But the build-up to revealing Jacob’s alibi is practically killing Tish. Amanda is either loving drawing this out, or she’s that armed with information we’ll need to sit another minute longer before she lands the bombshell.
Tish shifts in her chair next to mine, her breath slowing to a crawl.
“No one else reports seeing Jacob Andrews driving,” Amanda continues. “And no one remembers seeing his sports car since so many people were up at the pool watching fireworks. So it’s Mark Miller’s word against him right now… but… Mark claims Jacob threatened him in the past. He says he has proof.” She raises her eyebrows. “That part I’m still working on as I’m sure we’d love to know what that was all about.” She blows across her coffee and takes another sip.
“But after questioning Jacob for hours, they released him—for now.” She arches an eyebrow, an incredulous look. “He has an alibi. And you’re never going to believe it, where he says he was. What he was getting up to…” Her voice ramps up—here we go. I’m not breathing anymore. This is the moment we’ll find out they know about Tish and Amanda has been biding her time, maybe even reveling in it for whatever insane reason, talking to us about scratches and turn signals while stirring sugar in her coffee, all so she can create this build-up in suspense before getting to the point. And I want to shout, Come on, Amanda. If you know about Tish, you’re torturing her. Don’t do this. We’re best friends here.
But Amanda says, “He was at some woman’s house. Someone he’s been seeing. Someone in Green Cove he was visiting last night.”
Tish lets out a peep that only I can hear, a wheezing breath stuck inside her throat.
Some woman’s house.
Someone he’s been seeing.
She doesn’t say a name. And I realize, Amanda doesn’t know. She wouldn’t draw this out for Tish.
She laughs. “Can you believe it? An affair.” Amanda’s eyes bulge wide, the kind of energized look someone gets when they’re the one who can deliver the exciting climax. She’s amused and amazed. Horrified and disgusted, all at the same time. The gossip, deliciously fantastic. “He says he has pictures to prove he was somewhere else when Sabine went missing. That it’s impossible for him to have been at the Millers’. The timing is uncanny. He’s either smart as hell or got super lucky. Or, his mistress is covering up for him.” She gives another amused laugh. “But either way, his election chances are toast—they were toast to start with.”
I stare at her for the longest time. Tish does too. We’re still waiting for her to drop a name. The identity of the woman—the fact that it’s Tish Abbott sitting with us. The revelation that everyone will soon know she’s the woman who received the photos and text messages, the woman with whom he’s been having an affair. The proof Jacob Andrews showed to the police last night. His alibi sitting right here in my kitchen.
But Amanda doesn’t say such a thing. She doesn’t look pointedly at Tish. Nothing about her lets us know she thinks it’s our best friend; she only turns to add more sugar to her coffee. The news delivered.
Tish’s shoulders lower an inch, a rush of air from her mouth. Her relief, undeniable.
I’m lowering my shoulders too, not realizing I’d been sitting coiled in my chair. The crick in my neck lessens too, but my mind is racing.
When is Tish going to tell Amanda it’s her?
Amanda prattles on. “Some girlfriend. Some mistress.” She lets out a low whistle. “But why should we be surprised? A lot of them get up to that kind of thing. It’s terrible, but you hear about it. The district attorney’s office is notorious for having affairs. Rumors run rampant about the mayor’s office too. So why wouldn’t I think Jacob would have someone on the side also? We could have suspected something like this in the past, but now? What an idiot. I mean, seriously? During an election year when he’s running for county commissioner? How could he be that flippant?”
She is tutting and stirring, the spoon clanging around in her mug. “And what a way for everyone to find out too. The man claiming to have”—Amanda lifts her fingers in air quotes—“ ‘traditional family values’. But he’s off messing around behind his wife’s back. Lying to his kids. It’s only coming out now because he had to be questioned about the disappearance of Mark’s wife. Blood in the woods. His car spotted turning away from the Millers’. The possibility he might be making his girlfriend lie for him.” Another choked laugh. “I mean, wow. You can’t make this kind of stuff up—the thing of books and true crime exposés. A political murder-mystery podcast waiting to happen.” She takes an excited breath. “Crazy.”
I calm my heart. A pause from Amanda after a litany of details. But she is staring and waiting for us to respond, and now it’s gone quiet, the minute hand on the kitchen clock ticking forward until it’s the only sound in the kitchen. Our silence, deafening.
She looks at us curiously. Tish doesn’t make a sound.
“It is crazy,” I tell her to fill the space, but also because I don’t know what else to say.
Anything I come up with, even the mildest of questions or statements, could give Tish away, or give me away, and let Amanda know we’re keeping something from her. I don’t want to be the one to tell her—that needs to be Tish’s move. She came forward to me and now she needs to do the same with Amanda.
But Tish doesn’t move a muscle. Her breathing is coming out in more even spurts, her fingers no longer tense, her face resuming an image of calm, although to me, a streak of terror still lingers in her features. But to Amanda, she has done a remarkable job keeping her panic hidden and our friend hasn’t noticed a thing, which means, so have I. Both of us becoming great actors.
