“Who are they?” Wynd asks.
“I don’t know.” I keep my hands loose on the wheel and watch the trio steady themselves, the pink tracksuit lady planting her feet near the duffel. The dog glances back at the window, then at them, then at the trees, waiting for acue. I breathe in slow and let the quiet press against me until it sharpens my focus.
I lean even closer to the window, waiting for Ella to hop out. She doesn’t. Instead, the first woman, the one in neon pink, reaches up and gingerly slides the window down before hefting the duffel bag over her shoulder. She stumbles and then rights herself.
“What do you suppose is in that bag?” Wynd asks.
“I have no idea.” My voice is sharper than I intend. Where is Ella?
Wynd reaches for his door handle. “Do you want me to intercept them?”
“No. Let’s see where they’re going.”
They glance around, quick and cautious, then take off at a surprisingly fast clip across the lawn and into the tree line. I wait until they disappear on the trail before reigniting the engine and following along the forest’s edge to the main road. Trees crowd close on either side, shadows stretching longer with the fading light. The quiet feels loaded, pressing in against the glass.
A clearing opens ahead, and I catch sight of the women climbing into a car. At first glance it looks too big, too heavy, but then the details register. Chrome fenders catch the dusk. The body is a pale seafoam green, paint polished within an inch of its life. Whitewall tires. Wide bench seats. A Buick Electra from the sixties.
The thing shouldn’t even be running, but it purrs when they slam the doors. Somebody’s babied it—waxed, polished, kept hidden away until now. Lace curtains twitch in the back windows, and a sun-faded hula girl wobbles on the dash. It’s a car out of time, but they slide in like it’s always been waiting.
Wynd whistles low. “That’s … something.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, watching the taillights flare. I keep driving, letting them ease onto the road behind us, heading the opposite way. Once they’re clear, I swing a sharp U-turn and fall in behind, far enough to stay out of their mirrors.
My hand finds the button on the dash, and I call Kaz.
“Hey, Justice,” Kaz answers, his voice cheerful. He’s been a lot nicer since Ella lit into him. He doesn’t even sound smug today.
“Hey, I need you to do a search on the Cinderfalls Community Home. Three women, all in their late seventies. They came out of the east side window. I don’t know who they are, but they’re tied to Ella.”
“Sure.” The sound of typing filters through the speaker.
We merge onto the interstate, headlights flashing past, the tires humming steady under us. “Call me back when you have something.” I click off.
The road winds through Silicon Valley, then spits us out the other side to a long stretch of property outside of the city.
“They’re going to TimeGem?” Wynd mutters.
“I don’t know.” I ease back, following discreetly. My pulse jumps when their Electra slows at the entrance to the long drive and pauses, taillights glowing red in the dusk.
I slow down at a distance, keeping my car angled toward the shoulder so they can’t catch my headlights in their mirrors. The Electra idles at the entrance to TimeGem. The property sprawls for acres, a sweep of manicured forest and glass walls beyond the gates. The place is designed to look open and modern, but I know better. There are cameras everywhere.
I tap my phone to get Kaz again. “Hey, is there anyway you can cut the feed to the security cameras around TimeGem?”
“Of course.” Kaz sounds affronted.
I watch the old car. “I figured it’d be difficult.”
“Eh, not that difficult.” His keys clatter fast through the line. “Well, this is interesting.”
My jaw tightens. “What?”
“They’ve already been cut. The cameras are down.”
I breathe out, low. “Can you tell when they were taken offline?”
More typing comes over the line. Silence stretches with the Electra still frozen up ahead. My pulse keeps time with the tick of my engine.
“About three hours ago,” Kaz says finally.
