“I did.” Marin forces herself to speak normally.
“Have you been keeping up with their text communications?” Castro asks, which is a polite way of saying, Have you been spying on your husband and his lover?
Marin is gripping the phone so hard, her knuckles are turning white. Everything about this conversation is freaking her out. She was clear with Sal about wanting it called off, and her best friend had assured her it would be done. So what the hell happened? Was she too late? At the diner, Julian said nothing would happen right away, that he would wait a few weeks in order to create distance between their conversation and the actual event. It’s been less than a week. He can’t have done anything to McKenzie so soon.
Unless . . . Julian saw an opportunity. Unless he saw that she and Derek were away, giving Marin—and, by extension, Derek—the perfect alibi. And it really is perfect. Nobody would ever suspect them. The Machados spent the weekend in Whistler, over two hundred miles away, with dozens of witnesses and an Instagram account documenting—and geotagging—all the highlights of their trip.
“Did the texts say anything that alluded to McKenzie going away?”
“Not that I recall.” Marin’s mind is going in seven different directions. She’s trying to remember the specifics of what the texts said, while trying to remember what she said to Sal and what he said to her, while also trying to figure out where Vanessa Castro is going with it all. She needs to stay one step ahead here, because it’s true that Derek is the common denominator. There are two important people in his life who have disappeared. One is his child. The other is his lover.
But Castro seems to be forgetting that Marin is the other common denominator. Sebastian is also her child, and she recently learned that McKenzie was having an affair with her husband.
Jesus Christ. What if Sal didn’t call it off in time? What if he reached out to Julian but the deed was already done? What if McKenzie Li is dead because of . . . timing?
What if she’s dead because of Marin?
What the hell did she do?
Of course she can’t tell Castro any of this. The PI is a former cop, and while she seems to toe the line between what’s legal and what’s not, she’d have Marin arrested for sure.
McKenzie cannot be dead. It has to be a coincidence. She’s young, flighty, impulsive. She probably took off and forgot to tell people. Right?
“Marin?” Castro says, and Marin realizes that the woman has asked her a question and is waiting for an answer.
“The last text I saw was before we left for Whistler.” She swallows, grateful they’re not face-to-face and that the PI can’t see her trying to compose herself.
“Would you mind sending the texts to me?” She can hear the scratching of Castro’s pen. She must be making notes. “Take screenshots and text them to my cell.”
“I can’t. I deleted the app, and when I did, it deleted all the data.”
“That’s too bad.” Castro’s pen stops. “I understand, of course, but those texts would have been helpful.”
A thought occurs to Marin then. “They might have saved to the cloud on my computer. All my devices connect to the same backup. Want me to check?”
“Yes, please, that would be great. If the messages are there, send me everything. I’m guessing there isn’t that much. You’ve only had the app for a week.”
Not even a week.
“No problem,” Marin says.
Again, the PI misreads her tone. “Don’t worry. This likely has nothing to do with Sebastian, but I might as well be thorough. I’m assuming you can’t ask Derek what he knows about McKenzie’s whereabouts—”
“He doesn’t know that I know anything about her,” Marin says, before the investigator can finish. “We haven’t discussed the affair at all, and I don’t plan to.”
A slight pause. “Are you and Derek . . . Do you think his relationship with her is over?”
“I really feel like it is.” It’s the most honest way Marin can answer. “Obviously I don’t know for certain, but we had a pretty wonderful getaway together. He planned the whole thing, and it feels like . . . a fresh start.”
Castro doesn’t respond to this. Marin can only imagine what the other woman is thinking. She can feel her judgment oozing through the phone line, because that’s what women do to each other. They judge. And she’s betting Castro thinks she let Derek off the hook way too easily. It’s what Marin would be thinking if their situations were reversed.
She’s compelled to break the awkward silence. “Let me know what you turn up?”
“Of course,” the PI says.
