Page 36 of Truth & Lies

"Oh." My voice relays my worry. "I do need to speak with her."

“Have you spoken to Mr. Barnes?” George asks curiously.

"No," I say a little too strongly. I wring my hands together, racking my brain as to what my next move should be. Then an idea comes to me. "George, you wouldn't have a key to the house, would you?"

“I don’t. Mr. Barnes doesn’t allow staff inside the house anymore.”Thathas alarm bells ringing in my head.

“Do you know why?”

He shakes his head and lifts his arm to his forehead, wiping the beading sweat away from his eyes. “Things changed when he moved in.” He frowns before his eyes widen. “I’m sorry, I should not have spoken out of turn.”

“You’re fine, George. I’m just worried about my mom. She hasn’t been returning my calls.” I reach into my purse and pull out a business card with my mobile number on it. “If you see her or find out anything that might help me, can you please call me?”

“Sure thing, Ms. Jacobs.”

“Call me Alyssa, and thank you.”

He looks down the driveway and across the road. “Mrs. King across the way might know something. She’s always visiting your mother, and Mrs. Barnes is always going over for afternoon tea.” He points to the house opposite where we’re standing.

“Thank you so much,” I say, walking backward in the direction of the neighbor’s house. “And please, call if you hear anything. Even if Mr. Barnes comes home,” I add. At least then I’ll know whether Gavin comes back to Vegas.

“I will,” he replies in earnest, giving me a small wave before disappearing around the side of the house.

A few moments later, I’m knocking on the neighbor’s door. A gorgeous woman answers with blond cropped hair perfectly set in loose curls. “Oh my, you look exactly like Rosalie!” she exclaims excitedly, recognizing me instantly.

“Um, Mrs. King?”

“Oh darling, please call me Bridget. Come in,” she offers, stepping aside and sweeping her arm out.

“Thank you,” I say as I step into her house. “I was hoping you might know where my mother is?”

“I’m sorry, dear, I haven’t seen Rosalie since she left for her honeymoon over two weeks ago. She came over the morning after the wedding, and I haven’t heard from her since. Is something wrong?”

Tears prickle my eyes, and I swallow hard to keep my voice steady, which I fail at spectacularly. “I . . . I think something might have . . . have happened to her.” I say in between gasping sobs, all of my fears for my mother finally coming to the surface. “She . . . she isn’t answering her phone, she isn’t home, and she hasn’t returned any of my calls in two days.”

Bridget wraps her arms around me and holds me tight as I give up the fight and start crying. "I know your mother, and I know that she would never not call you back, Alyssa. Maybe we should call Gavin. He might—"

“No!” I cry, wrenching myself free and stepping back. “If anything has happened to her, Gavin is the cause. Please, whatever you do, youcan’tcall him. Promise me.”

She reaches out and places her hand on my arm, “Okay, Alyssa. We won’t call Gavin. But if you’re that worried, I think we should call the police.”

My head snaps up. “You don’t think I’m being crazy?”

“Not at all, dear. This is probably just a big misunderstanding. Maybe she has a new phone number or she’s gone to a spa retreat and forgot to tell us. But for peace of mind—mine and yours—I think we should get the police to investigate.”

“I think you’re right,” I reply, glad I finally have a plan of action.

“Do you have a car here?” Bridget asks as she walks over to a side table holding an oversized designer purse.

“No, I caught a cab. I arrived late last night and haven’t had time to rent a car yet.”

“I’ll take you, then.”

“Thank you, Bridget. I’m sorry to land this on you.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m worried now too. We need to get to the bottom of this, and the police are the best bet.”

A few moments later, she shuts the front door and I follow her into a large three-car garage. Moments later, we’re pulling out of her driveway and heading toward the police precinct.

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