But I balk. Tish’s silence also means she doesn’t plan on telling Amanda right now. She won’t be confessing, which means I have to continue keeping my mouth shut too. But that can’t be a wise move, Tish, I want to shout. Amanda will soon find out and she’ll be furious. She’ll be upset for Tish too, of course, and worried, but she’ll also feel betrayed. Blindsided. Like I did. I know Amanda. She’ll want to get out ahead of the information and not be surprised with it later.
Tish should say something. She should fess up.
And my lips part, my eyes darting to her, waiting for her to speak or at least to comment on everything Amanda has just said, but she remains quiet. Only raises her mug to her lips and knocks back the rest of her coffee.
For the moment, Tish is thinking her identity is safe. She is relieved with Jacob. Either he has made sure to protect her identity, or his attorneys swooped into action last night and insisted the police not release the name of the girlfriend just yet. The news, for now, the particulars involving Tish, are under wraps. Not even to Amanda, who always seems to have the pulse on everything.
But it’s not going to last. The truth, as we know, always finds a way of getting out.
Facebook Group Post
Praying for Sabine Miller (Private Facebook Group)
Sunday morning
Eric Nichols
July 5 at 10:22 a.m.
The search is picking back up. Meet again at the corner of Chandler and Smoke Rise 12 p.m.
Tamyra Meeks We’ll be there.
Alexis Redfield Count us in too. Bob has metal detectors.
Lamar Jackson Great idea.
Jennifer Krel
July 5 at 10:30 a.m.
My heart is breaking for Mark and Sabine.
Christine Blanchard Here’s a picture of Sabine kicking off my daughter’s summer camp with a party.
Jennifer Krel I remember that! The girls had so much fun.
Christine Blanchard She’s a beautiful person. This shouldn’t be happening to her.
Alice Chin Mark must be terrified right now. Has anyone spoken to him?
Heather Stephenson The police have been at his house all morning. Word is he hasn’t slept. He hasn’t stopped crying.
Paul Tomlinson Everyone, please pray for them. We have to keep searching.
Alexis Redfield A volunteer t
eam is preparing food and bringing it to Mark’s house. Monica and Carol are sharing it with everyone joining the search. Let me know if you want to pitch in.
Lamar Jackson We will find whoever has done this!
Twelve
“Our flight times got updated. Did you see that?” Amanda holds out her phone.
“What are you talking about?”
It’s jarring—my mind is on a single track about Sabine and Tish and yet Amanda is able to bounce from one task to the other, checking emails and responding to text messages about work while also catching up on Facebook posts about the search.
“Our flight,” Amanda repeats. “To the BVI. The airline sent an update.”
That’s right, our trip to the British Virgin Islands. But that’s not until next month. An all-expenses-paid trip that Amanda earned as an ambassador for the local Chamber of Commerce. Each year, if ambassadors sell a certain level of sponsorships, which Amanda did, they achieve a vacation for themselves and one other person. We pooled our money together so that Tish and I could both go, and also at a serious discount since we were able to pull some strings with a travel agent friend of ours too. It’s the only way we could afford the tickets. We’ve been excited and talking about the trip for months, especially with this year’s location: the gorgeous island of Tortola.
Amanda peers at her screen. “An email came in with new departure times.”
“Earlier or later?” Tish asks.
“Earlier. Check your email, you should have something too.”
Tish picks up her phone. To my amazement, the color in her face is restoring, the lines around her eyes still haggard, but beginning to lessen.
She searches her inbox. “We leave at eight a.m. Well, at least this gets us to the island earlier. We’ll be sipping rum punches by sunset at this rate.”
“Sounds good to me,” Amanda says.
“Meee too,” Tish agrees, sitting back in her chair.
I watch her carefully. On one hand, I’m relieved she’s acting more normal, the tension lessening, but my irritation still sparks as to why she won’t tell Amanda. Confusion too.
“By the way,” Amanda asks. “Did you get those suitcases you ordered?”
I stand up and move to the fridge, putting away the milk and eggs. “I got the one.”
“But I thought you ordered two?” Amanda asks.
“What happened to the other one?” Tish asks. “The one for me?”
I bring our coffee mugs to the sink and rinse them with soapy water. It seems odd to be talking about anything other than Sabine right now, but my friends’ attentions are moving at rapid speeds. Tish’s intent, I’m sure, is to change the subject whereas Amanda’s brain is constantly able to multi-task.
I shut the water off.
“Something got screwed up,” I tell them. “In the shipment details. I’ve been meaning to check with the store because only one suitcase showed up.”
I know this is something I should have done last week. I’ve been meaning to call the main number to find out why only one box arrived on my front porch.
“They charged us for both so we should get both,” Tish says.
“We will,” I assure her. “I’m sure it’s just an oversight. I’ll call them this week.”
Amanda frowns. “I bet it’s the new mail service. It’s been messed up for a while.”
“You noticed that too?” Tish asks. “I thought it was just me.”
