The Missing Woman: Utterly gripping psychological suspense with heart-thumping twists

by Georgina Cross

  At the counter, Amanda is reading the next set of messages. A ding, followed by another.

  She looks at us. “Word is getting out fast. More details.” Her eyes widen. “Back door smashed in. Sabine’s car left in the garage. Her purse in the front seat. Blood trailing out the back door.”

  Tish stares at her phone. “It’s all over Facebook too.”

  Nausea rises through my stomach.

  Blood trailing out the back door…

  The image of Sabine at the pool with that tormented look in her eyes. The countdown in her face as she carried her things.

  I knew it—she was afraid something was going to happen to her. The fear she must have felt as she blew kisses to her friends, pretending to be brave and acting as if everything was fine when deep down, she had the notion that was far from the truth. Her one glitch—that look she gave me. The only clue about what she might have been thinking.

  A frightening thought pulses through my body: Then why in the world did you go home, Sabine?

  Facebook Group Post

  Praying for Sabine Miller (Private Facebook Group)

  Saturday night

  Alice Chin

  July 4 at 9:58 p.m.

  Bring Sabine Miller home safely! #SaveSabine

  Eric Nichols

  July 4 at 9:59 p.m.

  We’re joining the search team. Meet us at the corner of Chandler and Smoke Rise.

  Heather Stephenson

  July 4 at 10:02 p.m.

  If anyone saw anything tonight, please contact police immediately.

  Jennifer Krel

  July 4 at 10:02 p.m.

  This can’t be happening! Not to that amazing woman. Not this amazing family.

  Tamyra Meeks My heart is breaking.

  Alice Chin We just saw her at the pool! She was dancing with the kids and buying ice cream.

  Carolyn Castillo

  July 4 at 10:03 p.m.

  Any leads?

  Heather Stephenson Sabine Miller left the clubhouse around 6:45 p.m. and went home. Mark Miller went home around 7:40 p.m. He called the police.

  Scott Wooley Is Mark Miller a suspect?

  Heather Stephenson They’ve cleared him. He wasn’t there.

  Anthony Castillo

  July 4 at 10:05 p.m.

  What about Jacob Andrews? That guy running against Mark. Has anyone talked to him?

  Hillary Danners Anthony, you can’t go around accusing people.

  Lamar Jackson You think he broke into Mark Miller’s home and took the man’s wife? Why would he do that?

  Carolyn Castillo Maybe to throw Mark Miller off his campaign trail.

  Anthony Castillo Hillary, I didn’t accuse anyone. I’m just asking.

  Heather Stephenson If you have any specific information you need to contact the police.

  Tish Abbott

  July 4 at 10:11 p.m.

  Really hoping Sabine Miller is okay. Thinking about her and Mark. #SaveSabine

  Amanda Kimbrough

  July 4 at 10:12 p.m.

  Something tells me this wasn’t a random break-in.

  Scott Wooley Amanda, what do you know??

  Carolyn Castillo I bet it’s not random either. Amanda, spill it!!

  Eric Nichols Instead of sitting around posting on Facebook, please join the search team.

  Five

  Amanda takes hold of the potato chip bag and yanks it open with a loud pop. So far, she’s disregarded her beer, Tish too, and I pick up one of their bottles, claiming it for my own.

  Tish holds up her phone. “Who started this Facebook group?”

  “I don’t know.” Amanda crams potato chips in her mouth. “But you posted in there.”

  Tish gives her a look. “You did too.”

  I move to their side of the counter. “What group?”

  Tish leans in close so I can read the heading: Praying for Sabine.

  “That was fast,” I say, reading through the messages.

  Several more posts are coming in every minute. Carolyn Castillo. Paul Tomlinson. Heather Stephenson. All neighbors of ours in Green Cove.

  “They’re already talking about Jacob Andrews,” Amanda points out.

  Tish’s eyes jolt. “The other guy running for county commissioner? Why on earth would he do something like this?”

