Stella wrote on her notepad. “Was the alarm set and the house locked when you let yourself in?”
“Yes,” Sharp answered. “The alarm had been turned off and reactivated at 2:13 a.m. this morning.”
“Olivia was supposed to meet with us at the office this afternoon as well,” Morgan said.
Stella walked through the house. She checked doors and windows and then returned to the kitchen. “I don’t see any signs of a break-in or struggle. The most obvious explanation is Olivia left the house to meet someone. Maybe a contact for a story she was working on.”
“Jenny Kruger already pinged her cell phone. Nothing, and Olivia’s last call on her cell was with me at eleven. I didn’t check the house phone.” Sharp reached for the handset and checked the call log on the caller ID screen. “Two missed calls from a market research company today. No calls came in last night.”
Stella propped one hand on her hip, her brow furrowed with thought. “I’ll fill out a report.” Contrary to public belief, a person did not have to be missing for any specific length of time in order to be reported missing. Trails ran cold quickly, and police appreciated being brought in as early as possible. But the extent of their investigation would depend on the particular circumstances.
Stella continued, “I’ll also put out a BOLO alert. The SFPD, county sheriff’s deputies, and state police will be looking for her car. Hang on while I grab a blood evidence collection kit.” She retrieved the kit from her car, then photographed and swabbed the smear and bagged the fingernail as evidence. She pulled fingerprints from the doorknobs, molding, and light switches.
“It would be most efficient if we coordinate our efforts,” Stella said when she had finished.
“Right,” Sharp agreed. “We’ll talk to family, friends, and neighbors. Morgan has already called local hospitals.”
“Copy me on everything.” Stella packed up her kit.
With her partner on vacation, Stella would have to juggle cases. She also had to respect privacy laws. In contrast, Sharp, Lance, and Morgan could drop everything and focus on the search for Olivia. And Sharp could—and would—ignore the law and hack away as he pleased.
Stella wrote down a physical description of Olivia. “Does she have any identifying tattoos or birthmarks?”
“No.” Sharp shook his head.
“Chronic medical conditions?” Stella asked.
“None that she’s mentioned to me,” Sharp said. “But I’ll ask her mother.”
Stella’s phone buzzed. She looked at the screen without removing it from her belt. Frowning, she silenced it with her thumb.
Sharp rubbed his forehead, his movements unsteady. His relationship with Olivia had been progressing in a slow-but-steady fashion. Though both Sharp and Olivia were stubbornly set in their ways, there was something special about their relationship.
“Do you know what she was wearing last night?” Stella asked. “Did you video chat?”
“It was a phone call,” he said. “I don’t know what she was wearing, but she’s usually in her pajamas at that hour.”
“Is her suitcase or cosmetic bag missing?” Stella asked.
“I haven’t looked yet.” Sharp swept one hand over his scalp. “And I wouldn’t know what they look like anyway.”
The three of them walked back to Olivia’s bedroom. Sharp opened the walk-in closet.
“Are any clothes missing?” Morgan joined him in the closet. The racks and shelves were jam-packed with clothes and shoes. “I guess it’s impossible to say.”
“There’s a suitcase.” Sharp pointed toward an upper shelf, where a hard-shell carry-on was stowed. Then he led the way out of the closet.
“What about a toiletry kit? What would she use for a trip?” Morgan had reservations about invading Olivia’s privacy, but she pushed them aside and went into the bathroom. Olivia would understand.
Sharp looked over Morgan’s shoulder. “I don’t know. We haven’t traveled together. When she stays over at my place, she goes home to get ready if she has an early appointment.”
The medicine chest was full of high-end, mostly organic, and fair-trade cosmetics. Olivia shared Sharp’s green streak. In a narrow linen closet behind the bathroom door, Morgan found a travel toiletry kit and a waterproof TSA-approved bag full of travel-size liquids.
“It doesn’t look as if she planned to be gone overnight.” Morgan spotted an inhaler behind the toiletry bag. The box was unopened, and the prescription label was dated the previous winter. “Does Olivia have a lung condition?”
