Mitchell and Dad are standing outside the car, but I’m still in my seat. Dad opens my door.
“You coming, pumpkin?”
“Greed. Monique is the epitome of greed.” I undo my seat belt and slide out of the seat as I stare up at the mansion with the six-car garage. There’s a lagoon out front with a bridge and a wishing well. The ground is so perfectly landscaped you could probably play golf on it if it weren’t too cold right now.
“I have to agree with you there,” Mitchell says, eyeing up the property. “That certainly makes Monique fit the description of one of the killer’s targets.”
We walk up to the double front doors, and Dad rings the bell. A woman answers the door, but it’s not Monique.
“Can I help you?” she asks, her eyes taking us in one by one.
“We’d like to speak with Monique Dubois, please,” I say since neither Dad nor Mitchell knows this isn’t her. Although the woman’s plain clothing is a dead giveaway if you ask me.
“I’m sorry but Ms. Dubois isn’t home right now. Can I take a message for her?”
Mitchell steps forward and extends his hand while giving the woman a flirtatious smile. “I’m Detective Mitchell Brennan. My partners and I are investigating a missing persons case, and we’d like to ask Ms. Dubois a few questions. Do you happen to know when she’ll be returning home?”
The woman brushes her hair behind her ear, and her cheeks pink as she stares at Mitchell. “I hope Ms. Dubois isn’t in any sort of trouble.”
“No. Nothing like that,” Mitchell says, even though I’m pretty sure she’s the next target, which makes her in a heap of trouble.
“Do you know where Ms. Dubois is?” I interrupt, pushing Mitchell aside.
“She has yoga at the country club on Wednesday evenings. After that, she usually goes out for dinner and drinks with friends.”
Weltunkin Country Club. Got it.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” I say, turning on my heel and starting back toward the car.
Dad comes with me, but Mitchell is still talking to the woman. I know he hasn’t been on a date in a while, but I wish he’d hit on women on his own time—granted we’ve had no free time since this case began.
“I have a proposition for you,” Dad says once we’re in the car waiting for Mitchell.
“What’s that?”
“You two drop me off at the office so I can get my car. Then I’ll go walk Jezebel for you and head home afterward while you and Mitchell go to the country club.”
“Deal.” Dad made it clear when he came onboard as my partner that he didn’t want to be running around at all hours of the day and night. There’s no reason for all three of us to go talk to Monique, and Jezebel does need to be let out, so this is the perfect solution.
Mitchell gets in the car with a huge smile on his face. “Erica is quite the talkative one.”
“Erica?” I ask, although I’m not surprised he’s on a first-name basis with Monique’s cleaning lady or whatever she is.
Mitchell bobs a shoulder. “We needed information. I got it. Anyway, Monique has to have the best of everything. Her yoga classes are private sessions for just her and a few of her close friends. She only associates with people of the same...” He pauses to choose his words. “I want to say ‘income status’ but that sounds awkward.”
“We get the point,” I say. “Go on.”
“The ironic thing is Monique got her money from her uncle. The one buried in the church cemetery. She’s never worked a day in her life. This was his house. And she refuses to get married or have children because she doesn’t want to share her money with anyone.”
“I’m getting the feeling Erica isn’t crazy about her boss.”
“She’s not. But Erica is a single mother of two and has to pay the bills somehow.”
A single mother of two who has eyes for Mitchell. I don’t want to discuss that though, so I say, “We’re dropping my dad back at the office and going to the country club on our own, so step on it before we miss Monique.”
We’re all quiet on the way back to the office. I see Marcia closing up the store for the day and give her a small wave as I get out of the back seat and into the passenger seat of Mitchell’s Explorer.
“I got a new book in that I think you’ll love,” Marcia calls to me. “I’m holding it at the register for you.”
“You’re the best! I’ll stop in tomorrow morning.”
She nods and gets in her car.
“I don’t suppose you have a membership to the Weltunkin Country Club,” Mitchell says, pulling back out onto the road.
I scoff. “Not even in my dreams.”
“Looks like I’ll be flashing my badge to get us in then.”
“You always do what you have to do to get what you want.”
“Hmm, I’m sensing bitterness in your tone. Are you jealous when I have to flirt with other women?”
“Hardly.” I turn to look out the window, watching the buildings go by in the dim lighting from the streetlights.
“Level with me. Why do you hate my flirting so much?”