  “Who knows?” Amanda shrugs. “People get real desperate, especially when they’re losing on the campaign trail. And from what I hear, he’s losing badly.”

  “But this would be way more than desperate,” Tish says. “Why go after your own opponent and kidnap his wife? Way too obvious.”

  Just like Mark, Jacob Andrews has billboards plastered around town too. Group photos at events and filling the pages of community business magazines. But instead of the golden looks and high-profile accolades like Mark, Jacob is considered the dark horse. A shark. I’ve never found him approachable, even when Tish drags me to Chamber of Commerce events to hear the latest news. The man is standing in the corner with a kind of abbreviated smile on his face, something that makes me think he’s already considering his next move. The kind of guy who looks over your shoulder when he’s talking to you, looking for a far more interesting person. A string of controversial business deals in his past haven’t helped either, leaving bumps and bruises for investors along the way.

  But this—this would be crazy.

  “If I were Andrews,” Amanda says, “I’d want a strong alibi right about now.”

  “You don’t know it’s him,” Tish says. “Why would he do this?”

  “Crazier things have happened.”

  “Maybe Mark pissed somebody off in the past,” Tish says. “Some massive disagreement and this is someone else’s drastic form of revenge.”

  “This would certainly be drastic.” Amanda cocks an eyebrow. “The news outlets are going to have a field day.”

  I’m scrolling through the rest of the Facebook group, the prayer requests and calls for a search team with neighbors adding #SaveSabine to their posts, when halfway through, I recognize a name and the tension runs to the back of my neck. “Amanda!”

  She raises her hands. “I didn’t do anything.”

  I read her words back to her. “Something tells me this wasn’t a random break-in.” I glare. “And now Scott Wooley is asking what you know.”

  Tish glares at her too.

  “Carolyn thinks the same thing—a lot of people are going to. It’s fine.” She rolls up the potato chip bag. “They don’t have to tie it back to me, or you, and think it’s something that you heard.”

  “Amanda, I said I would tell the police.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Don’t say anything to them, okay? And especially Scott. He has a huge mouth. He’ll blab to everyone.”

  Tish scrunches her face. “That guy’s a creep. Remember when he went around telling people the Barbs shouldn’t use the pool until they paid their dues? They got banned from the club last summer.”

  Another time Scott complained about Lydia’s fourth-grade teacher and almost had her fired. Turns out, the teacher was missing school for chemo treatments and didn’t want anyone to know. The next time I saw him at the school parking lot I flipped him off out my car window.

  With Sabine Miller missing and me overhearing something that Mark Miller may or may not have told the police yet, Scott is exactly the sort of person who would take this kind of information and run. It would be all over Facebook in minutes.

  “I’ll tell the police,” I say again to Amanda.

  “I sure hope so.” She pushes the potato chip bag away. “We wouldn’t want Mark or Monica hiding something, now would we?”

  More calls come for people to join the search team and not just in the Facebook group but text messages too. I’m looking at my phone for the first time since we returned home, scrolling through the dozen or more alerts lined up on my screen, the same group texts that are buzzing for Amanda and Tish.

  Tish says, “Jeff Maddox is joining the sear
ch. Eric Nichols is calling for more people too.”

  “Right. That does it.” Amanda slides off the stool. “I’m going. You guys stay here with the kids. There are plenty of us who can go out and look.”

  Amanda doesn’t have children, she and Connor having decided early in their marriage to remain happily child free with that decision making life much easier when their divorce became final.

  I spin my eyes to Tish. “I can keep the kids if you want.”

  But she shakes her head. “It will freak Charlie out. It’s best if I stay here too.”

  Amanda packs up the snack food she brought, taking plastic bags from my pantry and adding bottles of water and Gatorades she finds in the fridge, saying they’ll want to have plenty of these while searching for Sabine. The Green Cove neighborhood is at least three miles across with hundreds more acres once the team heads into the nature preserve.

