn’t going to leave a woman standing in Cracker Barrel in the middle of all those cast iron cooking pots and T-shirts with writing on them.
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do. Should I go back to Piece by Piece, so he can find me when he turns up? I know the police won’t do anything yet.”
“Maybe you could call his parents? Do they live here?” That would be great. Maybe they would come get her.
“No. They were killed in a boating accident the year Cameron played for Kansas City. That’s why he had such a bad year.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“No. An only child. I don’t know anyone to call.”
What kind of man had no friends? Or maybe he did—parents and siblings, too, but Amy didn’t know them because she didn’t really know him.
Amy covered her face with her hands. “What I really wish is that I could go home.”
An excellent idea. “Why can’t you? I will take you there. Didn’t you say you lived in Nashville?”
“Yes. In Sound Town. Star View Towers.”
Well, that was interesting. “That’s where I live.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you.”
“A big building. Lots of people. What floor?”
“Eight. Unit D. You?”
“The fourteenth floor,” he answered.
“What unit?”
“All of it.”
“Ah.”
“Let me take you there. Perhaps Cameron went back there. Maybe he forgot something?”
She looked hopeful. “Do you really think so?”
Emile did not. Either Cameron didn’t exist—at least in Amy’s world—or he was in the wind.
He smiled and put a hand on Amy’s arm. “Come. Let’s get you home.”
• • •
Home. Somehow, Amy thought if she could just get home, everything would be all right. Even if Cameron hadn’t gone back there, maybe there would be a note or some kind of clue.
Maybe he’d had a client emergency and he’d had to return home to deal with it—or maybe even fly to the West Coast or New England. Probably California. His biggest client, Reynolds Fallon, played for the 49ers and Cameron had been spending a lot of time there lately. Maybe he’d left her a voice mail or email telling her he’d pick her up later, but her phone had gone wonky. He wouldn’t know that.
Yes. If she could just get home, even if he wasn’t there, she could check her email on her laptop or tablet. Next she’d get her cell phone straightened out. Then everything would make sense again.
Maybe. Or maybe she’d just drink a bottle of wine and pass out on the couch. Sofa. Cameron didn’t like for her to say couch. He thought sofa sounded classier.
Emile pulled into the underground parking garage. Maybe she should ask him to drive by their reserved parking spots. But no. He was already pulling into his own spot—which was right by the lobby doors. She could still ask him. He’d do it, but why bother? The real answers were inside.
He helped her out of the car and held the lobby door for her.
“How did you get such a good parking place?” Amy asked. “Ours are all the way on the other side.”
“Sometimes things just happen. Sometimes it’s good.” He shrugged. “Sometimes not so much.”
That was the truth—especially that last part and especially today.
Amy preceded Emile into the lobby. She had been in many luxury condos, but she’d never wanted to live in one. She was more of a house-with-a-porch-and-yard person, a house like the one she’d grown up in. But Cameron loved all the amenities—the fitness center, Olympic-size pool, in-building restaurants and shops, and around the clock security and concierge service. Those things just gave Amy the feeling that she was staying in an overgrown hotel.
Speaking of the concierge—Lila was behind the desk today. The lobby was relatively quiet, and Lila looked their way immediately. Maybe she had a sixth sense, or maybe it was the noise they made on the marble floor. Probably the floor. That’s why they’d picked it. No sneaking.
Lila looked surprised—probably because they were together. “Mr. Giroux. Ms. Callahan?” There was a definitely a question in Lila’s voice and narrowing of her eyes when she said Amy’s name. “Is everything in order?”
“Of course.” No, Lila, it’s not. Can you find Mr. Snow for me? He says the concierge staff at Star View Towers never fails. So produce him, speedy quick. Please.
“Bonjour, Lila,” Emile said. “I like the pumpkins that you have used to decorate. And those yellow flowers. Nice.”
She smiled. “Mums. Thank you, but I didn’t do it. We contract that out.”
“Ah, Lila! I thought you did everything here.” Despite his running commentary, Amy had to give Emile credit. He never slowed his steps but continued to move them toward the elevator.
Amy beat Emile to the keypad and punched in her code—except it didn’t work. She tried again. Nothing. Credit card. Debit card. Phone. Now elevator security code. Her heart began to pound, which was a comfort. At least her heart was still working.
“Let me,” Emile said quietly as he punched in his own code. The elevator door opened immediately.
When the doors opened again on her floor, Amy turned to Emile. “I can’t thank you enough, but I can take it from here.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Can you?” He followed her out of the elevator. Amy had the feeling there was no stopping him, so she didn’t even try.
Please, let Cameron be there. Please, let this all be some silly misunderstanding. She reached into her bag and brought out her key fob, but just she was about to unlock the door—with Emile right behind her—the door swung open.