“No, it’s all over the neighborhood. Mail ending up in the wrong mailboxes. Packages going to the wrong doorstep. I heard the Montgomerys received Hector Suarez’s meds. And Bethany ended up with the Carters’ mortgage statement. What a pain.”
“You think that’s what happened to the suitcase?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Could be.”
“But wouldn’t somebody have called to say they received an enormous box with your name on it?” Tish says. “I was with you when you placed the order and I remember them putting your name on the delivery slip. Wouldn’t somebody have told you if a package accidentally ended up at their house?”
“You would hope,” Amanda says. “Unless someone is looking to keep your luggage.” She grins. “What kind are they?”
“Nothing fancy,” I tell her. “Samsonite carry-ons.”
“Good enough,” Amanda says, still grinning.
I wipe my hands on a dish towel. “That would be pretty crappy of them to keep it.”
“Maybe they don’t know who you are or can’t find your contact info,” Tish suggests.
Amanda rolls her eyes. “It’s not that hard to look up Erica’s phone number in the neighborhood directory. Or find a way to reach out to her on Facebook. Ask a neighbor.”
“True enough,” Tish says.
“Speaking of mail,” Amanda says, “have you guys gotten your passports yet? I received mine.”
“You know mine doesn’t expire for another year so I’m good.” Tish glances at me. “What about yours?”
“Not yet.” And I sit back on my hip. “That’s weird…”
“But we sent off for those months ago,” Amanda says. “Getting them renewed shouldn’t take that long. I was going to ask you about it but I figured yours arrived around the same time as mine.”
“When was yours?”
“About two weeks ago.”
I scratch my head. “Well, that sucks. I’m going to need to track that one down, and stat.”
“If someone mistakenly got your passport and didn’t hand it over, that’s awful,” Tish says.
“And a lot more complicated.” Amanda looks at us. “A suitcase is one thing. You can claim you never received it and they can express ship it to you overnight. But a passport? Just trying to get someone at the processing center is a nightmare, almost impossible. It’s all snail mail and a clunky website. It will take a couple of weeks for them to issue you a new one.”
“Do you have a tracking number?” Tish asks me.
“I should.” I think about the forms I saved when I submitted the application. “I should have it on my drive.”
“Good,” Amanda says. “At least you’ve still got time. We don’t leave until next month.”
“Maybe you could post something?” Tish says. “Ask if any of the neighbors received a package with your name on it.”
“Not a bad idea,” Amanda agrees.
I nod, thinking this is something I can do, but not for a few more days. Not now, when everyone is concerned about finding Sabine with group posts focused on the search. My request on Facebook about a missing passport would appear ill-timed, insensitive, or would be lost in the shuffle among everything else involving the Millers.
“And maybe post about that suitcase too,” Tish says. “It’d be really great to find it. I need one.”
Amanda brings her coffee mug to the sink. “Right,” she says, gathering her car keys and purse. “I should get going.”
“But I thought the search starts at noon.”
“It does. But I want to stop by Eric’s before we meet up.” Eric Nichols, the man leading the neighborhood search, who’s been posting updates on Facebook. “There’s some stuff I need to talk to him about first.” Amanda jostles her car keys, but then stops, looks at us, eyebrows raised. “But shower, okay, guys? I love you both, but you look like hell.”
My attention returns to the coffee pot that needs rinsing and the sugar bowl I’m putting away when Tish crashes. The distraction of talking about suitcases and the nuisance of messed-up mail was temporary.
Something on her phone seizes her attention.
“Oh my God…” she says, her face sinking. “This is…” With every message, her eyes are widening. “I can’t believe they would…”
“What’s going on?”
She keeps her eyes glued to the screen. “Who the hell is Trevor Blankenship?”
Amanda would know but she’s gone. “I have no idea.”
“Why would he say something like this? Why are people responding?”
A clank inside my chest. “Responding about what?”
“Someone made a poll. On Facebook.” The color drains from her cheeks and she turns the phone to me as I slide into a chair. “It’s a poll wondering if Sabine Miller is alive or not.”
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand.
Tish’s fingers tremble. “People are actually voting.” She reads a few more lines before her thumb hovers over the Facebook icon. She appears ready to delete the app.
“Wait,” I tell her. “Let me see first.”
And I look at the group, the group that started off so nicely, labeled Praying for Sabine Miller with calls for support and hashtags for #SaveSabine.
The hashtags are still there, but so is something else. Something twisted. The search for Sabine Miller is taking a dark turn.
Facebook Group Post
Praying for Sabine Miller (Private Facebook Group)
Trevor Blankenship
July 5 at 10:40 a.m.
Group Poll
Is Sabine Miller alive or dead?
Alive, but only for a few more days. The clock is ticking—15 responses
Alive, and they should be expecting a ransom request any time now—18 responses
Dead, she was killed Saturday night—38 responses
Dead, she was killed this morning—24 responses
Heather Stephenson Take this poll down right now!
Lamar Jackson Who is Trevor Blankenship? Somebody report him. We need to flag his account.
The Missing Woman: Utterly gripping psychological suspense with heart-thumping twists Page 8