“Sure thing,” Townsend says, though Harris isn’t really asking.
They leave, and Townsend turns to look at Talia for the first time in what feels like hours.
“So,” he says, “should we finish the movie?”
Talia’s head is spinning with all the information that was just relayed—missing person reports, estates, DUIs—and she can think of a dozen questions she’d like to ask Townsend. But then she sees the pleading look in his eyes, a look that saysPlease, can we talk about it tomorrow and just go back to our movie like none of this ever happened?“Okay,” she says.
Later that night, as Townsend snores, Talia scrolls through Amanda Reade’s Instagram. Since learning about Amanda last year, she’s visited this profile dozens—if not hundreds—of times, and by now, the pictures feel as familiar as her own. But no matter how many times she revisits these images, a blind rage consumes her, never dulled or diluted in the months that have passed.
The worst image: the most recent one, posted on March 6, which shows Amanda standing practically naked in front of the picture window in Townsend’s bedroom. Talia recognizes the room, the view, and even the men’s boxers slung around Amanda’s curvy hips—a pair of silk pinstripe shorts from Derek Rose, Townsend’s preferred underwear brand. There’s a special place in hell for boyfriend stealers, Taliahas decided—especially for those who do so without any discretion or apology.
For months, Amanda’s grid has remained unchanged—no new photos, no new updates. But now, Talia notices a colorful ring around the profile picture in the top left-hand corner: Amanda has added to her Instagram Story. Her curiosity piqued, Talia clicks to watch, not caring that Instagram will tattle on her for snooping. A paragraph appears, written in white text on a black background, and as Talia reads it, her hands start to shake.
Hi all,the note reads.Amanda’s sister Kaitlyn here. As some of you have noticed, Amanda hasn’t posted for the last few months. Today I filed a police report—she is officially considered a missing person. If anyone knows anything about where she may be, please send me a message.
None of this is new to Talia; the police just told her and Townsend as much. What really unnerves her are these last few lines:
And if anyone has info about Amanda’s most recent boyfriend, Townsend Fuller, I’d like to hear from you. I can’t say much here, but I will say this: I know he’s involved in Amanda’s disappearance, and I have proof.
Chapter Seven
Kaitlyn
It didn’t take Kaitlyn long to find the name of the man Amanda had been dating. She started with her sister’s Instagram grid, where she found a picture of Amanda from February 14 in what looked like a nice restaurant, holding up a glass of red wine to the camera.Lay the table with the fancy shxt, the caption read. She’d added Jeffrey’s as the location, and she’d tagged a username as well: @t_fuller90. Unfortunately, the handle was a dead end; the account was deactivated. But now she knew this: The mystery man who’d taken her sister to Jeffrey’s on Valentine’s Day was likely named T. Fuller, and (as Amanda had mentioned he was a decade her senior) he was likely born in 1990.
She also had the class ring from Amanda’s apartment, which—based on the shield crest and slogan—led her to St. Augustine Episcopal School in Austin. Then she just had to search “T Fuller St. Augustine” to find a photo of three men, taken at an alumni holiday party four years earlier. According to the caption, the tall one in the middle was Townsend Fuller, class of ’08. Thick brown hair, aquiline nose, self-assured smile, and dimple in one cheek—yes, this man was most definitely her sister’s type.
From there, she went down a Google rabbit hole, finding the landing page for a tech start-up that touted Townsend as its “Thinker inChief” and an obituary from April for a Randolph Fuller, who appeared to be his father. Then Kaitlyn coughed up the thirteen dollars and ninety-nine cents for a one-month trial of a reverse-search website that promised to provide home address and telephone information for Townsend Fuller (34, Austin, Texas). Once she had his number, she fired off a text.
Hi, this is Kaitlyn’s Reade, Amanda’s sister. I haven’t been able to reach her and I’m worried. Hoping you might know where she is?
After three days with no response, she tried again.
Hi. Checking in again. Please contact me when you get this.
Again, nothing. She called; it went straight to voicemail.
That uneasy feeling she’d experienced sitting in Amanda’s empty apartment came creeping back. Something wasn’t right. Even if this Townsend guy had broken up with Amanda—which, given her sister’s track record, was not unlikely—wouldn’t a decent person at least respond to Kaitlyn saying he had no information? His silence felt significant. Kaitlyn’s gut told her this man held answers to explain her sister’s disappearance. And if he wasn’t going to respond to her messages, she was just going to have to take a different tack.
On LinkedIn, Kaitlyn searched for St. Augustine alumni from Townsend’s year still living in Austin, and after poring over dozens of profiles, she finally found William Dupont, a Southwestern University grad who worked as an associate at Rutland & Wiles, a rival firm to the one she worked for. Someone she could conceivably reach out to for networking purposes. It was too perfect. After confirming that William’s connections on LinkedIn included Townsend Fuller, Kaitlyn sent him a message:
Hi William! I’m a paralegal at Stevenson Ellis who’s considering making the move to Rutland. I would loveto hear from a fellow SU grad about the office culture there. Would you be open to meeting for coffee?
He’d responded within a few hours.Please, call me Will, he wrote.I’d be happy to grab coffee and chat. Go Pirates!
Kaitlyn wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of rendezvousing with a stranger, but she felt calmer once they arranged to meet at Galaxy Cafe in Clarksville. It was a safe, neutral location. What was this guy going to do—murder her in broad daylight?
After the obligatory small talk about their respective firms, Kaitlyn brought the conversation around to Townsend as casually as she could.
“By the way, I think we know someone in common. Townsend Fuller?”
Will’s eyebrows raised at the mention of his old classmate. “Oh, sure. How do you know him?”
“My sister is dating him, I think,” she said carefully. “Or, at least, was dating him. I’m protective. I want to know if he’s a good guy.”
“A good guy?” Will laughed like he’s just remembered an inside joke. “I don’t know about a good guy, but he’s definitely a legend.”
Leaning back in the booth, Will proceeded to share stories about his old St. Augustine classmate, told with a blend of amusement and awe. He recounted the time Townsend won class treasurer and then didn’t show up for a single officer meeting, and the time he threw balloons filled with piss at the beekeeping club, and the time he hooked up with three different girls during the two-day retreat before junior year.