They say their goodbyes and disconnect. Marin grabs her MacBook from the nightstand. She can’t remember McKenzie’s roommate’s name, but she knows she saw it somewhere in Castro’s notes. It takes her a minute to find it, and after she does, she opens Safari and clicks on Facebook. She types Tyler Jansen into the search box, and Facebook responds with a list of Tyler Jansens. The one she’s looking for is the first one, since Facebook’s creepy algorithm already knew that she’d clicked on McKenzie’s profile a bunch of times, and, being her roommate, Tyler is connected to McKenzie on Facebook.
She didn’t realize Tyler was Filipino, which goes to show you can’t tell anything about a person from their name. He’s handsome, mid-twenties, and well-built in his profile picture. It looks like he’s tending bar and having a great time doing it. His settings are public, and when Marin clicks into his profile, his post about his roommate’s disappearance is at the very top.
He’s uploaded a picture of the two them sitting on the couch with her cat wedged between them. Underneath the photo he’s written: If anyone’s talked to McKenzie Li, tell her to text her roommate, because this shit ain’t funny.
Tyler made the post earlier this morning. There are over two dozen comments, and Marin scrolls through them all, thinking that this was what Vanessa Castro must have been doing right before she called. Based on the questions from various friends and Tyler’s responses, McKenzie’s roommate hasn’t seen her in two days. Apparently, it isn’t abnormal for her to be gone for a night or two, but even if she forgets to tell him in advance—which he says she does a lot—she always responds to his texts. She blew off a dinner date last night, and this morning, despite several texts, has still not checked in. And she always does, even when she knows he’s mad at her.
Marin doesn’t understand any of this. If she’s not responding to her roommate, then she must be really be missing. She’s really gone.
Oh Jesus.
She checks Instagram. McKenzie’s last post was Saturday night, and it was a selfie taken at home with her cat and a can of something that looks like beer, but on closer inspection is actually hard cider. Nothing since then, which, from what Marin’s observed, would also be cause for alarm, since McKenzie posts something every damn day.
She logs into the cloud, and after a couple of minutes figures out where the Shadow app data is stored. It’s conveniently in one file, and she emails it to Castro. Whatever the PI might be thinking about Derek, he had nothing whatsoever to do with this. This is all on Marin.
She needs to find out what Julian has done. And the only person who can help her is Sal. She texts him.
You alive?
Haha, he replies. As much as I can be in Prosser.
You’re back there again? Marin is surprised. Everything ok with your mom?
We’re at the hospital, he texts. She’s having tests. For the brain injury.
Damn it. She doesn’t want to ask him about Julian while he’s at the hospital.
Send her my love, Marin texts. When are you home?
Tonight. I’ll be at the bar.
I’ll come by, she types. We need to talk.
The three dots flicker, disappear, then flicker again. Sal can’t seem to decide what to say to that. Finally, he replies. OK.
Whatever Sal knows about Julian and McKenzie—if he knows anything at all—will have to wait.
The rest of t
he day passes quickly, thanks to a packed schedule at the salon. She finishes with her last VIP client at eight p.m., but she accidently got hair color on her dress, so she’ll have to go home to change before heading out to see Sal.
Jeans are appropriate attire for Sal’s Bar, and she dresses quickly in her closet, sliding on her most comfortable and well-worn pair. She reaches for a pair of boots, then notices something odd, something she didn’t notice that morning when she dressed for work.
Her most prized Louboutins have been moved.
The designer heels were a complete splurge, meant for only the fanciest of special occasions, thanks to the crystal bows on the toes. They’ve been relocated out of their usual spot, which is near the bottom of the shoe rack, and arranged at eye level in front of her purse collection, one shoe posed on its side to show off its signature red sole. It’s as if they’ve been prepped for a photo.
Did Derek do this? Or Daniela? She pauses, thinking. Derek has no interest in her shoes, and Daniela, in the ten years she’s been cleaning for them, has never touched Marin’s personal things. The last time these shoes were on her feet was at the Holiday Ball, well before Sebastian was taken, more than two years ago.
