Read the Excerpt: Missing White Woman by Kellye Garrett
Chapter One
I was going to jail.
I knew it. She knew it, too. I could tell by the way she looked over at me—or rather didn’t. We were the only two people on this block of fancy, schmancy rowhouses. A thin, sliver of grass and a fence at half-mast separating the two of us.
When she came out the front door, I was already feeling as lost as Dorothy in Oz and ready to give anything to snap my Asics together to get back to Maryland. So I was excited when I first heard the gate door slam the next house over. I’d even smiled initially when I looked back at her, convinced her sudden appearance was a good thing. That finally there was someone who could help me. My Glinda.
I couldn’t see much of her. Not at first with the sun being long gone and the darkness turning her into just a skinny blob. She didn’t take human form until she passed through the remnants of the floodlight from the house attached to the other side. And even then, I couldn’t make out more than a square inch of her face. Blame a facemask as red and sparkly as a pair of ruby slippers. But I didn’t need to make out a nose, a pair of eyes, perfectly contoured cheekbones to tell she was pretty. The accessories filled in the blanks. Black Jump suit. Rose gold hardbacked suitcase. Stilettos. She even somehow managed to not look ridiculous wearing sunglasses at night.
She looked like she belonged there. Like she was the one taking a long weekend jaunt with her new boyfriend to a city she’d never been with keyless door locks, four-story rowhouses, and unobstructed views of the Manhattan skyline.
I, on the other hand, looked like someone standing in the dark outside a place I didn’t belong trying to get in without a key. It was exactly who I was and what I was doing. My outfit was wrong. Target. Suitcase was wrong. Amazon. Skin was wrong. Brown. Hair—kinky and getting bigger by the second—was definitely wrong too. The most expensive thing on me were my sneakers.
She didn’t look in my direction for more than a second, pulling her oversized purse closer to her, quickening her step up the stairs to her pitch-black stoop—or whatever they called it in fancy ass neighborhoods like this one. But a nanosecond was probably all she needed.
Good thing I was already about to cry.
Blame the damn door and my inability to get it open. I’d tried three times already. Put in the code Ty had given me. Hit the key button. Jiggled the knob like it needed some complicated handshake. I did it a fourth time, only to yield the same results. The only change the new audience of one, looking like she wanted to boo me off the stage like this was the Apollo.
I braved another glance over. I was quick but she was quicker, turning her head away so fast the crystals looked like sparklers as they caught the light. She’d been watching the latest attempt. Even in the distance—even in the dark—I could make out the pale white manicured hand gripping her cell phone like the weapon it could be in these situations. At least for people who looked like me.
I pulled my own phone out—this one a lifeline. Ty picked up on the second ring.
“Be there in 15,” he said.
“You’re in the Uber?”
“Not yet but I will be. Packing up now.”
My phone said it was already 10:46. He’d sworn he’d pick me up from the train station. Then swore he’d meet me at the house. He’d been wrong on both counts.
“Oh.” It was just a syllable. One I didn’t even say that loud, yet he still heard it.
“Everything okay, Bree?”
I glanced over. She was still there. Pretending not to watch as she took her own time going inside. “Yeah.” I wiped my eye as I spoke. It wasn’t the first time I’d lied to him. “It’s the code. It doesn’t work.”
“Really? It worked this morning when I checked in. 1018.”
“1019.” That was the one in the text. The one I’d plugged in four times.
“I’m pretty sure it’s 1018. Let me check.”
But I didn’t wait for him to answer. Just tried the door again but 1018 this time. It buzzed practically before I hit the key button. The knob turned as he spoke again, realizing. “I sent you the wrong code.”
“It’s fine.” Another lie.
I glanced over, hoping to catch her watching me again. Nodding as she realized she was wrong. That I wasn’t some thief in the night. That I did belong here. That my boyfriend had given me the wrong code. But of course, she’d finally disappeared inside.
I shook off the unease and turned my attention back to Ty.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said.
He’d been saying that a lot since he’d come up to New Jersey on Monday for work, the routine we’d established over the past three months immediately shot to hell. No nightly FaceTimes. No long-winded responses to my texts. And when he did respond, it was just hitting the heart button or one-word replies sent so late that I’d damn near forgot what he was responding to.
Work.
