“Her phone and clothes are missing and the security system is off,” I comment, processing out loud for my benefit, not his.

He replies anyway, adding, “And with the property lines wide and fancy, we have no camera feed from anywhere else. Someone covered their ass.”

Maybe, I think, but what I say is, “Do we have her phone number?”

“Actually, I do. I just called it in for the phone records. Why?”

I remove my phone from my field bag. “I thought I’d call her and ask her what happened,” I say, just blinking at him as I do.

“Right,” he says dryly. “Obviously that was a stupid question. No better way to find it than to call it.” He grabs his phone and reads the number off to me.

I’ve just keyed it into my phone when someone calls his name from somewhere I prefer him to be myself—outside. He grimaces, cursing under his breath, and steps around me. Bye-bye, birdie, I think. Fly far, far away.

Not about to wait for his return, I follow my gut and charge up the stairs again. I’m already at the mirrored doors of the closets when I punch in the number. Bingo yet again. Her cellphone starts ringing. I open the door to my left and squat down. Her phone is in the pocket of a dress. Locating it, I remove it and of course it’s locked. I try 1-1-1-1 and fail. I try 1-2-3-4 and fail. I go through a series of numbers and 9-9-9-9 wins.

The missed call is from someone named Jamie. I try to return the call and get a generic voicemail. I decide not to leave a message. If Jamie calls back, he or she most likely believes Emma to be alive. If not, maybe Jamie knows she’s dead. I switch to Emma’s text messages and begin scrolling through the messages.

There’s a text from “Baby” that reads: Look Emma, sweetheart. I know you’re upset right now by the extended trip, but wrapping up this deal before the wedding is good for us. I can’t wait to get home. I really can’t wait to make you my wife.

You left me alone for Thanksgiving, reads Emma’s reply.

And I will never do it again, he promised in return.

She didn’t reply to him. Instead, she sent a text to someone else labeled as “Jamie” with: One more time for the history books.

When? was his or her only reply.

Now, had been Emma’s response.

All prior messages with Jamie are deleted.