She laughed. “That part sounds good.”
A hesitation on the other end of the line. She could hear his exhalation of breath.
“Em… whatever Gary’s doing, if you think it’s about to get hot, you need to bail, okay? Don’t wait around and try to fix things.”
“I won’t,” she said.
She’d do what she could do to warn Caitlin. She’d try to get her someplace safe. That was all she could do, and she knew it might not be enough.
Chapter Thirty
They got on the road at 6:30 p.m. Still plenty of light. Michelle drove. She waited until they were passing through Irvine before she said anything.
She’d thought a lot about what to say. If she just dumped the whole insane story on Caitlin, if Caitlin decided she was crazy, then what? She’d lose any credibility she had, and there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to help.
As they passed through the tan and cream stucco landscape studded with trees, Michelle finally said: “So, you asked me about what happened a few years ago, around when my husband died.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it… really, hon, only if it’s going to make you feel better.”
Michelle let out a laugh. Nothing about this was going to make her feel better. “It’s a hard thing to talk about,” she said. “I thought maybe the best way to start was to show you something.”
“All right.” Caitlin sounded hesitant. God knows what she was thinking Michelle was about to show her.
“My purse is on the back seat. There’s a book in it.”
“A book?” A pause. “Sorry, but… there’s no way I can look at a book right now. I get so carsick.”
Michelle took a moment to glance at Caitlin. Not long, you had to be careful on these freeways. Caitlin was looking at her with what she thought was sympathy.
“I do want to know,” Caitlin said. “I hope you don’t think I’m putting you off.”
“Oh. Well. We’ll wait till we get to the condo, then.”
“Let’s stop at the Trader Joe’s and get some snacks and wine,” Caitlin said, resting her hand lightly on Michelle’s shoulder for a moment. “We’ll relax, and you can tell me all about it.”
Great, Michelle thought. Just great. She didn’t like the idea of delaying getting to the condo, someplace where people were likely to know Caitlin went, giving anyone tracking them more time to catch up. And that was assuming they’d bought any time by changing their travel plans.
“Would you rather just go out to dinner?” Having the conversation in a restaurant wasn’t ideal, but maybe a public place was safer. “I mean, I don’t want to invade your privacy at the condo.”
“Oh, hon, it’s not an invasion at all. I don’t have a lot of memories there. It’s just a vacation place I’ve hardly used. But it’s quiet and private and I think that’s about all I can handle right now. We can always order a pizza or something if you get hungry.”
There’s no reason to think something’s going to happen tonight, Michelle told herself.
The condo was not far from the University of Californa, San Diego campus, which was actually in La Jolla, north of the city proper. “Yeah,” Caitlin said with a grin, “we couldn’t really afford a second home in La Jolla, so I went for La Jolla adjacent. Close enough. It’d be nice to have a view of the ocean and a short walk to the beach, but at least I can get there pretty quick from here.”
Michelle would have called it a townhouse, to be strictly accurate-a skinny, detached two-story building in a small complex overlooking a dark canyon. Eucalyptus trees clustered around the buildings and walkways. They were sometimes called “widow makers,” Michelle recalled, due to their tendency to suddenly drop heavy branches.
Apt, she thought.
Caitlin fumbled around for the proper key and unlocked the front door, then deactivated the alarm system with a keychain fob. The security lights had come on when they stepped onto the walkway leading to the door-by now it was after 8:30 p.m., in spite of Michelle’s best efforts to hurry them through Trader Joe’s. The temperature was pleasant enough, in the high sixties, the air heavy and wet for San Diego, scented with eucalyptus. A quiet spot. Michelle couldn’t hear much traffic. Mostly what she heard was the soft clatter of eucalyptus leaves and seed capsules stirred by the soft breeze.
Caitlin stepped inside and flicked on a light in the entry. “Lord, it’s stuffy in here,” she said.
“I’ll open some windows,” Michelle said. A good way for her to get an idea of the townhouse’s layout.
Caitlin switched on a few lights. Michelle’s first impression of the living room was sturdy, clean furniture, a rustic wood table with a light finish, off-white walls with some curves and arches, as if they’d gone for a slightly Spanish style for the interior. There were bright colors as well, pillows that looked like they were made from Mexican blankets on the couch, a few paintings, one done with swaths of purple hanging above a faux fireplace.
“You’re welcome to stay the night in the spare room if you’d like,” Caitlin said. “But you’d probably be more comfortable over at the Hyatt.”
“This is charming,” Michelle said.
Caitlin made her little wave. “It’s nothing fancy. We bought it, oh, less than a year before… before Paul passed away. I’ve mostly had it rented out since then. The last tenants were some UCSD visiting professors. They moved out a few months ago. I’ve been thinking about selling it.”
“I like it,” Michelle said truthfully. The townhouse wasn’t fancy, but it still felt more like a home than the River Oaks house did.
Caitlin shrugged as she wheeled her suitcase down a small hall that Michelle presumed led to a bedroom. “Maybe I’ll keep this and sell the place in Houston instead. If I’m gonna blow everything else up, I might as well.”
The townhouse had an open layout, with a dining area and kitchen just beyond the living room. Michelle carried the shopping bags with wine and snacks to the kitchen. There was a deck there, with sliding glass doors, overlooking the canyon. How accessible was it from outside? Michelle wondered. Under any other circumstances, she’d prefer the separate townhouse with a canyon view to, say, a condo with shared walls and a couple of small windows facing the common grounds, but she didn’t like the security implications of this setup. Sure, there was an alarm, but look how easily Gary had disabled hers.
The sliding doors had locks, at least, so that you could open them partway, but not so wide that anyone larger than a six-year old could squeeze through.
Here’s hoping Gary doesn’t employ any homicidal midgets, Michelle thought.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a glass of wine.”
Caitlin emerged from the bedroom, wearing some light sweats and a baggy T-shirt.
“Sure,” Michelle said. “Where’s the opener?”
“Oh, let me. Why don’t you go sit down and relax? You want the red?”
“Whatever you’d like.” Michelle wasn’t planning on drinking.
She couldn’t sit still, so she paced around the living room. How was she going to explain this to Caitlin? All the versions she tried in her head sounded equally absurd.
Just show her the logbook, she thought. Start with that. Take it from there.
The doorbell rang.
Michelle’s heart started pounding hard.
“Would you mind seeing who that is?” Caitlin called from the kitchen.
“Sure.”
Michelle padded as quietly as she could to the door. Peered through the peephole.
Troy Stone.
Why was he here? What had Gary planned?
What should she do?
“Who is it, hon?” Caitlin had come up behind her, holding two glasses of wine. She put them down on the coffee table.
“It’s Troy,” Michelle said in a low voice.
“Troy?” Caitlin frowned.
“Were you expecting him?”
“No. I mean, we talked about meeting, but we didn’t make any definite plans. I don’t even remember giving him this address.”