Page 15 of She Didn't See It Coming
He looks at the badge and then back at her. “I’ve never met a detective before,” he says. “Would you like to come in?”
“Thank you.” She steps past him and looks around.
His home is impressive—lots of glass and open space. It cost a small fortune. He watches her forming an opinion of him.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Gardner?”
“I’m in cybersecurity,” he says.
“I see.”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea why you’re here.”
“Can we sit down?” she asks.
“Of course.” He leads her into the living room, with its deep designer sofas. They sit.
She says, “I’m investigating the disappearance of a woman, Bryden Frost.”
He feels his eyebrows rise. “She’s—disappeared?”
“Yes. Sometime yesterday, from her home. Have you not seen the news?”
He shakes his head, frowning. “No, I’ve been busy with work.”
“We’re concerned about her well-being. We’re talking to people who know her,” the detective says.
“Well, I hardlyknowher,” Derek says. “I met her, briefly, a few weeks ago, when she ran into the back of my Tesla with her Volvo.”
“But you exchanged information, you know where she lives.”
“Well, yes, that’s standard procedure, isn’t it, when there’s a minor car accident? I wanted her to pay for the damage. Which she did, in cash.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“It was all very amicable—it was clearly her fault. I called her when I got the estimate, we agreed not to go through insurance, she said cash would be fine. I called her again when the work was done and I had the bill, and we met after that, at a coffee shop near where the accident occurred. I showed her the bill, she gave me the cash—twenty-seven hundred dollars, I think—the actual amount was a bit over that, but I rounded down—and that was it. I never contacted her or saw her or heard from her again.”
“You were never at her home?”
“No, as I just said.”
“And what’s the name of the coffee shop you met in?”
“It’s called the Daily Grind, at the corner of Chandler and Dover.”
“Do you remember the day and time you met?”
He’s annoyed at her now. “No, I don’t. What does it matter?”
“I’m just making inquiries, Mr. Gardner. Do you prefer not to answer the question?”
His annoyance deepens. She’s probably a good detective, but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like her. He no longer finds her attractive.
“Let me look at my diary,” he says smoothly, not letting his feelings show. He walks farther into the house to his office and grabs his leather diary off his desk. He pages back to several weeks ago. He finds the appointment for the work on the car, and there it is, the note in his diary the next day to meet Bryden Frost at the Daily Grind at 4:30 p.m., January 26. He takes the diary back to the living room and shows it to the detective.
“And you never saw her or spoke to her again after that time?” the detective asks again.
“That’s right, as I just told you.”
