“Her car was found in the parking lot, at the Wharf like you say. Witnesses say she left with you. Soon after, they heard shouting outside. None of them heard what was being said. They didn't get a look at who she was arguing with.”
“Arguing? There was nobody else with us.”
"Then what were you two arguing about, Mrs. Finley?"
“We didn’t argue.”
Willis returns with a glass of water. He hands it to me. I smile, and he resumes his seat next to his partner. "You sure about that?" Jameson leans forward, a menacing smirk on his face.
He holds my gaze.
I'm confused. "Why on earth would I lie?"
"I'm asking myself the same thing," Jameson’s smug face irks me.
"You think I had something to do with Chelsea's disappearance?" My eyes widen. "That is absurd."
“Can you tell us what happened on Monday?” Willis asks.
My chest heaves. I should tell these cops to fuck off, but I want to do everything I possibly can to help them find Chelsea.
“We had lunch. We talked about stuff...” I trail off, trying to think about anything that could add value to their investigation, but I come up empty. We chatted. We laughed. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“What did you talk about?” Jameson questions.
"She told me she was excited about an upcoming trip with her boyfriend, Kurt. I told her about the book I was writing. We ordered garden burgers and fries. Something she only allows herself to do when she's with me." I smile, but my eyes burn from unshed tears. What am I missing? She looked happy, herself.
Jameson's phone rings, and he stands and steps out of the room to answer it.
"Did she say anything that you might've thought was off?" Willis is the good cop of the two. The way he looks at me sets me at ease.
"Not that I can think of. It was a typical lunch." He hands me a tissue. I don't even realize I've been crying."
What happened after you left the restaurant?"
"I was in a hurry, so I left her in the parking lot. I got a call from the school. My little one was running a fever.”
Jameson cocks a brow. I have no doubt he’ll want to corroborate that with the school. I’ve studied body language enough to spot scepticism a mile away.
“What time was that?” Willis asks.
“Around two. Chelsea mentioned she had to make a call, something about a meeting.”
He scribbles something on his small notepad then nods. "So, Ms. Morgan was meeting someone else?" The question is directed to himself.
“Officer, I don’t feel so great.”
"Of course, but if you do think of something, give us a call." Detective Willis reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. He hands it to me, and I hold onto it like a lifeline.
“We have to go.” Jameson returns, directing his comment to Willis.
“Mrs. Finley, we’ll be in touch.” His gaze is hard, and it scares me. I get he is trying to do his job, but does he have to be so cold and insensitive? My best friend is missing, for god's sake.
After I let the detectives out, I lie on the couch and text Cohen. He doesn’t respond right away.I feel like my head is about to explode. I write about these things for a living, but I never imagined being caught up in this in real life. Who would do something like that to her? Could they be mistaken, and she's probably just with her family? They're the wealthy sort, and she's always getting spoiled with trips. When Cohen calls, he jabbers, and I can barely make out what he's saying. I manage to get out the fact that Chelsea is missing and that the cops were questioning me. I hear him tell me he’s on his way home. I collapse in a heap on my couch, hoping that when I open my eyes again, this will all be a nightmare.
Chapter 2
1984
