“Ah…well, I haven’t talked to Tom yet, so I really don’t know,” I say.

“Oh,” she says with disappointment. “I was hoping you could give me a recommendation.”

Then it clicks, just like that. “You know, I didn’t really notice. I’ll have to ask Tom when I see him.”

“Oh,” she says, glancing at the CR-V. “He’s not here?”

“Ah…he’s out with Denise.”

“I see.”

“Tell me, did you get the name of the company?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. It was a bright-red van, and I saw letters on the side, advertising some carpet-cleaning place. Funny thing, I saw it drive in, and then turn around and back in, right up to the garage door.”

I thought, Driver makes a mistake, heads in with the front, then turns around so whatever they’re doing can be blocked from view from most neighbors.

“Was there one guy, or two?”

“Two,” she says. “Wearing those gray…what do you call them, jumpsuits.” A pause. “Amy, is everything all right?”

Good God, what a goddamn question.

“Things are fine,” I say. “Did they stay long?”

“Now, funny you should say that. No, they didn’t stay that long at all. I just saw them come out with two of your Oriental carpets and put them in the back of the van.”

It feels like there’s a giant hand in the center of my chest, squeezing, and squeezing hard.

Tom and I don’t own any Oriental rugs.

“Well, I hope they do a good job,” I say. “I bet they wrapped them up nice and secure.”

Mrs. Gaetz smiles and nods. “That’s what struck me, when they left. They opened the garage door and came out with the rolled-up rugs between them, and they put them in the van, real careful like, one by one. Like those two rugs were very precious.”

I manage to say, “You have no idea,” before hustling by her and getting into my Jeep.

CHAPTER 6

I STOP at the intersection, waiting for the light to change. Our house is on a cul-de-sac, meaning there’s only one way in and one way out.

One way out.

Before me is the busy traffic of Kingstowne Boulevard, which eventually leads into the extremely busy traffic of I-95 if you make a left-hand turn. If you were kidnapping a dad and young child from this neighborhood, heading to I-95 would be your best bet. Get buried in traffic, lots of options north and south to make your escape…

Escape where?

Just across the street is a Sunoco service station and minimart.

The light changes.

I hit the accelerator.

Drive across the street and behind the service station.

I take a deep breath, step out.

Inside the service station there’s a coffee setup, a pastry cabinet, and the usual narrow aisles filled with overpriced junk food, from chips to cupcakes—and I shouldn’t be a wiseass, because there have been a number of times when I’ve stopped here with Denise to pick up something to drink or munch on while going on an errand or a school trip.