As I drop the phone in my bag, I catch sight of Craig leaning across the front seat and powering down the passenger-side window.
“Everything okay?” he yells.
“Uh, yeah,” I call out, traipsing back to the car. “But it’s going to be longer than I said. Maybe up to an hour.”
“These things happen, I know, but I’m gonna have to come back for you or send another driver. I got an airport pickup I can’t be late for.”
I groan internally. It would be so much better to have a car waiting here so I could quickly exit no matter how this plays out today.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll call when I’m ready.”
He starts the car and drives off, leaving me totally alone on the empty road. The sky has darkened since I set out from Cartersville, and it’s cooler now. Tightening the belt on my coat, I head back up toward the front porch but instead decide to walk around to the back. Maybe I can get a glimpse of Riley, reassuring myself that she’s okay.
Rounding the rear corner of the building, I see that Hilary has taken pains with her backyard, too. Adjacent to the house is a small, nicely designed stone patio with a bird feeder standing at the far end.The rear lawn is as manicured as the front one, though it quickly gives way to a thickly wooded area that seems to extend for miles. Some of the trees have buds already, but no leaves yet, and a few of the closest ones have blue bird boxes tacked to them.
I step onto the patio. The large window at the back of the house has its drapes open, and after peering inside, I realize I’m looking into the living room with a dining area on the far left. No sign of Riley.
I return to the front of the house and plop onto the porch chair. My disquiet seems to swell by the minute, not helped by how strange it feels to be out here all by myself. Finally, I hear a car approach and soon spot a silver SUV barreling up the road. The vehicle makes a sharp turn into the driveway, screeching a little as it comes to a stop only inches from the garage door.
Hilary Brown bolts from the car.
“Any sign of her?” she calls out to me. Her apple-green coat is unbuttoned, and the sides flap as she hurries in my direction with her house key already in hand.
“None,” I say.
She jabs the key in the lock and quickly opens the door. I follow her into a small corridor.
“Riley?” she says, raising her voice a little.
We’re greeted by silence, along with the lingering smell of room spray, one of those scents that’s supposed to remind you of rain or fresh linen.
Hilary takes a few steps in her sensible-looking pumps and stops at the first door on the left, pushing it open. We’re now staring into the guest bedroom I saw earlier from the front window.
“Is this the room she’s staying in?” I ask.
“Yes.”
As she strides toward the en suite bathroom and glances inside, I survey the space. The only belongings I spot are a pair of black-and-tan ballet flats by the closet door.
Hilary starts moving again, back to the living room, with me right behind her. She calls Riley’s name twice more without getting a response.
Our eyes seem to fall simultaneously on the large glass coffee table, where a smartphone in a turquoise case lies next to the TV remote.
“That’s hers,” Hilary says, though its presence is hardly reassuring. Riley’s phone might be here, but where in the world isshe?
Hilary ducks into a small kitchen just behind the dining area. It’s empty, too.
“That’s odd,” Hilary says, returning to the living room. The muscles in her face are taut with worry.
“What?”
“The dishwasher’s warm. She must have run it, but I didn’t ask her to.”
So, Riley’s taken the time to tidy up.
“Could she have gone back to Buffalo sooner than planned—and forgotten her phone?”
“No, I checked the Ring camera on the front door before I left the office, and she hasn’t been in or out of the house. And it’s not just her phone that’s here. All her toiletries are still in the bathroom.”