Cameron! But no. It was a member of the Star View maintenance staff who stepped out. Shane. It said so on his shirt.
“What’s going on?” Amy asked.
“Just going for another gallon of paint.”
“Paint? I didn’t ask for my condo to be painted.”
“We always paint when people move out,” Shane said.
“Move out? We haven’t moved out!” Could she have taken a wrong turn and gone to the wrong place? Even after living here over a year? She checked the small brass plate on the door with the unit number. No. This was home. Wasn’t it?
“Could have fooled me,” Shane said.
“But there has been a mistake.” Amy said the words just as Emile walked past her, opened the door, and entered.
Shane forgotten, Amy stepped inside—to emptiness, except for buckets of paint, drop cloths, and men on ladders.
Her mouth went dry and her head spun.
“My furniture is gone,” she sa
id to Emile. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Can we help you, ma’am?” This man—Royce—was older than Shane.
She shook her head. “This is my home. I don’t understand what’s going on.” Even in the unlikely event that Cameron had decided to have the place painted, they wouldn’t have moved the furniture out. “Where is my furniture?”
Royce came down off the ladder. “I don’t know anything about that. We got a work order last week to paint the whole condo oasis beige, like we always do when a place is going up for sale.”
“But it’s not for sale.”
Royce shook his head. “Ma’am, I think you need to go speak to Mr. Fairly.”
“But my things . . . ” She was going to be sick. This was crazy. She moved toward the kitchen.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. If there’s been a mistake, the office downstairs will straighten it out.”
She couldn’t leave. Why should she? This was where she lived.
“Royce, my friend.” Up until now, Emile had been silent. He removed his wallet, but he didn’t offer Royce money. Instead, he handed him a small laminated card. “Season tickets for two for all Sound home games. Be my guest.”
Royce looked skeptical. “What are the strings?”
“None. The tickets are yours for the taking, though I hope you will let her look around. Ten minutes. No more. She won’t take anything.”
“Well,” Royce looked longingly at the card, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. There’s nothing to take.”
And there wasn’t. Not a tea kettle or her favorite mug. No laptop, tablet, toothbrush, or one single shoe or garment—hers or Cameron’s. All the beautiful wrapping paper and ribbons she loved to collect—gone, and with them the special pens, stencils, stickers, and rubber stamps that she used to create her bullet journals. Someone had taken it all—including all her bullet journals, except the one in her purse.
But who? Who would do such a thing? Who would even want it?
She stood in the empty bedroom—the one she’d shared with Cameron, at least when he was home.
She felt Emile’s hands on her shoulders before she heard him.
“Come along, chérie. Let’s go down to the office.”
And she let him lead her away.
Chapter Five
By the time Emile had Amy on the elevator headed down to the second floor, he was convinced that he had a certified psycho on his hands—and he was about to make her someone else’s problem. That’s what Star View Towers promised—your problems were theirs. Having a package delivered? It would be there waiting for you. Need your place cleaned? Absolutely, they would take care of it. Need your car washed? Don’t even think about it.
Take a lunatic stalker off your hands with no fuss? Well that’s what security guards were for.
When Amy had been rushing from room to room looking in cabinets and closets, Emile had taken advantage of the time to do a quick, but clandestine, Google search on Cameron Snow.
He’d been somewhat of a minor star tackle at Utah State and gone to the Kansas City Chiefs in the fifth round of the NFL draft, where he’d lasted one season and gotten little play time. Though Wikipedia hadn’t said so, apparently that’s when he’d set himself up as a sports agent, which would mean he hadn’t been to law school like Miles.
Maybe Amy was a stalker, though Emile couldn’t figure out why she would pick Snow to stalk. He didn’t seem all that impressive, though stalkers were probably not the greatest at making logical decisions. If they were, they wouldn’t stalk. She could have become enamored with him when he’d played football. She might even be a former girlfriend. Glaz had had to get a restraining order against Tewanda, a former girlfriend, who’d never gotten the message that they weren’t a couple anymore.
If Amy had dated—or even lived with—Snow at some point, that would explain why Lila knew who she was but had clearly found it odd that she was in the building. But even if Snow had a restraining order against her, a Star View Towers staff member would be unlikely to say anything since Amy had been with him. After all, he didn’t have a restraining order against her. He’d had a few stalkers, but it had never come to that.
Maybe Snow had moved out to get away from her, though Emile had found changing his elevator code to be sufficient. But who knew? Maybe Snow had never lived here at all. For all Emile knew, the man might not even live in Nashville. That would mean Amy was completely delusional, since she hadn’t balked at going to the condo office.
