Do Not Disturb: An addictive psychological thriller

by Freida McFadden

There’s a long pause on the other line. “Who is this?”

  What is going on here? “Why are you on my sister’s phone?”

  “I found this phone,” the male voice tells me. “It was in the back of my truck.”

  I frown, not sure what to make of this development. “The back of your truck? What are you talking about?”

  “I was getting something out of my truck and I saw the phone in there. And there were all these missed calls from somebody named Claudia. Is that you?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I don’t know how the phone got in my truck, but I’d be happy to return it.”

  He poses an excellent question. How did the phone get in his truck?

  I spoke with Quinn on the phone, so it was in her possession when we were talking. Shortly after that, I discovered Derek’s dead body. At that point, she was no longer answering her phone. So sometime between our call and when I found Derek, the phone ended up in this guy’s car.

  The real question is, is this guy on the level? Or is he just messing with me? If I go retrieve the phone from him, will he hit me on the head and try to stuff me in his closet?

  I’d like to see him try. Unlike Quinn, I’m a fighter.

  “Who is your sister?” the guy asks.

  “Her name is Quinn. She—”

  “Wait—Quinn Mackey?”

  There’s a note of surprise and eagerness in his voice. Also, he used our maiden name. I realize at this moment that this man did not do anything terrible to my sister. He’s just a guy who found her phone in his truck.

  “That’s right,” I say. “Do you know her?”

  “Yeah! My name is Bill Walsh. She used to babysit for me years ago, and I actually saw her earlier today. At a gas station maybe half an hour north of here.”

  I suck in a breath. “You saw her? When?”

  “Um. I’m not sure. Maybe five o’clock? I had just finished work.”

  My heart is pounding. He saw Quinn. He saw her after our phone call. “Was she alone?”

  “Seemed to be. She bought a few things at the store, I think she took out some money, then she ran off. She seemed to be in a big hurry.”

  “There was nobody else in the car?”

  “Not that I could see.”

  I chew on my lower lip. “How did she look? Did she look… nervous? Scared? Hurt?”

  He thinks about it for a moment. “Now that you mention it, she seemed kind of nervous. But she looked good otherwise. Really good.”

  Great. This idiot was hitting on my sister. “Is the phone locked?”

  “Yeah. I could only call you because your phone call was on the lock screen.”

  That means even if I get my hands on the phone, I won’t be able to do much with it. “Look,” I say, “I’m going to call the police about the phone. They’re going to come pick it up from you.”

  “The police?” Bill Walsh sounds panicked. “But I didn’t steal it! I found it in my truck. I swear…”

  “I know. But… Quinn is missing.”

  His breath hitches. “You don’t think that I…”

  I don’t. My gut is telling me this guy is just an innocent passerby. Quinn wanted to get rid of her phone so she couldn’t be tracked, so she tossed it in his truck. It’s what I would’ve done. I’m proud of her for thinking on her feet.

  And that means Quinn isn’t being held captive somewhere. She left on her own volition. Probably right after she stabbed Derek to death.

  This changes everything.

  It means that if the police find Quinn, she’s going straight to jail. It means this is a manhunt, not a rescue mission.

  The right thing to do—the legal thing to do—would be to call Scott Dwyer and tell him this new piece of information. He’s in charge of this investigation, and this is a significant piece of evidence.

  But I don’t trust Scott. I don’t know what he’s going to do when he finds out that Quinn was alive and well and alone right after her husband was stabbed. But it won’t be good for Quinn.

  I can’t let that happen. I have to play this right.

  “Well, you could see how this looks,” I say. “A woman goes missing and you mysteriously have her phone. Doesn’t look good for you, Bill.”

  “But I just found it in my truck,” he says in a tiny voice. “I swear, I didn’t touch her.”

  “I hope for your sake the police believe that story.”

  “Shit,” I hear him mutter under his breath. “I… I don’t know what to say. I’m a good guy. I’d never hurt a woman. And… Christ, my girlfriend would kill me if she thought I…”

  “Look,” I say. “I believe you. I’m just not sure the police will.”

  “Well, maybe I could give you back the phone and you don’t have to tell them…”

  I glance at the door to the bedroom. Rob is still downstairs—I’d rather he not hear this. “Tell you what, Bill. Why don’t I come by and get the phone from you. I’ll bring it to the police tomorrow and I won’t tell them you were involved.”

  “You would do that?”

  “Sure. I can tell from your voice you’re an honest man. I just want to find out what happened to my sister.”

  “Me too,” he says earnestly. “Quinn was a nice girl. She was my favorite babysitter. I… I hope you find her.”

  “Me too.” I’m going to find her. And I’m going to find her before the police do.

  “So can you come by tonight?”

  I glance out the window. The snow is really coming down. If I leave now, Rob will have a fit. He’ll want to know where I’m going, and I’ll have to have a damn good answer. “I’ll come first thing in the morning. In the meantime, just power the phone down. If it’s off, nobody can track it.”

  “Got it.”

  I wonder how old Bill Walsh is. He’s younger than Quinn, if she babysat for him. Maybe early twenties. He sounds like a kid who will do anything I say. If I say it the right way.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow morning,” I promise. “Just give me your address.”