Always work. Some intense finance job that took a lot of time but also paid a lot of money. Some new project that was dominating most of his working hours and almost as many out the office as well. It was only after I suggested that maybe this weekend wasn’t a good time to come, that he’d called. Said he still wanted me to take the train up.
Lucky for him, I wasn’t one to make a big deal.
“It’s fine,” I said as I finally opened the door. It was cold enough inside to give me goosebumps if they hadn’t already been there. “I blame those big ass hands of yours.” I was proud of how I sounded. More teasing than annoyed.
He laughed then, the first time I’d heard him do that all week. I was glad too because I loved how it sounded. “Oh, now you have a problem with my big ass hands. Last week it was—”
I laughed, too. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait.”
“Bye Ty.” I tried to stifle a yawn.
“You’re gonna wait up for me, right?”
“Bye Ty.”
“Right?”
“Guess you’ll have to get here and see.”
But we both knew I would be—in no makeup, but also no bonnet. Happy to see him. Like always.
We both said goodbye and I finally stepped inside, thanking the Heavens there wasn’t an alarm and that snoop of a neighbor hadn’t dialed 911. The cold air felt better than any jail cell I’d been in.
***
This trip had been planned for a month.
Ty had rolled over on a lazy Sunday morning when my mom would’ve wanted me to be two hours deep into worship service and casually asked if I’d ever been to New York. His spontaneity was one of the many things I liked about him—already loved about him though I hadn’t said the words out loud yet. And neither had he. It’d only been a few months since we met jogging.
We were at the “let’s take a trip” stage. Technically, it was a two-week work trip for him. One he took every couple of months to his headquarters in Jersey City. I was just tagging along for a weekend.
Ty had been here since Monday, but he’d been staying at a hotel until today. The plan was for me to come down Friday evening, then we’d stay in an Airbnb and spend the next two days in New York City before I went back home in time for my own job Monday morning. Of course, mine was nowhere near as fancy. I was a manager at a stationary store.
I’d never been much of a traveler but still I was excited when Ty turned toward me that morning. So excited that I’d even purchased new Kenneth Cole luggage and packed the good panties—even though my mother spent the entire month strongly disagreeing with the trip. That was the great thing about being just over 30—even if I did still live in my college studio. Your mother kept giving advice, you just didn’t have to take it.
My maternal line was that of a mighty few. Only children begetting only children. All girls. My grandmother was in her 90s, battling dementia like she’d battled everything else life had thrown at her. Yet she’d gotten worse right before my mother finally retired. Taking care of her had become my mom’s full-time job. And my part-time one. I was off Thursdays and Fridays so I’d come over to give my mom a break.
My mother had a million and two questions when I’d told her about the trip. She’d sent them in a string of single text messages over the course of five excruciatingly long minutes. The English teacher in her not accepting a single typo no matter what the medium.
What about COVID?
It was spring. The numbers were going down.
When are you going?
Last week in April.
That’s soon.
It was a month away.
My relationship history was mainly made up of a series of first dates. Ty my first serious boyfriend in over a decade. I was going to enjoy my first couples vacation just like I was going to enjoy my first time ever in New York. Even if my mother wanted to ruin it one text at a time.
First, she’d sent me articles about how dangerous New York was. When I pointed out I was staying in New Jersey, she just switched to sending articles about there. Shootings. Break-ins. Assaults. Her latest was about some pretty blonde, white woman who’d gone missing.
I didn’t click a single link. Just promised to bring the mace she’d gotten me.
And when she wasn’t bothering me about the dangers of the big city, she was bugging me about where I was staying. After a few weeks, I mentioned the house, but not Ty’s job chipping in for it. New York City wouldn’t be my only first. I’d also never stayed in an Airbnb. I’d been excited about that too. At least before I encountered the key code.
Her last string of texts had come just as I was getting off the train.
I can’t believe you’re going to someplace you’ve never been with a stranger.
But that was the thing. He was only a stranger to her. I’d met his mom Ms. Patty. He just hadn’t met mine. And it wasn’t something I was looking forward to.
I just think it’s premature, Breanna.
My mother thought a lot of things. So did I. So did the world. The rest of us just didn’t feel the need to share them all.
It’d just been the two of us since my dad unexpectedly died of a heart attack when I was in grade school. My memories of him were fleeting at this point but one of the things I’d never forget was how he used to look at me and my mom. I never felt more loved—more safe—than when he was smiling at me.