“Not that I know of.” Sharp peered around the bathroom door to examine the box. “I’ve never seen her use an inhaler.”
“Maybe it was from an illness.” Morgan set the box back on the shelf and followed Sharp out of the bathroom.
Stella crouched next to the bed, examining something on the bamboo floor. “It looks like a piece of rubber.”
She donned gloves, then picked up the object by its edge. It was a beige-colored square of rubber about an inch wide.
“What is that?” Sharp asked.
“I have no idea.” Stella patted her pockets and produced a paper evidence envelope. She slid the piece of rubber inside. “I’ll have the lab take a look at it.” She stood.
They went into Olivia’s office. Bookshelves lined the walls.
Stella went to the desk and lifted the top of Olivia’s laptop. “It’s too early to take her computer and have the nerds hack into it.” She glanced over the surface of the desk and opened its drawers. “I don’t see anything out of order.”
Her phone buzzed again, and she silenced it. “Let me get out of here. The BOLO will go out as soon as I get to my car, and I’ll drop the evidence at the lab. If you learn anything, please let me know. I’ll do the same.” She gave Sharp a hug. “She’ll probably turn up tonight. Hang tight.”
He nodded, sat in Olivia’s office chair, and stared at her laptop.
Morgan walked her sister outside. Dead leaves were piled up against the picket fence that surrounded Olivia’s garden. Lance appeared from around the side of the house.
Stella showed him the piece of rubber in the evidence envelope. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing. No marks outside the windows or doors. No footprints. Nothing amiss in her gardening shed.” Frustration tightened his face. “Where’s Sharp?”
“Inside,” Morgan said.
“I’m not sure what else we can do at this point.” Lance turned back to the house.
After he’d walked away, Morgan said goodbye to her sister, then followed Lance inside. She found him and Sharp in Olivia’s office. Olivia’s work space was as pristine as a museum. There wasn’t even a single coffee stain on the white blotter.
Looking lost, Sharp still sat behind the desk. He tapped the closed cover of Olivia’s laptop. “We’ll talk to her friends, family, and neighbors. If nothing pans out, we dig into her work files.”
“Sounds reasonable. Let’s make an action plan for this evening.” Morgan perched on the corner of the desk. “We’ll update it in the morning depending on what happens tonight.”
If Olivia didn’t come home.
“I want to drive the route to her parents’ house again. Maybe I missed some sign on our earlier trip.” Sharp scrubbed both hands down his face. “And I’ll talk to her parents.” He checked the time on his phone. “It’s almost five o’clock. I should be going. Her family must be panicking at this point.”
“Either Lance or I should go with you,” Morgan said.
Sharp shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”
“You can’t look for Olivia’s car and drive at the same time,” Morgan argued.
“Morgan should go.” Lance pushed off the wall. “Olivia’s sister and mother might open up more to her.”
Sharp had mad skills getting people to talk to him, but Morgan went along with it. She didn’t want him to be alone or driving in his current state of distraction.
“Maybe you’re right,�
�� Sharp said.
“While you two are gone, I’ll talk to her neighbors,” Lance offered. “And check her usual stops around town. Can you make a list of places she frequents? Does she have a favorite coffee shop or restaurant?”
“I’ll make a list.” Sharp opened the top desk drawer and took out a notepad.
“I’m going to call Grandpa and let the family know we won’t be home for dinner or bedtime.” Morgan left the office.
Lance followed her into the kitchen. He glanced at his phone. “I can still make bedtime. Questioning neighbors shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”
Nodding, Morgan dialed her grandfather’s number. When he picked up the phone, she explained about Olivia being missing.
“Of course, we understand,” Grandpa said. “Don’t worry about the kids. Gianna and I have everything under control.”
Morgan was grateful for the thousandth time for her grandfather and her live-in nanny.
She heard a small voice in the background. “Is that Mommy?”
