When shooting wrapped for the day, Betsy snuck away and went home. Since Teddy left she’d been a good girl and followed Peter and Ben back and forth to work, but enough was enough. She needed a change of clothes, just in and out. She wouldn’t pack a suitcase, just throw a few things into a grocery bag.
At least she told herself that was the reason. But if the truth be told, she didn’t know if Teddy had stopped by the house before he left. If he had, she was hoping there’d be some clue as to what he was doing, how he was connected to what was going on.
Betsy knew Teddy wouldn’t like what she was doing. But she was a big girl. She’d taken care of herself in Vegas for years, and she could take care of herself now. It was not like she was some babe in the woods.
Betsy drove by the house slowly, checked the place out. There were no cars in the street, no cars parked in the vicinity. The car in Mr. Rydell’s driveway belonged to the owner.
Betsy was not going to park blocks away and walk in. It was her house. She’d park in the driveway, bold as brass. Grab the clothes and check for clues, more or less at the same time.
Betsy unlocked the front door. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was taking an interest in her. No one was.
Betsy pushed the door open and gasped.
The place had been wrecked.