I pushed the convo out my mind as I took in my home for the next two days. I dropped my weekend tote a few feet into the first-floor, open-concept living area.
110 Little Street in Jersey City.
I felt like one of those kids the first time they stepped inside Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I didn’t know what to look at first, what to touch, where to sit. I was afraid to even put my bag on the glass entry table that looked so simple it had to cost more than a month of my paychecks.
Ty had made his presence known. There were dishes in the sink and he’d left the big screen TV on mute. I didn’t recognize the news anchor, which meant it had to be a local station.
I put my phone up and slowly did a 360 taking photos of the exact same things in the pics he’d screenshotted from the Airbnb listing. The entry table and stairs a few feet in front of it. The living room couches and oversize rug the same dark gray as the walls. The all-white kitchen in back of the house. The whole ass garden through the windows behind it.
My shots were nowhere near as pretty, but they’d do. Finished, I sent the lot of them to my mother with two words: Made it!!!
Ty had done good. I wished it wasn’t so important to me that my mother see that.
By the time she responded, my Kenneth Cole and I had made it up three flights of stairs to the owner’s suite. Of course, I stopped on floors two and three to take more pics. Sent those to her too. She got the office, the gym, and both spare bedrooms. All varying grades of gray. All fancier than anything I’d seen on some decorating show. But if the rest of the house was HGTV, the fourth floor was Architectural Digest.
The bedroom took up the entire floor. When I finally willed myself to look away from that bed, I noticed the floor to ceiling windows. The skylight. The Keurig twinkling on a marbled counter joined by a sink and minifridge. Guess when you’re rich, you don’t go downstairs for midnight snacks.
I took another photo in front of the Beverage Center—this one a selfie—then sent that one to her too. My phone buzzed just as I was realizing that the green blob I saw out the back window was the Statue of Liberty.
I smiled, for once excited to see what she had to say. There was nothing she loved more than a good marble countertop. She had to appreciate this house. There wasn’t a single thing bad even she could say about it.
I unlocked my phone and opened the text. Her response was simple.
You let your mystery man see you looking like that?
*
He’d lied about being on his way, but then I did too when I said I didn’t mind that he was still stuck at the office. He told me to enjoy the house and I forced myself to do just that. I unpacked. Then realized I had time to do a quick face mask. I ran downstairs to see what was in the fridge. Ty had gone shopping. There were eggs, oatmeal, yogurt, and honey—perfect for a quick facial. I mixed, matched, and boiled until it was ready to go. Then slathered it on my face and went upstairs to shower.
Once in there, I took my time, pressing buttons and turning knobs at will. All while pretending not to be surprised—and excited—by what each one did.
My studio in Baltimore was in an old building and I paid all utilities, which meant I wasn’t used to anything more than quick showers. Lukewarm ones at that. I kept expecting the water to get cold. Someone to bang on the door to tell me to hurry up. That I was wasting all that good water like my mom used to say. But it didn’t happen. Made me want to stay in there forever, the steam keeping the rest of the world—and the problems that came along with it—at bay.
When I got out, I was going to go downstairs. Wait for him there in as little clothing as I could manage. But then I opened the door. Saw the inky blackness below. Turning out the lights when I’m come up to do my mask had been a mistake. I’d never been afraid of the dark, but it sure hit different in my 600 square foot studio than it did being solo in a four story rowhouse.
I came back into the light, shut the door then burrowed myself under the heapful of covers and sheets that felt softer than my legs after a fresh run of my razor. I checked my texts again. Nothing from Ty. Guess he was just as tired of his lies as I was. I tried to turn on the television and failed miserably. But who needed it when you had thousands of online videos to keep you company. Not as good as Ty but still.
When it came to social media, I was familiar with the usual suspects, using them all for different things. Facebook was for birthday reminders. Twitter was for news and outrage. But Instagram was the one I used most. I didn’t have to dance. I didn’t have to edit my thoughts down to 280 characters or less. I didn’t even have to put a caption if I didn’t want to. I could just upload a photo and call it a day.
My page wasn’t private but it might as well have been. There were less than 100 followers. My life consisted of two things – working and running. The closest thing I had to friends were my coworkers – a conveyor belt of college students too self involved to ask me much about my personal life or past. I had to admit I liked it that way. Surface conversations. Only going out to celebrate birthdays, new jobs, and, most often, graduations.