The elevator door opened, and she didn’t even wait for him. Obviously, she knew the way. As luck would have it Adam Fairly, the head guy, was here today, so there wouldn’t be any phoning around or, “I need to check with Mr. Fairly.” Emile didn’t have time for all of that. He had to go to practice.
To Emile’s surprise, Amy walked right past the receptionist without a word and opened Fairly’s door without knocking. Despite probably being mad as the hatter in charge of all the other hatters in Wonderland, Amy had shown good manners until now, but she was hanging by a thread. He hoped to be long gone before that thread broke—and he’d have no guilt, either. That’s why he paid an association fee.
“Hello, Peggy. We need to see Adam.” He smiled and nodded to the receptionist, but he didn’t slow down. He didn’t intend to miss a second of this. The woman looked confused, as confused as Lila had been.
Adam Fairly did not look confused, but confusion was not allowed in his occupation. It was his job to make sure the residents of Star View Towers remained happy at all times. Adam had once told Emile in confidence over a beer that the regular residents were harder to please than all the country music stars, Tennessee Titans, and Nashville Sound players combined. Emile found it odd that Adam was willing to say anything remotely negative about any of the residents in the building, but Emile liked for people to tell him things. Maybe Adam sensed that.
“Amy. Emile.” Adam called all the residents except the elderly by their first names. Maybe he thought it made them seem more like a family—and he knew Amy’s name. Doubt began to creep into Emile’s gut. Maybe Amy wasn’t so crazy. How many times had he changed his mind today? He didn’t know what to think.
She didn’t waste any time and she didn’t sit down. “Adam, my condo is being painted and my things are gone.”
He nodded. “Of course. That’s a service we offer—to arrange for packing, moving, and readying the unit for the market. We take care of our residents from first day to last—if there must be a last.”
“But we aren’t moving,” Amy whispered. “Where’s Cameron?” She dropped into a chair as if she couldn’t stand another minute. Maybe she couldn’t.
Adam took his own chair and gave Emile a questioning look.
“I gave Amy a ride back from Beauford this morning when Cameron failed to pick her up.” He settled himself in the chair beside Amy.
Adam closed his eyes and seemed to be searching for answers. Finally, he threaded his fingers together, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward.
“Amy, Cameron came to my office a month ago and told me y’all were moving. He made all the arrangements.”
“Moving where?” Amy demanded.
“California. He said he was relocating for his job. And you mean to say, he told you none of this?”
Amy shook her head. “There has to be some kind of mix-up.”
Adam tapped a few keys on his computer. “Here’s the file. He checked in with me twice by phone after our initial meeting. He emailed three more directives after that. The movers were to arrive at ten this morning. He sold the Audi first and the Jaguar a few days later. That would have been two weeks ago. The new owners were to pick up the keys at eleven. And I see by Lila’s notes that they have.”
“What? He sold my car?” Amy exploded. “He would not do that.”
So Amy wasn’t crazy or a stalker. Time for a save.
“Adam,” Emile said, “how is it that Cameron Snow could have done these
things without Amy’s knowledge?”
Adam shrugged. “The unit was in Cameron’s name alone.”
Emile turned to Amy. “This is true?”
She nodded. “Cameron already lived here when I came to live with him. We weren’t married . . . It was something I never thought about.”
“But you were going to be married?”
She looked at her hands. “I thought so. We weren’t officially engaged, but I assumed. He always talked like we would. Or he used to.” Her face had gone from snow white to bright red. Now she was embarrassed.
“But her things,” Emile said. “And how could he sell her car?”
“Our directive was to have the contents of the condo packed. It never occurred to me that Amy didn’t know what was going on, but even if I had known, I could not have legally told her. As for the car, I have no knowledge of that. We had no part of that transaction apart from surrendering the keys to the people with proper ID.”
Emile reached out and put a hand on Amy’s shoulder. She jerked away. He could understand that—not wanting to be touched. Who would after such a betrayal?
“We will call the police. He stole your car. Probably forged your name.”
Amy didn’t look up, but shook her head.
“Don’t tell me you want to protect him? This man has stolen from you and abandoned you.”
“I’m trying to process it all.” When she finally looked at him, her face was filled with shame. “I have no legal grounds. Cameron thought I needed a new car. I found what I wanted online. He made all the arrangements. He handled my finances like he handles his clients’, so you see, he had access.”
“Well, not quite like his clients’. Else he’d be in jail.” This might be worse than Emile imagined. It sounded like she had money of her own.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “I am so sorry all this happened.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Amy said.
“I was expressing regret,” Adam said. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“Here’s the thing I don’t understand,” Amy said. “If he didn’t want to be with me anymore, why didn’t he just say so? Why go through all of this?”
Face Off: Emile (Nashville Sound Book 1) Page 4