As she moves the Louboutins back down into the empty spot where they belong, a piece of paper near the shoe rack catches her eye. It’s partially crumpled, as if it fell out of a pocket, and she picks it up.
It’s a taxi receipt, from the Sunshine Cab Co. Probably one of Derek’s. He takes taxis often, saying he prefers them over Uber, which is hilarious since he’s never taken an Uber before. But then she notes the date and time, printed right on the receipt.
It’s from two nights ago, when she and Derek were in Whistler. Marin stares at the little piece of paper, so innocuous she almost threw it away without looking at it. It takes a moment for her to process what it means.
Someone was in her house while they were away.
Chapter 24
Sal’s Bar is busy for a Monday night. The Mariners are playing at home, which explains why everyone is wearing baseball jerseys.
Marin rarely comes here in the evenings anymore. She’s not used to weaving her way through loud customers shouting at the TV screens and groups of men glancing twice at her as she passes. It feels weird to be in a crowded bar by herself, but she declined Derek’s offer to come with her.
She was leaving the house as her husband was coming in, and when she told him where she was going, he surprised her with his response.
“I’ll come with you,” he said, and it was yet another sign that things are now different between them. A week ago, he wouldn’t have said anything.
“It’s just to Sal’s bar, for a beer,” she said, holding her breath. “I said I’d stop in. His mother’s not doing well.”
She knows Derek doesn’t like Sal, though he’s never said the words out loud. Sal can be abrasive and rough around the edges, and it confuses Derek because he thinks Sal grew up with privilege. The winery had a solid reputation, and Sal’s family had both money and legacy. Sal just never wanted any of it, which is the thing Derek can’t understand, because Derek’s family gave him nothing.
“You’re a good friend to him,” Derek said. “You go ahead. I have to get some work done anyway.”
“I won’t be long,” she said, relieved. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.
He pulled her back for another one. “I’ll wait up for you.”
Derek is trying, that much is clear, and it’s wonderful and confusing all at the same time. The crevasse that opened between them after Sebastian disappeared is still there, though perhaps not quite as wide. There’s love and affection mixed in with the anger and resentment, and it will take time to undo all the months of not connecting with her husband to get back on solid ground. But for the first time in a long time, she’d like to get there. For the first time since their son went missing, their marriage feels like a priority.
For today, anyway. There’s no predicting how she’ll feel once she figures out what happened to McKenzie.
As she makes her way through the bar, she sees Ginny, the server Sal’s been sleeping with. While the thought doesn’t exactly thrill Marin, her friend is entitled to do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants. Ginny is balancing a tray full of beers on one arm, and her face darkens when she sees Marin. They’re within a foot of each other, and up close she realizes the server is much younger than she originally thought. Marin had her pegged as mid-thirties, but now she’s guessing she’s closer to mid-twenties. Ugh. Seriously, Sal?
She forces herself to smile. “Sal around?”
“Office. He said to send you back when you got here.” Ginny jerks her head in the direction of the back room, then continues on her way.
Whatever just happened in the baseball game, the crowded bar cheers its approval. Marin passes a man who offers his palm for a high-five. She smacks it and keeps moving.
She pushes through to the back of the bar, where a door leads to a long hallway. The bathrooms are on the left, and the kitchen and Sal’s small office are on the right. If it can even be called an office. It’s barely big enough for a desk and two chairs.
Sal looks up when she knocks.
“Hey,” he says. “Shut the door. I can’t hear myself think with that noise.”
She does as he asks, and the volume from the main bar is cut in half. He gestures for her to sit, giving her the once-over as she sinks into the chair opposite him.
“Missed me already, huh? I don’t usually see you twice in one week. Hell, I don’t usually see you twice in one month these days.”