For a moment, I don’t respond. Mitchell knows too much about me already, but considering I spend just about every waking moment with him, I’m not sure how to have it any other way. “There’s no point in me flirting with anyone because I can’t get close to people like that. I can’t read romance novels or watch Hallmark movies because they just remind me of what I can’t have thanks to my ability. It’s not a good reminder that I can’t get close to people. So, when you have women fawning all over you—”
Mitchell reaches over and places his right hand on my forearm. “I’m sorry. I never thought about it like that. I can’t even imagine...” He removes his hand and lets the comment linger in the air between us.
“It’s fine. I’ve always been this way.” I force out a laugh that sounds as uncomfortable as I feel. “Maybe Pastor Evans is right. Maybe my ability is a gift from God, and I’m just doing what I was designed to do.”
“I think you mean ‘created’ to do.”
“Oh, now you’re going to get all religious on me?”
“You started it with the talk about gifts from God.”
I smile, more at ease with our usual banter. “Can I be honest with you about something?”
He dips his head in my direction and gives me one of his seductive smiles. “You secretly dream about not having this ability so you don’t have to spend all your time and energy pretending you aren’t attracted to me?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, dear Lord! Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?”
“There you go, being all religious on me again. You could try praying, you know.”
“I pray you’ll stop being so full of yourself. How’s that?”
“Funny.” He turns into the parking lot of the Weltunkin Country Club, which is packed for a Wednesday night. He manages to find a spot without valet parking, but it means we have to hike to the entrance.
“Think we’re dressed okay?” Mitchell asks, looking down at his dress pants and button down shirt, sans tie.
“I am. You can use your badge to get around your appearance.” I wink, although I’m not sure where that came from. Lord help me if Mitchell is rubbing off on me.
The doorman at the club greets us with a questioning look. “Are you members of the club?” His tone implies there’s no way we could be.
Mitchell produces his badge from under his shirt. “Detective Brennan with the Weltunkin PD. It is of the utmost importance that we speak with one of your members inside immediately.”
“Has this person done something illegal? That’s something the club would want to know about. We don’t allow our members to have indiscretions that would reflect negatively on the club.”
“We think this person might be in danger,” I say.
“I see.” He opens the door for us. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“We’re here to see Monique Dubois. She’s having a private yoga lesson.”
“Then you’ll want to head downstairs. Take the elevator on the right. There are signs once you exit the elevator.”
“Thank you,” Mitchell says as we walk inside.
The place is immaculate and huge. The reception desk is straight in front of us, and fresh blue towels are perched on the right-hand side of the desk. We go to the elevator, which is conveniently waiting for us.
Mitchell presses the button for the lower level. “I feel like we’re descending to the basement or something.”
“I’m sure it will be the nicest basement you’ll ever see,” I say, trying not to look at the elevator walls, which are all mirrors. Who wants to see themselves from all sides when they’re all sweaty from having just worked out?
“I have no doubt.”
When the doors open, we walk right up to the directory on the wall. I scan it for yoga rooms. They’re all grouped in the back on the left. “This way,” I say.
Only two rooms are occupied, judging by the fact that their doors are closed. Since I’m the only one who knows what Monique looks like, I peek through the windows in the doors to try to find her.
“That’s odd. She’s not here,” I say after looking into both rooms.
“Do you think her class is over?” Mitchell asks.
“No clue.”
He raps his knuckles on the door in front of us, and I watch the instructor look up before approaching the door.
“I’m sorry, but this is a private class,” the woman says.
Mitchell flashes his badge. “Detective Mitchell Brennan, Weltunkin PD. Is this the class Monique Dubois usually attends?”
“Yes, it is, but I’m afraid she’s not here.”
“Is she using the restroom or something?” Mitchell asks.
“No. She never showed up for class this evening.”
Oh no. “Did her friends know she wouldn’t be attending?” I ask, already fearing the worst.
“No. They tried calling her, but she didn’t answer her phone.”
Yet they went on with class as usual? What kind of friends are they? “Has she done this before?”
The woman hesitates as if she doesn’t want to say anything bad about Monique. “Ms. Dubois has a bit of a temper. I’m sure she had a tiff with one of the women, who doesn’t want to admit it to the group, and Ms. Dubois decided to stay home this evening.”
Except she isn’t home. She’s missing. And my senses are telling me it’s because the killer knew her schedule and abducted her before she made it inside the country club.