No one told you how hard it was to make friends outside of college – especially when you didn’t try that hard. I was crap at keeping in contact with folks—especially the ones who knew me before. Just like with dating, my last close friendship ended in college too. A childhood-turned-college friend who was the closest thing to a sister. And that breakup with Adore was just as painful as with any college boyfriend. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time online.
Of all the apps, TikTok was still trying to figure me out. I hadn’t committed to following many accounts. A few Black skincare influencers and The Rock because who didn’t follow The Rock? The result was an algorithm as much a mess as my desk at home—videos with a #BlackSkinCare hashtag and any other thing with a shit ton of views.
I opened the app on my iPhone and prepared for the onslaught of the first automatically loading video on my For You page.
A somber looking Blonde white chick popped up under three words: Where is Janelle Beckett???
Though the name was slightly familiar, I didn’t stick around to find out. Just thumbed to the next video, this one a Black woman with deep brown skin as clear as glass. I sat back and watched.
I was five videos and three-products-I-needed-to-buy-right-this-very-moment deep into her TikTok when the door banged open. I screamed then reached for my pepper spray in my bag, all while praying I’d remember how to actually get it to work. Only one thought went through my head.
Of course, my mother was right.
I just hoped it wasn’t my last.
“Bree, it’s just me.”
Ty stood frozen in the door frame in his dress shirt, a hint of muscle caressing each sleeve. He was tired, the bags under his eyes a dead giveaway that this wasn’t his first late night at work.
“I called out when I came in,” he said.
I forced myself to relax, deep breaths in and out like right after I’d finished a run. After a good ten inhales, I was finally able to speak. “I didn’t even hear you come up the stairs. It’s like the whole place has been sound proofed or something.” I paused, then took him in again.” “Not necessarily a bad thing.”
He laughed and when he stepped inside, I could practically see him shedding the stress. “I missed you.” He sounded like he meant it too.
“How was work?”
But he was shaking his head before I even got to the w. “No work talk. Please.”
“Fine,” I said. “This place is gorgeous. Have you stayed here before?”
“Nope. First time seeing it in person was when I checked in this morning. Found it online. I’m just glad the pics did it justice.”
He stopped a foot from my side of the bed, taking me in from head to toe to head again. I’d wished I’d struck a better pose than just sitting up against the upholstered gray headboard. At least I’d touched up my makeup. Damn my mother.
He bent down to kiss me and had the nerve to try to stand back up, but I wouldn’t let him. Just cupped his face in my hands, wiping off traces of my Dope Taupe Mented lipstick from his dope medium brown skin. Because I missed him too.
Even with the bags under his eyes, he was divine, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. He somehow got more beautiful the more I looked at him. Ironic considering I hadn’t paid him any attention when we’d met.
We’d been on the same weekend running schedule even with winter setting in. Both of us preferred the same trail. He claimed we passed each other for two straight Saturday afternoons before he told me my shoe was undone. I hadn’t noticed it just like I hadn’t noticed him. I definitely did after. It took another two weeks before he asked me out. I immediately said yes, assuming it would be another one-and-done. Except I enjoyed myself so much that I didn’t make an excuse when he asked when he’d see me again.
And now here we were.
My mother would find flaws for sure, but she’d have to look hard as hell. He was tall, attractive but not intimidatingly so, with both a decent job and decent teeth. And he had no kids despite being 32 and everything I’d mentioned above. If I wasn’t already dating him, she’d want to set me up.
He finally retreated, going for his bag he left in the doorway. “I know being this late that I couldn’t come up in here empty handed.”
I feigned confusion. “Jewelry stores aren’t open this late…”
“It’s even better. Close your eyes.”
I made a big production of slapping both hands over my eyes. When he spoke again, it was from a few feet away. “Hold out your hand, but keep your eyes closed.”
I did as told. After a second, I felt a bag, then smiled and opened my eyes. Sure enough it was what I thought. “Muddy buddies.”
My snack of choice. Luckily cookies and cream since he was allergic to peanuts. He shook his head as I tore the bag open and shoved a handful in my mouth. “Gross.”
I leaned forward. Smacked my lips. “Let me give you another hello kiss.”
“Not with that muddy breath.”
“Come here.”
