Craig comes to a stop at number 4204. The house, up a slight incline, is an attractive, average-size grayish-beige ranch with a stone foundation and an attached garage. The front lawn is dotted with young trees, obviously planted after the excavation.
I reiterate to Craig that I’ll be finished in thirty minutes or less. I’m positive Riley will want to get this over quickly, and I’m not going to belabor things, though I hope I can talk her into calling Halligan while I’m here.
I reach the porch and press the doorbell, the kind with a camera lens just above it. From inside come two melodious dong sounds, almost like church bells. I inhale deeply, waiting for footsteps to follow. But they don’t come. I give it almost a minute before trying again. Nothing this time, either.
Has Riley gotten cold feet? No, that can’t be the case, it just can’t be. I felt her sense of urgency as we spoke on the phone.
I back off the porch and traipse through the flower bed until I’ve reached one of the front windows. I peer inside. The curtains have been pulled closed, but there’s enough of a gap for me to see a small, sparsely furnished bedroom. It looks like a guest room, possibly the one Riley isstaying in, though she doesn’t seem to be in the room. The curtains on the other window are too tightly closed to see inside.
She’s probably in the rear of the house, I decide, where the living area must be, and it’s possible she has earbuds in and didn’t hear the bell. I scroll through today’s calls and tap her number. For a second, I think I hear the faint sound of a ringtone, but it could be my imagination. The call goes to voicemail, which makes me growl in frustration.
“Riley, hi, it’s Bree. I’m out front. I’m really looking forward to speaking with you.”
I return to the porch and try the doorbell again. Nothing. I jiggle the door handle. Locked.
Okay, so maybe she’s simply out for a walk, and then I instantly realize the absurdity of that thought. After being brutally raped in a park, Riley Reynolds has probably never ventured out by herself for a walk since then, let alone on a deserted road.
I decide my only option now is to call Hilary Brown, though if Riley hasn’t told her about the meeting, I’ll be tipping my hand, and she might try to nix the whole thing. This time Hilary picks up right away.
“Hilary, hi,” I say. “Did Riley tell you she’d invited me to your house to talk?”
I hear her sigh.
“Yes,” she says. “And, Bree, I must tell you that I advised her to cancel the invitation, at least for now. I know you’re looking for answers, but if Riley wants to discuss things with you, she’ll need to do it once I’m home and can be in the room with her.”
“She never canceled,” I explain. “I’m at your house now, but she’s not answering the door.”
Brown sighs again, a mix, it seems, of frustration and empathy. “I’m sorry you drove all the way out there. She might have felt skittish about calling you back to cancel, and now just isn’t responding.”
“I can understand your wish to be part of the conversation,” I say, “but ... what if you call her and conference me in?” I’m grasping atstraws, desperately hoping not to leave empty-handed. “I would let you take the lead, of course.”
The line goes quiet for a moment.
“Hilary, please,” I add, nearly begging now. “I don’t think Riley was completely honest with us, and we need the truth from her. Otherwise, we’ll never know what really happened to Mel.”
“All right,” she says. “Give me a minute to try her and I’ll ring you back.”
I lean against the wall of the recessed porch. It’s utterly quiet out here, not a car, bicyclist, or jogger on the road. The silence is suddenly broken by the faint ringtone of a phone, coming from deep within the house. I’m close enough now to really hear it.
The second ring cuts off midway through. I strain to pick up Riley’s hello, but nothing follows.
Seconds later Hilary phones back.
“She didn’t answer,” she says.
“I could hear it ringing in the house. Maybe she didn’t pick up because she’s seen me out front and knows you’re reaching out on my behalf.”
“No, that’s not like her,” she says bluntly. “Something’s wrong.”
Chapter 29
Unease ripples through me. “What should we do?” I ask Hilary.
“I’m coming back there,” she says.
“Do you want me to try to get inside?”
“No, it’s locked up like a drum. But just stay there,please, in case she finally answers the door. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