“Ava wants to talk to you. Hold on.” Grandpa handed the phone to Morgan’s seven-year-old daughter.
“Mommy, you promised to take us shopping for Halloween costumes tonight,” Ava said in a strident voice that carried into the room.
Morgan opened her mouth to apologize, but Lance tapped her arm and whispered, “I can do it.”
“Hold on, honey.” Morgan lowered her cell and covered the microphone. “Halloween isn’t for six more weeks. We have plenty of time.”
“But we did promise to take them tonight.” Lance looked at his watch. “I’ll be home by six thirty. Shopping for costumes won’t take more than an hour. I’ll have them in bed by eight.”
“Are you sure?” Morgan didn’t doubt his ability to care for the girls, but Halloween generated a level of excitement surpassed only by Christmas. The girls would be revved up.
“Positive,” Lance said. “It’s not a big deal.”
Morgan raised the phone to her ear. “Lance said he’ll take you tonight.”
“Yay!” Ava squealed. In the background, her sisters echoed her enthusiasm.
Morgan moved the phone a few inches from her ear. When the high-pitched sounds stopped, she and Ava exchanged I love yous, and Morgan disconnected.
Sharp emerged from Olivia’s office. “Let’s roll.”
Morgan kissed Lance goodbye. “One costume each. No negotiating. And don’t let them talk you into buying the candy at the register. I love you.”
“Love you too. See you at home. Good luck.”
Hopefully, one of Olivia’s friends or family members would have information about her whereabouts. But as Morgan followed Sharp out the door, she couldn’t shake the apprehension roiling like storm clouds in her belly. Whatever had happened to Olivia hadn’t been good.
Chapter Seven
Lance approached the house diagonal to Olivia’s, a blue Cape Cod with red shutters. At five thirty, people were returning home from work. He’d already driven to the organic grocery store and Perk Up, a local café.
No one had seen Olivia that day.
He’d had no luck at the first few houses he’d visited either. None of the residents had seen Olivia for several days. Most people had jobs and didn’t spend much time outside unless it was the weekend.
He walked up two steps, stood on the front stoop, and rang the doorbell. Inside the house, a small dog exploded into a frenzy of high-pitched barking.
“Hush!” a voice yelled. An elderly man in gray chinos, a red plaid shirt, and bright-orange track shoes opened the door. A four-pound Yorkshire terrier yapped and growled at his feet, trying to slip past his legs, as if it wanted to tear Lance’s ankles apart with its tiny teeth. The man backed out onto the stoop, pushing the furious dog back inside. Chuckling, he closed the door. “Sorry about that. Grizz is fifteen years old and still has no manners. I don’t suppose he’s ever going to.”
Lance handed the old man a business card and introduced himself.
“I’m Bob Johnson.” Bob squinted at the card, then pulled a pair of black-framed reading glasses from the chest pocket of his shirt. “A private investigator? I’ve never talked to one of those before.” He sounded excited. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for your neighbor, Olivia Cruz. Do you know her?”
“Yes. I know Olivia. She inherited her aunt’s house. Knew her aunt too. I’ve lived in this house for sixty years. My wife and I bought it after our third child was born.”
“Is your wife home?”
Bob shook his head, his eyes misting. “No, she passed away last year, right after our sixtieth wedding anniversary.”
“I’m sorry.” Lance felt the old man’s sadness. He couldn’t imagine losing Morgan. Ever.
Bob’s smile was bittersweet. “I’m grateful for all the years we had together. She kept me in line.” He winked, brushing off his nostalgia. “Someone had to.” Bob was probably in his early eighties, but he seemed pretty spry for his age.
“When did you last talk to Olivia?” Lance asked.
Bob rubbed his chin. “A couple of days ago, early in the morning. She was working in her garden. I asked her advice on ground cover for my flower beds. I can’t get down to pull weeds like I used to.”
“Do you remember what day that was?”
“What’s today?”
“Friday.”
“I’m retired, and the days all blur together now,” Bob explained. “I’d say it was Wednesday.”