He did, pretending to be disgusted as I pecked at him like a bird. Finally, I retreated and he sat a few feet away at the edge of the bed, casually rubbing my leg through the covers.
“The good news is that I’m done with work. I’m all yours this weekend.”
He better have been. “Promise?” I said.
“On my mama.”
I smiled then even though I didn’t believe him for one minute. I said nothing as he started to get undressed, starting with his shirt. He zoned out for a second as he undid the buttons, lost in thought as he absentmindedly scratched the scar on his stomach. I should’ve asked what was going on. Instead, I took the opportunity to take him in. I was smiling when he zoned back in and noticed me looking. “You’re admiring my skin, aren’t you?”
“Something like that.”
“Thanks. Been using this gunk my girlfriend made for me.”
The gunk was a recipe of essential oils and shea butter I’d whipped up in my sliver of a kitchen. I didn’t know if I was more pleased that he actually was using it or that it was working so well on his hyperpigmentation. “Gunk, Mr. Franklin?”
“Gunk.” He got serious as he took off his shoes then pants. “Did you apply for that grant, yet? Deadline’s coming up.”
I hadn’t but at least the printout was in my suitcase. I’d been “meaning to” mail it for two weeks now. I searched for any excuse. “I still need a name for my product line.”
“I just gave it to you. Gunk.”
“It is catchy.”
“The name doesn’t have to be final for you to apply,” he said.
I didn’t want to keep talking about it so I went for a subject change. “Hamilton.”
“I like the name Gunk better,” he said.
I ignored that. “You got us tickets to Hamilton. And you want it to be a surprise. That’s why you haven’t told me what we’re doing tomorrow.”
“I’m not telling that easy. You follow my packing instructions?”
“Of course. Brought lots of ‘nice shit.’” I used quotation marks.
“And the shoes?”
“Two pairs. Cute but walkable.” I’d even done a test run. “The Lion King.”
“The movie? If you want to Netflix and chill then we can do that.”
“Of course, it could also be that place where they shoot Saturday Night Live…”
“30 Rock.”
“Yes. Are we going there?”
He shrugged.
“You gotta give me a hint.”
“Sure. It’ll be in Manhattan.”
I lobbed a pillow at him. “Thanks.”
Chapter Two
When we finally got to sleep, it felt just as amazing as the events prior. The mattress was big enough that I barely knew Ty was in the bed. I’d gone to sleep tracing the Kappa tattoo on his chest. When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t there. I lay there listening for him and not hearing a thing.
He didn’t answer when I called out his name. I might as well have been yelling into the abyss. Finally, I glanced at the clock moonlighting as art on one whole wall.
9:34 a.m. Early for me—especially if I didn’t have to work. Sophomore year at Morgan State, I’d taken a retail job at a stationary store a few miles from campus. Twelve years later I was still there, having moved up to afternoon manager.
I needed to call Ty but first I needed to find my phone. There were few things more constant in my life than never knowing where my cell was. My coworker said I needed an Apple Watch. Claimed it has a function that made your phone beep. I couldn’t afford one though. My salary hadn’t improved much in ten years either.
I finally found it in the bathroom, hidden among the skincare I’d already splattered all over the counter the night before. My mom had texted, but I ignored it to call Ty.
He was the first number in my favorites. During the first night I’d spent over his place, he’d jokingly taken my phone and changed his name from Ty Franklin (Run) to Darius Lovehall after the main character in the movie we watched that night. I was listed in his as Nina Mosley. We hadn’t changed it back.
The phone rang and rang. I hung up right before the voicemail kicked in.
Like my mom, Ty was an early riser. He just wasn’t as judgy about it. He’d let you sleep in. He was probably downstairs catching up on CNN while waiting patiently for me to get up.
I wondered if we’d have time for a run. I rumbled through my Kenneth Cole until I found my running gear, resisting every urge to throw my clothes every which way like I did at home. The tote wasn’t the only new thing I’d gotten for the trip. My latest pair of Gel Kayanos were black with hot pink soles. I made sure my shorts and tank matched. It was as stylish as I got these days—though I could still recognize Chanel. Blame the internet.
Once I was dressed and laced up, I jogged down the three flights of stairs, expecting to find Ty in front of the television. Though it was on, he was nowhere to be found. The bedroom doors were all open on the way down so I knew I hadn’t run past him. The bathroom door was open as well.