  She hustles to the garage with Tish and I following, quick on her heels. The movement, the rush of it all, makes my heart pound. The action that is taking place. It’s well after ten; Amanda will be out there past midnight.

  Cold wings of fear propel us from the safety of my house and into the darkness of the garage. I flip the floodlight on, finding myself looking in every corner to chase away the shadows.

  Tish’s voice cracks. “What makes them think she’s in the neighborhood? If someone took her, wouldn’t they be miles from here at this point? They’d be long gone, right?”

  “Unless someone thinks she ran from the house,” Amanda says.

  My eyes stretch wide. “She ran?”

  “Blood trailing out the back door,” Amanda repeats. “It’s a possibility.” She throws one plastic bag after another into her backseat. “Until someone comes forward saying they saw a car or there’s video of a car taking off with Sabine, there’s a chance she bolted from the house. And whoever was trying to hurt her might have gone after her too.” She glances at the woods.

  I think about the layout of Green Cove, the streets winding around the golf course, the front nine and back, with clear open views of the ponds and wide spaces for playgrounds. On this end of our neighborhood, our houses are close together with very few trees. But on the other side of Green Cove, a thick grove of pines provides the residents of Honors Row with plenty of privacy. And during this crisis, a place to search for Sabine.

  I consider what’s behind my house too, the narrow patch of grass leading to the shed at the end of my garden and a culvert that runs from the back of the hill. Beyond the hill, the golf course.

  So much of our neighborhood is cleared and well-kept, but the woods stretching to Honors Row are a whole other matter: a labyrinth of roots and vines and boulders the size of Volkswagen Beetles with rocks sticking up from the earth with just enough jagged areas to trip you. I’ve often wondered if the developers left it that way to deter people from wandering around and ending up in the wealthier residents’ backyards. It hasn’t stopped a few trespassers: kids going out there to horse around, the younger ones building forts, while at night, older teens circle around with beer. One or two have wandered off and not looked where they’re going, falling into a ravine. The ravine, not enough of a sharp drop to hurt anyone seriously, but enough to cause alarm.

  It would be hell on earth running for your life through that.

  “So you could be out there too?” I ask Amanda. “Digging around in those woods?”

  “Possibly.” Amanda stares into the dark, and for the first time, her brave resolve weakens ever so slightly, the weight of the night and what is happening, the information that is coming out. What she’s about to go do.

  The reality that a woman could be bloodied and huddled in a heap somewhere, her body sprawled in the middle of a field or wounded propped up against a tree, any member of the search team being the one to stumble upon her—including Amanda—is finally hitting her. She stands still for a moment, her jaw running slack. The look of someone with a million thoughts racing through her head.

  But, just like that, Amanda blinks and her eyes snap to attention.

  “Or the ponds,” she says. “God knows we have enough of those around here too.”

  Tish’s voice cracks again. “My God… the ponds. I can’t even imagine.”

  “We’ll have to check ditches. Those drains that run off the golf course. I bet they’ll have us checking everything.” Amanda looks up and down my street. It’s quiet for now. “I heard the cops are going door-to-door asking people what they saw.”

  “Will they come here?”

  “They’re checking the neighbors on Honors Row first. Anyone who might have seen someone traveling in and out.” She frowns.

  Tish spots the look on her face and the realization hits us at the same time.

  “But most everyone was at the pool,” Tish says. “The fireworks.”

  “Exactly.”

  “A whole neighborhood waiting for fireworks,” I repeat.

  “I was in my backyard. Lawn chair out.”

  I slide my eyes to Amanda, a curious thought reaching me suddenly. “Hey, why didn’t you join us at the pool?”

  “Too crowded.”

  “You could have sat with us.”

  “I know. But sometimes it’s nice not to have a hundred people around you.” She tilts her head. “You know?”