Sal seems edgy, and it takes her a few seconds to recognize that he’s nervous. And then it takes her another few seconds to remember why. He doesn’t know that she’s here to talk about McKenzie and Julian. She and her best friend slept together a few days ago, and he’s no doubt bracing for Marin to start telling him what a gigantic mistake they made, and that it can never happen again. He’ll be half-right.
“Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I don’t regret it.” She speaks gently, and Sal’s eyes widen in surprise.
“I don’t either,” he says.
“But it can’t happen again.” She smiles to soften her words. “I’m married, Sal, to someone else. You’re my best friend. And right now, I don’t want either of those things to change.”
“So then you and Derek are working it out?” Sal’s voice is tight.
“For now,” she says.
He nods, crisply, just once. She hates that she’s the one making his face do the thing it’s doing right now, the thing it always does when something is painful for him to hear. He’s trying to hide it, but his body is tense, his hands pressed on the desk like he’s doing his best to keep them from punching something.
“Derek and I have been together for twenty years,” she says, as if Sal doesn’t already know this. “We’ve both made huge mistakes.”
“And I’ve known you longer,” Sal says. “But if this is what you want, then I understand. I wasn’t expecting anything more.”
“Did you want something more?”
“Would it matter?” A short silence falls between them. After a few seconds, he waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. We’re good, Mar. Though it’s not so much fun being dumped for the same guy. Twice.”
They both know he wasn’t dumped. In college, or now. But she lets him have the final word on it, because it’s the least she can do.
“So is that it?” He cocks his head to the side. “You could have told me this over the phone, by the way. I wouldn’t have been offended.”
“Actually, that’s not the only reason I’m here.” Marin leans forward, lowering her voice even though they’re inside the office and there’s no way anyone can hear them with all the bar noise. “I need you to confirm that you did get ahold of Julian when I texted you yesterday.”
“Julian? Yeah, I did.” Sal’s dark eyes narrow. “Why?”
&nb
sp; “McKenzie’s missing.”
He blinks. “Who?”
“The other woman Derek was . . . seeing.” It occurs to her then that she might never have told Sal her name. She only showed him McKenzie’s picture, the nude selfie, which used to be Marin’s iPhone wallpaper. It’s since been changed to a photo of her and Derek in Whistler. “She’s gone.”
It’s Sal’s turn to lean forward. “What do you mean, gone?”
“She hasn’t been home since yesterday. Her roommate posted something about it on Facebook.” She pulls out her phone and shows him Tyler’s Facebook status.
“You’re stalking the roommate now, too?” Sal squints at the screen. He needs reading glasses, like she does, but like Marin, he refuses to wear them.
“Of course.” She shakes her head. “I’d asked the PI to look into the affair, which in hindsight I shouldn’t have, considering I almost hired Julian to . . .” Her voice trails off, and she clears her throat. “She pointed out that there are now two people missing from Derek’s life. She says Derek’s the common denominator.”
Sal freezes. “So she’s still investigating Derek’s girlfriend?”
“She’s not his girlfriend anymore,” Marin snaps.
“Girlfriend, mistress, whatever.” Sal lets out a puff of air. “Jesus Christ, Mar. You were supposed to tell your investigator to back off. The last fucking thing you need is her poking around in Julian’s business.” He grimaces. “That’s never ended well. Trust me.”
“I did tell her. But she said she’d already started digging.”
“Is she pursuing the theory that maybe the same person targeted them both? Because of something to do with Derek?”
“Well, what else is she supposed to think?” Marin is upset, and her voice is sharper than she intends. She takes a breath, and softens her tone. “But it’s fine. For Julian, I mean. It’s not like the PI knows anything about him. She doesn’t know what I tried to do.”
“You didn’t try to do anything.” Sal says this forcefully. “You hear me? You met a friend of mine in a diner. You ate some food. The next morning, in a completely unrelated act of generosity, you donated a bunch of money to charity. That’s all you did, you understand? At least, that’s all anybody knows you did.”
Little Secrets (ARC) Page 23