He had to be somewhere. I opted for the front door first, cracking it open just enough to peek outside. Three people were huddled on the sidewalk in front of the house. All of them white. I’d been quiet but not quiet enough. They all turned to look at me. I should’ve waved like I belonged here. Instead, I slammed the door shut and backed up so quick I almost hit the glass entry table. Smooth.
It took me a few seconds, but I shook it off, heading toward the kitchen. There was a door back there too. I could make out the back of Ty’s low cut fade through the glass. He was on the phone.
He turned just as I opened the door. Smiled when he saw me as he spoke into the cell. “Call me so I know everything’s all set like discussed.” He hung the phone up then addressed me. “Someone I’m working with has gone radio silent on this project due Monday.”
Work. Always work.
“If you need to work, I can go for a run on my own.”
He smiled as he started jumping up and down as if warming up. “Not a chance, Wright. In fact, I figured maybe you were pretending to sleep because you didn’t want none of this.”
He turned some jumping jacks into a full production. I smiled. “Or maybe you were afraid to wake me up because you knew what would happen.”
He stopped. I could see him huffing and puffing like he was going to blow the rowhouse down. Too bad for him it was brick. “Maybe,” he said as his phone beeped. And that made him once again jump.
I watched him struggle to not look. “You can check it,” I said.
He shook his head. “Or I could go for a run with you. I’d follow you anywhere when you look like that in those pants.”
My turn to smile. “We don’t have to run. We can just skip it and do breakfast.”
“No, you like to run first thing when you wake up.”
I’d done it damn near every day for the past 11 years. If I was being honest, it was the only way my life had improved since that night.
“Then let’s run,” I said.
He walked past me. “Let me go change,” he said. “Loser makes breakfast.”
I made a smile appear like it came out of a hat. “Perfect. I’ve been wanting your French Toast.”
*
The street looked like one of those movie sets masquerading as an “urban street.” Ten rowhouses lined each side and all had the same base ingredients. All tall and narrow with four floors, three windows on each. A large staircase leading up to a front door. But the owners had taken liberties with their exteriors with no thought of cohesiveness. There were enough colors across the street to make up a rainbow.
I thought the group had dispersed, but once I stepped out the front door I realized they’d just moved further down field. Two houses away to be exact, so lost in their conversation they didn’t notice me when I came out the gate to the sidewalk. At first I wanted to retreat, but I heard a voice just as I did.
“Don’t worry. They don’t bite.”
I turned to find an older black woman with salt and pepper locs that cascaded down her back and a deep brown face that was much lighter around the mouth and nose. Her skin was smooth and I bet it was all natural. Like she just slapped some Vaseline on her face each night because that’s what her grandma did when she was little. She wore a sundress, which showed off arms and legs that looked the same. I recognized it as vitiligo. She came towards me, clutching a stack of pink paper to her chest with one hand while holding a leash with the other. It was attached to a small brown dog.
Ty could talk to a wall. He was that friendly. Me not so much. It took a good four meetings to warm up to someone. Most people didn’t want to wait me out. I smiled tentatively as she approached, even though I was happy to finally see another Black face. She stopped a few feet away as I instinctively knelt down to say hi to the dog. They were always friendlier than the humans they came with. “He’s adorable,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“Chelsea,” she said. “And yours?”
I took my time standing up. “Bree.”
“Bree. You’re prettier than he even said.”
Of course, Ty had already made a friend.
“Your skin is glowing,” she said “He said you’re working on a skin care line?”
“I wouldn’t call it line. More just some stuff I whip up in my kitchen.”
I’d given some of it to Ty and he’d run with it, finding Phenomenal Woman, a grant for local, Black owned businesses named after that Maya Angelou poem. He even had me convinced to apply. I’d gotten as far as printing it out and filling out the application—but then I always stopped when I saw the mention of a background check.
“Have you thought about doing something with sunscreen?” she said.
I was about to answer when the trio moved back towards us. Two women and a man in a bright orange shirt. I could tell he was the ringleader because he was half a step ahead. Now that they were closer, I could see they also had pink flyers. “You coming, Morgane?” the man said. “We’re going to hit the next block over.”
He didn’t even look at me. The woman—Morgane—barely gave him a glance. “I’ll meet you over there, Drew.”
One of the women, a red head, spoke up. “We’re not going to wait for you.”
