Chapter 20

 

Frankly, I’m no expert at breaking and entering. The few times I’ve done it, my success has usually come from an unlocked door or open window. So, okay, that’s really the only method I know. The trick is to make it look as if you belong. I approached the dark Delaney house with a confident step, walked right up to the front door and grabbed the doorknob. Not even a mere budge.

Around back, a sliding glass door seemed promising. A little shaking and jimmying can sometimes get their flimsy latches to release. I discovered the Delaneys did not do cheap. Their doors were good quality and fairly new, which made sense. Some of that newfound money had gone into upgrades on the old house. I made a quick visual scan of the windows on the back of the house—checking first to be sure the shrubbery was thick enough to block views from neighbors behind—but found nothing that looked like a quick entry.

Until I came to the side door on the garage. Should have thought of this first; it’s one area a lot of folks miss in their nightly locking-up process, and it often reveals another entrance to the house. I tried the knob. Luck at last!

My flashlight came in handy as I picked my way through the detritus of my neighbors’ earlier life. Twin bicycles with pink handlebar grips, a collapsible backyard pool (which at some point had been replaced by an oval in-ground one), a sofa, two big stuffed recliners, a triple dresser of dark wood, its matching nightstands and a king-size headboard all lined the path from back door to front. Cartons spilling bright fabrics and stacks of books filled the dark recesses. Stalactites of coiled rope hung from the rafters and one corner was filled with leftovers from a film set: heavy metal stands and two klieg lights. It seemed as the couple began to earn more money and upgrade their lifestyle, none of the old stuff had left the premises.

Mainly, I concentrated on not tripping. It would be embarrassing to go home impaled on a rusted garden tool from someone else’s garage. Eventually, the meandering path brought me to a door which, predictably, was unlocked. I opened it cautiously and stepped into a laundry room. As far as I could tell, the girls had left no lights on; the whole place lay in darkness now. I did a quick scan with my flashlight and saw the laundry room opened to the kitchen, and beyond it lay the open living and dining rooms, the parts I’d seen before. Presumably, bedrooms and bathrooms lay to the south of those.

Knowing how easy it was to watch movement through the sheer curtains, and remembering I’d left Elsa to look for activity over here, I masked the beam of my light with one hand as I entered the main areas. Not that it mattered. My elderly spy-friend had most likely watched me walk over and approach the house. If so, I hoped she would warn me if either of the twins came home.

I got an eerie view of the living room with pretty much the same clutter I’d observed during my previous visit. The dining table held the same shopping bags plus a few new ones, and the same litter of receipts lay beside them. I could come back to those.

A hallway led off the far side of the living room and I headed there, dodging a pair of sneakers that seemed to have leapt off their owner’s feet and landed in a heap where they would be in everyone’s way. A series of doors revealed a small bathroom decorated in navy blue and tan, a large bedroom with twin beds, loads of purple and a bathroom with a long vanity and half the contents of the cosmetic counter from Macy’s. At the end of the hall, a master bedroom seemed in good order, neatly made up when its occupants had left several weeks ago. Their bathroom wasn’t nearly in as much disarray (or as interesting) as that of the daughters.

I veered back to the domain of the girls and began a little recon. Both beds were messy and unmade. Discarded clothing covered a dresser and side chair. A bookcase against the wall held a random collection of children’s books and a few old Nancy Drew mysteries; the top of the case had two decorative metal trees for earrings and necklaces. They couldn’t hold everything, apparently, because a scattering of spare jewelry littered the surface nearby like fallen leaves in a forest.

None of that interested me, but on the nightstand between the twin beds was something that did—a cell phone. I glanced over my shoulder. After watching these kids awhile I couldn’t imagine either of them being more than ten feet from this device. But the house was empty. I’d watched Zayne and her friend leave and go to the riverside party. Could Clover have forgotten her phone when she left with Ryan for the movies? Doubtful.

I picked up the phone and sat on the edge of one bed. It responded when I pressed the button, lighting up immediately. The background showed a photo of the two girls, with identical smiles and arms around each other. The little icon for text messages showed only two. I tapped it and saw they were from Zayne. So this must be Clover’s phone. It made sense, as I’d seen Zayne at the party with hers.

The list of recent calls was extensive. I’d just begun to look through them to see who I might recognize when the phone vibrated and pinged in my hand. I jumped and it fell to the carpet. I stared at the screen as if it were a poisonous snake. A banner came up showing the sender as Zaynie: we r at riv, u coming?

Maybe this was good news. Not quite a photo, but I could report to their aunt that the girls were in contact.

A beam of light crossed the bedroom window, catching my attention. A car had stopped nearby. Uh-oh. Whether it was Clover and Ryan or someone else, I was in deep doo-doo for being in here. I put her phone back on the nightstand and picked up my flashlight where I’d set it beside me on the bed. No one had got out of the car yet but it wouldn’t take them more than thirty seconds to cross the yard and open the front door.

I dashed down the hall and through the living room, stumbling on the stupid sneakers in my haste. I heard two car doors slam, then male and female voices. The scattering of shop receipts on the dining table caught my eye, pale slips in the muted beam of my light. I’d taken a huge chance coming in here and hated to leave with nothing to show for my heroics. I reached out and snatched a fistful of the paper strips, jammed them into my jacket pocket.

Through the kitchen, into the laundry room I dashed. I slipped out the door into the garage and pulled it oh-so-quietly shut behind me. Letting my bright beam guide me through the maze of garage junk I beat a quick retreat to the back door. I peered into the back yard. No lights shone out here, but I figured it was time to stop taking chances. I ducked to the side yard, out the gate and to the street. A look around showed no vehicle in front of the Delaney house. Either Ryan had dropped Clover off and driven away, or the vehicle I heard was someone else. I arrived a minute later at my own front door panting like an exhausted puppy.

I’m getting too old for this.

At home, Drake was in his office with his pilot logbook in front of him. He’s diligent about making entries for every flight, and over the years has filled several books with not only the required hours flown but little notes about where he went and who his passengers were. Although he’s not a name-dropper in social situations, more than a few celebrity names appear in those pages. He looked up and flashed me the smile that had won me over when we met.

“You and Elsa cooking up something next door?” he asked.

“In a way. I was over there for awhile.” I wasn’t sure he’d approve of my spying on the other neighbors, and I felt fairly certain he wouldn’t be wild about the fact I’d sneaked into the Delaney’s home and searched the girls’ personal things.

“Did you eat anything?” I asked.

“Yep. Me and Freckles shared some of the leftover chicken in the fridge. There’s more if you want me to warm it up for you.”

I declined, needing a few more minutes for my stomach to settle down. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. Freckles followed my every step. One thing about dogs: they know when they’ve exhausted one food supplier and are fickle enough to switch loyalties immediately to the next person who might be a likely candidate.

“Sorry, kid. Nothing for you here,” I said as I pulled the stolen sales receipts from my pocket.

I smoothed the wrinkles from the slips and spread them out. I’d managed to nab four transactions from four different stores. A little flush of pride as I considered there might be useful information here.

One was a long list from Walmart, a few household supplies and a lot of snack food and soda. How did the twins stay model-thin eating this kind of stuff? I wanted to know their secret. The other three receipts came from clothing stores and the names matched the shopping bags I’d seen. Ralph Lauren and Barneys were apparently their favorite brands. I was about to discard the whole batch as a waste of time—really, who cared that those jeans had cost three hundred dollars?

Then something caught my eye. The Walmart receipt wasn’t from the store where I always went. This one came from Las Cruces. The town where I’d been so certain Zayne Delaney was not attending school. But what if she was?

What if the twins had been telling the truth all along?