  Chapter 19

  I don’t sleep very well.

  I drift in and out of slumber, dreaming of Quinn. I remember the first time I saw her. Our parents told me I was going to get a new baby sister, and then one day they brought me to the hospital, and there she was. This tiny little scrunched up newborn lying in my mother’s arms. I wanted so badly to hold her, but they wouldn’t let me. They said I was too little.

  Except when both of them were gone, I was the one who took care of Quinn. When I got the call about the accident, I dropped everything. I had exams the next day, but nothing else seemed important anymore. I left school and got a job so we could keep the house. I was all she had. And she was all I had.

  She should’ve listened to me about Derek Alexander. I told her he wasn’t right for her. I’ve made every mistake in the book, so I should know. Obviously, I didn’t know this exact thing was going to happen. I didn’t know Derek was going to end up dead in the kitchen of their expensive home. But I knew she shouldn’t marry him.

  Well, too late for that now.

  I wake up at the crack of dawn. It’s Saturday, so Rob is sleeping in. He’s lying on his side of the bed, his mouth hanging open, a bit of drool sliding out of the left corner of his lips as he snores loudly. My husband snores like a chainsaw. I showed him an article once about that disordered sleep breathing thing, where you stop breathing during your sleep, and people who snore loudly are more likely to have it.

  It means every night you stop breathing in your sleep, Rob, I told him.

  You really believe that bullshit? he shot back. And he threw the article in the trash.

  I get dressed as quietly as I can and go downstairs. When I look out the window, our entire driveway is caked in at least a foot of snow. I put on my heaviest winter boots, and I take the keys to the truck out of the little basket by the door. My Chevy won’t make it, but Rob’s rusty green truck will do the trick.

  Bill Walsh lives only a fift
een minute drive from my house. I found his profile last night on Facebook—he’s a big guy in his twenties like I thought, who sports a goofy expression in most of his photos. He looks utterly harmless, and I don’t think I’ll have much trouble wrangling the phone away from him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hand it over.

  The roads in our town are still slippery with snow. I haven’t called the police station yet today, but I’m guessing they haven’t made much progress on finding Quinn. If they found her, I would know. My guess is she’s hunkering down somewhere for the night. The question is, where?

  Bill’s house is even smaller than mine and even more badly in need of a coat of paint. I park right in front, and as soon as I get out of the car, my boots sink deep into the snow. I take a good minute to get to his front door. It’s like walking through molasses.

  My coat isn’t warm enough for the icy breeze in the air, and I hug my chest as I wait for Bill to answer the door. After only a few moments, the door swings open like he’s been waiting for me. The guy towers over me, but there’s something young and vulnerable about his face and the scrap of a goatee on his chin.

  “Claudia?” he says quietly.

  I nod. “You got the phone?”

  He hesitates a moment, then he holds it out to me. Quinn’s iPhone. Before he can change his mind, I snatch it out of his hand. It’s been powered down, just like I told him.

  He scratches at his flimsy goatee. “You won’t tell the police?”

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Thanks.” He shifts his weight. “I want to help find her and all. I really do. But the thing is, I’m on probation right now. So I can’t—”

  I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to protect this guy. “You’re on probation?”

  “Me and my buddy were selling weed.”

  I look down at the phone in my hand. If I go to the police, I’ll be in more trouble than he’ll be in. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll keep it between us.”

  His shoulders sag. “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I hope you find Quinn. She was awesome.”

  I lift my eyes to look into his. “You swear she seemed okay to you? Not hurt?”

  “Not hurt.” He cocks his head to the side. “But she seemed… It was like something wasn’t right. She was nervous about something. In a hurry.”

  “Thanks.” I squeeze the phone in my hand. “This will be very helpful. And I won’t say a word about you to the police. I don’t want you to get thrown in jail again.”

  I said that last part just to make sure he keeps his damn mouth shut.

  I stomp back out to the truck and shut myself inside it, before my fingers go numb. I sit for a moment in the driver seat, staring at the phone that Quinn tried so hard to get rid of.

  Now I’ve got to do it for her.

  Chapter 20

  In our small New England town, one thing that never stops regardless of the weather is funerals.

  There’s a cemetery about an hour west of home. The opposite direction of where Quinn was headed. It’s a cemetery I know very well.

  Because it’s where our parents are buried.

  They died when I was eighteen and Quinn was fourteen. A car accident took them both. They were driving to the high school to see a school play that Quinn was starring in. They spun out of control on the snowy road and collided with a tractor trailer. They were both killed instantly.

  Unfortunately, money was tight before the accident, and they let their insurance policy lapse. So Quinn and I were left with nothing. It was a no-brainer to quit college. I couldn’t pay for school anymore anyway, and I couldn’t let Quinn be sent to live with distant relatives, or worse, end up in foster care with strangers.

  From then on, it was just me and Quinn against the world. I looked out for her, made sure she studied for her exams, hung out with the right kids, and vetted her rare boyfriends. Too bad she didn’t listen to me about the man she married.