  “Well, maybe there will be others like you,” Tish says. “Other people who stayed home and saw something.”

  “I hope so.” Amanda turns and steps into the car.

  But Tish stops her. Taking a good look at her baggy T-shirt and flip-flops, she says, “Do you want boots? Or a flashlight?”

  Amanda stares down at her feet and releases a nervous laugh. “Yes, that would be smart, wouldn’t it?” She hauls a deep breath. “I should take one step at a time and calm down. I’ll run home and get boots.”

  “I’ve got flashlights.” I move quickly to a shelf in my garage and pull a pair of flashlights, clicking each one to check the beams, the lights shining golden arcs across Amanda’s car, my driveway too. “This one’s good.” I hand her an orange lantern, one of the larger L.L. Bean types the kids and I used on our last camping trip.

  Amanda takes the lantern and flips it on, the light illuminating half my front yard, the crape myrtles looking like white spindly candlesticks sticking out from the edges of my sidewalk.

  “That’ll do the trick.” She shuts off the light.

  Amanda settles in the driver’s seat. She peeks in the rearview mirror and adjusts the baseball cap on her head, tucking a curly lock of hair behind her ear before cranking the engine.

  “Keep us updated,” Tish calls to her.

  “I’ll let you know what I hear.” Amanda sounds so confident and I’m thinking, Sabine will be home in no time.

  We follow her car to the end of the driveway, Amanda on a mission with her phone lighting up again, an onslaught of new messages as she reverses the car, the glow casting a harsh white light against her skin, a lightning spark in her eyes as she pauses to read each one. I’m wondering what else she’s hearing from her colleagues at city hall.

  Amanda kicks the car into drive and she’s gone.

  I feel helpless, standing there with Tish, Sabine out there, somewhere, and numerous neighbors joining the search. Despite our differences, I’m scared for Sabine, I really am. I only wish things had been left better between us. They must find her safe and bring her home.

  I scan the length of the street, my neighbors’ houses on either side and across the way on the cul-de-sac, noticing that doors are closed, garage doors too, with lights blazing from every front porch. Everyone’s doors are triple-locked tonight, I’m sure.

  In a couple of the windows, shadows move against the drapes. I see the Simmons family finishing up what must be a late dinner since it’s past ten o’clock—the fireworks and news about Sabine Miller’s disappearance flipping everyone’s schedule upside down. Tabitha Simmons orders her kids to bring their dishes to the sink. Like us, she’s sta
ying home with her children.

  Next door, the young couple, the Wilsons, who I’m almost positive will be staying in—Rebecca gave birth to twin boys less than four months ago. Mrs. Ferrington lives on the other side, her beige Cadillac parked outside. The woman, nearing seventy, will be staying put too, the newscast most likely still on, her eyes simultaneously glued to social media. I think back to who I saw posting in the Facebook group and can’t remember if I saw her commenting in there also.

  But at the end of the cul-de-sac, Todd Hampton’s truck is missing. And so is the Atkins’ vehicle, their house lit up like a Christmas tree. The TV that’s normally glowing a washed-out blue in the front living room is switched off and I can only imagine they’ve joined the search team.

  My eyes sweep one street over, a row of slate-gray rooftops outlined against an ink-black sky. The smell of freshly mowed grass still lingers, sweet and damp from someone having run their sprinklers earlier. The scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. The night air, still.

  I fold my arms across my chest. It’s not cold but with my worries gnawing the edges of my brain, I rub my elbows to bring me comfort. But it doesn’t work. With night falling across the valley, the temperature has dropped to a more tolerable seventy-five degrees, and despite it being a summer evening, a deep chill settles inside my bones.

  Sabine… out there… somewhere…

  I think about Amanda, how she’ll be lacing up her boots soon, her heart pounding, her feet hitting the pavement when she meets up with the search team. She’ll be handing out flashlights. She’ll tell them she brought bottled water. Her phone, no doubt, will continue to ping.