"It looks like she's moved out," I said. "You didn't see her packing stuff in her car?"
Eva turned around in the middle of the room, mouth agape, cigarette stuck to her lower lip and bobbing precariously. "No! No one said anything to me about moving out. And left me dirty dishes, no less! You give people a nice place and this is how they treat you!"
"Have you seen anyone else coming in and out in the past few days?"
"No. Just that other one. The chubby one."
"Jill Morone?"
"She's a mean one. Those beady little eyes. I'd never leave my babies with that one."
"She lives in the other half?"
"Someone is going to have to answer to me," Eva muttered. "They rented for the season. They have to pay."
"Who pays the rent?"
"The checks are from Jade Farms. That nice girl, Paris, always brings the check herself. She's so nice. I can't believe she would let this happen."
Puffing angrily on the cigarette, she went to the sink and turned the water on. The pipes kicked and spat. When the water finally ran, it looked brown. "People can't just move out in the middle of the night and think they don't have to pay. My no-good son is good for one thing: he's a bail bondsman. He knows people."
I followed as Eva opened a door and went through the shared bath to Jill Morone's side of the garage. The floor was piled with wet towels, the walls of the shower stall orange and black with rust and mildew.
"This one's still here," Eva muttered. "The little pig. Look at this mess."
The place looked like it had been tossed, but I suspected that was simply the girl's mode of housekeeping. Clothes and magazines were strewn everywhere. An ashtray heaped with butts sat on the coffee table. I spotted the issue of Sidelines with my photo in it lying on the floor, and surreptitiously toed it under the sofa.
"I wouldn't let dogs live like this," Eva Rosen muttered, freely pawing through Jill Morone's things. "Where does she get all this? Clothes from Bloomingdale's. The tags still on. I bet she steals. She's the type."
I didn't argue. I browsed through the tangled mess of jewelry on the girl's dresser, wondering if any of it might have walked over from next door. An even trade for a stack of dirty dishes.
"Were you around here Sunday, Mrs. Rosen?"
"It's Miz. I was here all day."
"What about Sunday night?"
"Sunday nights I go with my friend Sid to A-1 Thai. I had the chicken curry. So spicy! I had a heartburn for days."
"What time did you get home?"
"That would be none of your business."
"Please, Ms. Rosen, it could be very important. Erin is missing."
She pretended to be stubborn for a moment, then tipped her head on one side and shrugged. "Sid is a special friend, if you know what I mean. I didn't get home until Monday. Noon, maybe."
Ample time for Erin to have packed up her own stuff, or for someone to have done it for her.
"She's run off with a boy, that's what," Eva said, finishing off her smoke and adding it to the heap in the ashtray. "No offense to your family, but she had that look with the tight shirts and the bare belly button."
This from a seventy-year-old in a bikini.
"What can you tell me about her boyfriend?" I asked. "Do you know what kind of car he drives?"
"Sixty-seven years I lived in Queens. I should know from cars?"
I tried to breathe slowly. Another of my shortcomings as a cop: lack of diplomacy with the general public. "Color? Size? Anything I could give to the police?"
"Black, maybe. Or dark blue. I only saw it the one time, and it was night."
"What about the boy? What does he look like?"
"What's with the third degree?" she asked, pretending indignation. "I'm on Law and Order now? You're Miss District Attorney or something? Is Sam Waterston going to come out of the closet now?"
"I'm just concerned about my niece, Ms. Rosen. I'm afraid something might have happened to her. She didn't tell anyone she was moving. Her family doesn't know anything about this boyfriend. How can we be sure she went with him willingly?"
Eva thought about that, her eyes brightening for a second at the possibility of intrigue, then she waved a hand, pretending indifference. "I didn't get a good look. I heard arguing, I looked through the blinds, I saw the back of a head."
"Could you tell if he was tall or short? Younger or older?"
She shrugged. "He was average. His back was to me."
"Have you ever met the man Erin worked for?" I asked.
"What man? I thought she worked for Paris."
"Don Jade. Middle-aged, on the slight side, very good-looking."
"Don't know him. I only know Paris. She's such a nice person. Always takes the time to ask after my babies. I have to think she doesn't know Erin ran off, or she would have spoken to me about it."
"I'm sure that's true," I said. "Did you notice anything at all about the boyfriend, Ms. Rosen? Anything."
Eva Rosen shook her head. "I'm sorry, darling. I would help if I could. I'm a mother too, you know. Do you have children of your own?" she asked, looking suspiciously at my haircut.
"No, I don't."
"They drive you crazy with worry. And then there's the disappointment. It's a trial."
"Did you ever hear Erin call the boyfriend by name?" I asked.
She searched her memory. "Maybe. I might have heard her mention a name that night. Yes. It was something like it was from a soap opera. Brad? Tad?"
"Chad?"
"That's it."
Chad Seabright.
Forbidden love. I wondered if that Shakespearean story line had contributed to Erin's defection from the Seabright home. I couldn't imagine Bruce Seabright would have approved of his son and his stepdaughter dating, regardless of the fact they weren't blood relatives. And if Bruce didn't like it, Krystal wouldn't like it.
I wondered why Molly hadn't told me about Erin and Chad, why she hadn't told me about Chad at all. Maybe she believed I would disapprove too. If that was the case, she overestimated me. I didn't care enough to have an opinion on her sister's morality. My only interest in Erin's love life was as motive in her disappearance.
I drove back to the Seabright home. Chad the Invalid was in the driveway, washing his black Toyota pickup. The all-American boy in khakis and a white T-shirt. He glanced up at me through a pair of mirrored Oakley shades as he rinsed the soap off his wheel rims.
"Nice ride," I said as I walked up the driveway. "Eva Rosen told me about it."
"Who's Eva Rosen?"
"Erin's landlady. She doesn't miss a trick, old Eva."
Chad stood up, the hose and the wheels forgotten. "I'm sorry," he said politely. "I didn't get your name."
"Elena Estes. I'm looking for your stepsister."
"Like I told you this morning, Ms. Estes: I haven't seen her."
"That's funny, because Eva tells me you were in her yard just the other night. She seems to know some pretty interesting things about you," I said. "About you and Erin."
He shrugged and shook his head, then added a boyish grin to complete the whole Matt Damon look. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Come on, Chad," I cajoled. "I've been around the block a few times. It doesn't matter to me if you and Erin are involved. A boy fucking his stepsister isn't going to make me turn a hair."
He frowned at the accusation.
"That's why Erin left the house, isn't it?" I said. "Your father wouldn't put up with the two of you doing it under his nose."
"We're not involved," he insisted.
"Eva tells me the two of you had a fight the other night in her driveway. What happened, Chad? Did Erin dump you? Let me guess: you weren't nearly so interesting as a boyfriend once her Mommy and Stepdaddy weren't watching anymore."