Page 24 of You Can Trust Me
He doesn’t seem sure if it’s an answer.
“Why would she dance with him?”
I press my lips together. “She’s going through a hard time right now, you know? Even if she doesn’t show it. Mae wants to be okay. All her life, she’s had to be the strong one for her parents. When they lost Danny, everything fell on her. And she did it.” I chuckle under my breath. “Hell, she made it look easy. But now that her mom is sick again, it’s a lot of pressure.”
“She told you that?”
“She doesn’t have to. I know her. That’s why I wanted to do this. I thought the cruise would be a nice distraction, but now…” My words catch in my throat, and I can’t bring myself to finish the thought.Did I do this? Is this somehow all my fault?“She just needed a night to be free. A night to forget everything.”
He nods. “I’d forgive her. I’ve already forgiven her. Even if she’s done the worst. Even if she…” He looks down, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he takes a sip of his water. “I just want her back. I just want to know that she’s okay.”
I pat his arm again. “Me too.”
When someone touches my back, Blake’s eyes lock on the person over my shoulder before I turn to face them. Diego stands in front of me, a solemn expression on his face.
“Did you find anything?” I ask.
“Did you see her?” Blake asks at the same time.
He clasps his hands together in front of his stomach. “Could I have the two of you come with me?”
“Why?” Blake stands in an instant, pure panic in his voice as my blood runs cold. Something is wrong. I can see it in Diego’s face. They found her. They found something.
“Did you find her?” I ask.
“We have some things on the security footage we’d like to ask you about,” he says, then turns, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Come with me.”
I check with Blake, who’s already moving forward with the determination of an action hero. Set to the Beach Boys music playing in the background and surrounded by people laughing, drinking, and dancing, it would be almost comical if it wasn’t so terrible.
My throat constricts as we pass a room where they’re playing a murder mystery game. One of the employees is standing on a stage, reading out the list of suspects.
“Charlie Booth enjoys watching true crime on Netflix, drinking white wine, and spending time with his three cats—Fonzie, Momma, and Dylan. He lives next door to our victim and has doorbell camera footage from the night of the murder. Let’s chat with Charlie a little bit, shall we?”
The room breaks out into uproarious applause as a man steps up onto the stage.
We follow Diego through the casino, past another bar, and into the elevator. He scans his badge and presses the button for the second floor, which is markedStaff Only. Slowly, the elevator moves down, down, down.
When the door opens, this floor feels oddly quiet and claustrophobic compared to the crowded, sun-soaked areas where we’ve been spending our time. We are led past several silent offices until we reach one that’s labeledSecurity Office.A photo of Diego hangs in a frame next to the door.
Inside, he gestures for us to take the two open seats in front of a small desk with his name placard resting on it. We do and he sits down, turning the computer slightly so we can’t yet see what is on the screen when he unlocks it.
“Now, I had my team check the footage from the bar around three, like you asked. As it turns out, we did manage to locate a woman on the footage who matches the description of your wife ordering a drink around three this morning.”
Blake looks at me, and my stomach sinks.
“You did?” he asks.
Diego turns the computer around to us, showing us a close-up, pixelated image of a woman’s face. It’s clearly Mae, despite the distorted quality of the photo. She has a glass lifted to her lips. The time stamp in the bottom corner shows it’s 3:17 this morning.
“Can you confirm that’s your wife, Mr. Barlowe?”
“Yes. Yes. That’s her. What happened to her?” Blake asks, then turns to me. “You lied to me. You said she was heading back to the room.” The sentence stings.
“I didn’t lie,” I promise, trying to keep my voice steady. “I must’ve gotten the time wrong by a few minutes, but we really did leave around three. You can go back a few minutes and you’ll see us leaving.”
Diego heads off the argument by saying, “We did see that. You left the bar together at two thirty-eight this morning. Mr. Barlowe, your wife returned to the bar alone at three ten.”
“What? Why?” he demands.