  I hardly ever think about our parents anymore. It’s been an eternity since they died. I can’t even imagine the sound of my mother’s voice anymore. I forget whether my father had a beard or not. It feels like I knew them in another lifetime. But I still come here sometimes. I bring flowers.

  But that’s not why I’m here today.

  Sure enough, when I arrive at the cemetery, there’s a funeral going on, despite the snow. The funeral procession is parked along the side of the road, and the mourners are gathered around the gravestone. They’re bundled up in heavy coats and hats, as they say goodbye to their loved one a final time.

  I sit in my car for a moment, then I power up Quinn’s phone. I see the little Apple logo appear on the screen, and a second later, the phone prompts me to enter a passcode.

  What would Quinn choose as her passcode? Her birthday? I try it, but no luck. My birthday? That doesn’t work either.

  My own phone buzzes. It’s Rob, texting me: Where did you go with my truck???

  I don’t answer. Instead, I type in Derek’s birthday.

  And now I’m locked out.

  It doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here to get into Quinn’s phone. I came here to get rid of it.

  My phone buzzes again. I don’t even look at it. I’m sure it’s Rob.

  I walk along the row of parked cars. Most of them are locked up tight, but a couple have their windows cracked open. I come to a stop when I see a car with Vermont license plates. The back window is cracked open just a hair. Just enough for me to slide Quinn’s phone in.

  There. Let’s see Scott track her down now.

  I look back up at the cemetery. I haven’t been here for at least a year. At first, Quinn and I used to come here every month. I would drive us and we would stand together in front of their headstones, holding hands. Quinn would usually cry. She blamed herself. After all, they had been going to see her play.

  If only I hadn’t tried out for that stupid play, she would sob.

  After a while, we started going every other month. Then every few months. Then once a year.

  Well, I guess that means it’s time for a visit.

  I step through the iron gates to get into the cemetery. The snow is mostly untouched in here. It’s thick and flawlessly white. My legs sink almost to my knees as I walk over to our parents’ gravestones.

  They’re all the way in the back. Maxine Turner Mackey and Samuel Mackey. Beloved wife and husband, parents to Quinn and Claudia.

  Sometimes I imagine what our lives would’ve been like if they hadn’t died. I would have completed college. Maybe I would be a lawyer right now, like I wanted. I would have made smarter choices in my life if I knew I had my parents backing me up. I doubt I would have married Rob.

  Maybe Quinn would have made better choices too.

  Well, there’s no point in debating what would’ve happened. They’re dead, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

  Chapter 21

  When I get back home, Rob is waiting for me in the kitchen. He’s eating a bowl of cereal and he glares at me as I stomp the snow off my boots in the foyer, silently daring him to come yell at me. He doesn’t.

  “Where were you?” he asks as I walk into the living room in my bare feet.

  “Just driving around, looking for Quinn.”

  He grunts. “You think you could find her better than the police?”

  That’s the problem with Rob. He never believes in me. A few years ago, I talked to him about the possibility of going back to college, or at least taking a few classes. You’re way too old for that, Claudia. I hate to admit it, but his words got to me. I never ended up doing it.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “Well, did you?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

  He frowns. “You be careful, Claudia. You know, if you help her, you’ll be aiding and abetting a criminal.”

  “Quinn isn’t a criminal.”

  “She killed her husband. I would say tha
t makes her a criminal.”

  “Watch it.”

  Our eyes meet across the table. I see a muscle twitch in Rob’s jaw. Finally, he drops his eyes.

  “If you’re going to take my truck,” he mutters, “at least let me know first.”

  “I wasn’t gone long.”

  “Yeah, but I got a job to do, Claudia.”

  I snort. “What? Unclogging someone’s toilet?”

  He stands up so quickly, he nearly knocks his chair down. “Guess that’s not as important as giving somebody a back rub, huh?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but Rob has already brushed past me. He grabs his coat and his car keys, then he’s out the door. The entire house shakes on its foundation when he slams the door shut.

  I don’t expect to go out again today anyway. I got rid of the phone. Presumably, the phone is currently making its way to Vermont. Nowhere near us. By the time the police track it down, Quinn will have had time to get even further away from here.

  And when she calls me to tell me where she is—and I’m sure she will—I’m going to be ready.

  _____

  I had a couple of massage clients scheduled in the afternoon, but everyone canceled because of the snow. It means I end up sitting around the house, worrying about what’s happening with my sister. I also do a bit of laundry. Rob never, ever does laundry. He would keep buying underwear for months to avoid doing a load.

  I call the police station and leave a message for Scott, but I don’t get a call back until nearly five o’clock in the afternoon, while I’m sitting on my sofa, watching television to take my mind off of everything. Rob got called out on a job, and he took his truck with him.

  “Did you find her?” I ask Scott, before he can get a word in.

  His voice is gruff. “Not yet.”

  I allow my shoulders to relax. Of course they didn’t find her. This guy is a small-town police deputy for a reason. He doesn’t know how to investigate a murder. He has no idea how to find a person on the run. Maybe if the chief were here, they would have a chance.

  “But it’s just a matter of time,” he adds. There’s an ominous tone to his voice.