“But you haven’t seen her since then?”
Bob’s brows drew together. “She drove by the house last night. I was walking the dog. Neither one of us sleeps through the night anymore. Grizz was sniffing his way around the side yard when we saw her drive by.”
“Do you know what time that was?” Lance asked.
Bob rested a fist on his lower back. His head tilted as he concentrated. “I guess it was actually early this morning, probably between two and three. I don’t know the exact time. Grizz and I went back to bed.”
“Was Olivia behind the wheel? Was anyone else in the car?”
“I didn’t see her face.” Bob pointed down the street. “She was driving that way, so the passenger side of her car was facing me. But I didn’t see anyone in the passenger seat. I assume she was alone.”
Lance assumed nothing. “You’re sure it was her car?”
“I didn’t check the license plate.” Bob lifted one shoulder. “But she’s the only one on the street with a white Prius.”
“Have you seen anyone else around Olivia’s house recently?”
Bob rubbed his chin. “There was a guy knocking at her door last night about seven o’clock. He knocked. She didn’t answer. He left. That was it.”
Lance snapped to attention. A lead. “Can you tell me what he looked like?”
Bob frowned. “He was tall, blond hair. I couldn’t see his face in the dark.”
“Thin, fat, average?” Lance prompted.
“He was wearing a jacket, but I’d say average.”
“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”
“Yes!” Bob’s voice rose, and he pointed to his own chest with his thumb. “I’m a car guy. It was a 1971 Chevy Nova. I’m pretty sure it was black, but it could have been dark blue.”
“Is that an expensive car?” Lance was not a car guy.
“Not particularly, but if you like muscle cars—and I do—it was in very good condition.”
And distinctive. How many dark-blue or black 1971 Chevy Novas could be in the area?
Lance took a small notepad out of his pocket. “Could I have your phone number, Bob?”
“Sure.”
Lance wrote down Bob’s contact information. “Have you seen anyone unusual around the neighborhood lately? Salespeople, meter readers, construction crews . . .”
Bob gestured toward the brick house a few doors down the street. “The Browns have been renovating their house for a year. There’s always a work vehicle
of some kind out front.”
“You saw workers there this past week?”
Bob tucked his hands into his front pockets and hunched as if he were cold. “There was a white van parked there on and off for the past two weeks.”
“Can you describe the van?”
“White, no windows in the back. A little dinged up.” Bob closed his eyes. “Sorry. I don’t remember what kind of tradesman it was. I’m afraid I’ve gotten so used to seeing vehicles there, I don’t pay much attention anymore.”
Lance thanked him and left the porch. He walked to the brick house and knocked. A blonde woman in her late thirties opened the door. Tall and slim, she wore a long blue sweater over yoga pants.
“Mrs. Brown?”
At her nod, Lance offered her a card and introduced himself.
She frowned down at the card, and suspicion lifted her chin.
“I’m a friend of Olivia Cruz. She lives in the white house over there.” Lance motioned toward Olivia’s bungalow, catercorner to the Browns’ house.
“I don’t talk to strange men.” She moved to close the door.
Lance wished Morgan were with him. She would be less threatening to a woman. But Sharp needed her more.
“Please wait!” He took one step back, away from the door, and tried not to look intimidating. It wasn’t something he did very often.
She hesitated.
Lance smiled. “You can call the Scarlet Falls Police Department. Almost anyone who answers the phone can vouch for me. I was a police officer for ten years.”
With a humph, she closed the door. Lance heard the dead bolt slide into place.
Was she going to call? Or was he out of luck?
He turned away from the door and leaned on the porch railing. He’d give her a few minutes. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d go back to Bob and beg for an introduction from him. He studied Olivia’s quiet street. Mature oak trees lined both sides. Sprawling branches shaded the sidewalk. There were lots of shadows to hide in.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that the click of the door at his back startled him.
Mrs. Brown shook a lock of hair out of her eyes. “The sergeant says hello.”
Save Your Breath Page 5
