Now, it was missing.
Dread sank its claws deep into my chest. A rush of nausea rolledthrough me so hard I had to brace a hand on the desk. Cold sweat broke out along my spine.
Someone had stood here. At my desk. In this room, where I wrote, drank coffee, and surfed the internet. Someone who knew when we left for school, when we got home, when the house sat empty with Apollo snoring on the couch.
I scanned the room for anything else out of place.
The coffee mug I'd left on the coaster had been moved to the windowsill. A framed photo of Marcus, Mia, and me at Navy Pier was face down on the shelf where it had been upright this morning. The table lamp had been shifted to the other side of the desk. My desk chair was pulled out too far.
The smallest things. A stranger's signature, written in negatives.
Like they wanted me to know.
I had locked everything. I knew I had. After the opened window, I'd triple-checked the deadbolt before we left for the precinct.
I'd changed the locks the day the house closed.
Brooke was the only person with a spare key. I'd given it to her over fall break last October when Mia and I went to Grand Rapids for the day and needed someone to let Apollo out. Rowan, Viv, and Camille had all gone on quick getaways. Only Brooke had remained home.
Once she had it, I figured she might as well keep it in case Mia or I accidentally locked ourselves out. I never left a spare under a planter or anywhere else. I wasn't taking chances after last time.
Either she had come in here, or someone she trusted enough with the key had entered my home. Like her daughter.
I didn’t think Brooke would enter my house without permission, but what about Alexis? She had been standing beside our mailbox when we'd arrived home. Had she just walked down our driveway after letting herself inside?
My skin prickled all over.
The house no longer felt safe. It was all we had. We had nowhere else to go. We couldn't even afford a cheap motel at this point. My bank account was woefully empty, even more so since I'd had todelay the deadline for my latest freelance assignment. If I didn't work, we didn't eat.
I would call a locksmith today to change the locks again. I wasn't sure of the cost, but I'd put it on my credit card and pray my limit wasn’t maxed out. And then I'd talk to Brooke to get my spare key returned. I didn't know what else to do.
Through the window above the desk, I could see the street, wet and gray, where someone must have watched us pull away this morning, then watched us drive back after the precinct, waiting for their chance to slip inside.
I longed to call the police. But if I notified the cops that someone had broken in, had only taken a single notebook and moved some objects around, they'd think I was crazy. That I was unhinged, losing my damn marbles. That I was unraveling.
Even worse, they already considered Mia a suspect. If I invited them in now, they'd tear through everything—our rooms, our devices, our lives—and still conclude Mia was guilty. I thought of the slippers again and shivered.
I stared at the empty spot on my desk, feeling the eyes of whoever had been here as if they were still watching me through the glass.
Chapter Thirteen
I didn't sleep that night. I lay there in the dark, eyes open, mind chewing on itself until dawn bled through the blinds. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw Leah's face. Then Mia's. Then the interrogation room, the careful way the detectives watched Mia.
When the clock hit 5 a.m., I rolled out of bed, bright and early Wednesday morning. I cleaned because I couldn't stand doing nothing. I wiped the counters. Re-wiped them. Scrubbed the sink, bathtub, and toilet in the bathroom upstairs.
I organized the same drawer I'd organized yesterday. Rubber bands, takeout menus, ancient Chapstick. I threw things away until the trash can overflowed. Apollo shadowed me, watching everything I did intently.
Mia wanted to go to school, but she looked so wan and exhausted that I insisted she stay home for one more day to rest. Besides, Camille had advised that she remain at home for a few days.
I wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap so nothing could hurt her ever again. Instead, I let her sleep upstairs while I made a cup of coffee that I was too wired to drink.
I checked the locks. Twice. Front door deadbolt. Side door latch. Back slider lock.
My brain wouldn't stop churning. Someone had beeninsidemy house. Someone was watching us. But who? And why?
I called every locksmith in town yesterday. The earliest anyone could come was Friday morning. Two more days. I texted Brooke about the spare key and was waiting to hear back.
Around 9 a.m. on Wednesday, I caught movement on the street outside my window. A dark sedan I didn't recognize parked three houses down. Detective King stood on the Henderson’s front porch, notebook in hand. Callahan climbed the steps to the Cromwell place.