“Which is why I said I’ll meet you over there, Krista.”
Even though they weren’t looking at me, I was definitely looking at them. It was clear Krista wanted to say something in response. Instead, Drew spoke up. “Let’s go.”
“Friendly.” I said it more to myself but Morgane heard me anyway.
“They usually aren’t that bad but everyone’s on edge with Janelle missing.”
I turned to her abruptly. “Who?”
“Janelle Beckett.” She handed me a flyer.
Missing was in big bold letters. The name Janelle Beckett right underneath it. She’d been last seen Monday in the Journal Square section of Jersey City. What followed next was a photo. She looked how I’d wanted to growing up. Beautiful. Blue-eyed. Strawberry blonde. Her hair casually flung up in knots on both sides of her head. Space buns that I couldn’t get away with, even when I had my hair in braids. A glance at her physical description confirmed she was as tall and as skinny as I’d immediately suspected. A contact number ran across the bottom of the page.
I’d seen the pic before—on tweets as I scrolled through my newsfeed and on the newscast before I turned to another channel and on the TikTok I’d ignored last night. Even a text my mom had sent. I hadn’t paid much attention beyond registering she was pretty, blonde, and white. I hadn’t even realized she’d been missing in New Jersey, much less in Jersey City.
“She disappeared from here?” I said.
“Not this neighborhood. About ten minutes away in Journal Square.”
I wracked my brain for what I remembered. “She disappeared Monday morning…”
“That was the last time anyone saw her,” Morgane said. “She did her normal dog walking that day. And it was the last time I saw her myself. She never showed up on Tuesday and a few of us grew concerned. Drew went over to her place Tuesday night, but her landlord wouldn’t let him in. So Wednesday he went to the police. She’s local but doesn’t have any family here. Parents died. She has a sister somewhere, but Drew hasn’t been able to contact her. The police were dragging their feet until some TikToker or something Janelle followed posted about it.”
“I’m so sorry.” I didn’t take my eyes off the photo. “Are the police looking for her now?”
Out the corner of my eye, Ms. Morgane shook her head. “Barely. No one’s heard from her since Monday night. Or seen her since Monday morning like you said. I’m the only dog owner on the block who doesn’t have to work anymore. She’s been walking everyone else’s for years so we’d see each other at the dog park and just on the sidewalk. Keep each other company for that half hour. We’d only chat then but it was something I’d look forward to. She was funny, easy to talk to, and remembered everything. My birthday. My dog’s birthday. She even gave her a present. She seemed fine Monday, but not showing up for work on Tuesday without any warning isn’t like her. Drew says her phone going is straight to voicemail and her texts aren’t being delivered.”
Every woman’s worst nightmare. I glanced at the photo again. No one under 40 went anywhere without keeping their phone on.
“Ms. Morgane with an E at the end.” Ty’s voice came out of nowhere and it felt like he magically appeared beside me. He immediately draped his arm around my waist. “Bree, I see you met my friend, Morgane Porter.”
“Did you know that woman who’s missing is from here, Ty?” Now that I knew it was so close, I suddenly was interested in the case.
Ty eyes widened at my outburst. “I had heard. I’m sure she’ll be found soon.”
“It has to be the boyfriend, right?” I Turned back to Ms. Morgane. “It’s always the boyfriend.”
“She never mentioned dating anyone,” Ms. Morgane said.
“A friend maybe,” I said.
“Bree…” Ty’s voice trailed off, clearly not happy that I suddenly wanted to play detective. “This is someone Ms. Morgane knows.”
He was right. I was treating it like some Netflix True Crime documentary. Janelle Beckett was a person. I needed to show respect. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
“It’s fine,” Ms. Morgane said. “So when are you going to—”
Ty jumped in. “Where we’re going.”
“Oh, right. She doesn’t know.”
I looked at Ty.
“Yep, I told her,” he said. “Everyone knows but you.” He turned back to Ms. Morgane. “We’re gonna run a few miles then she’s going to make me breakfast.”
“You taking her to the waterway?” she said.
He nodded. “Of course. Gotta start off the trip trying to impress her. It’ll give us plenty of time to get back and dressed and head into the city.”
“Path or Ferry?”
“Definitely taking the Path,” Ty said.
It was like they were speaking a foreign language. Ty must’ve saw my eyebrows furrowing because he finally addressed me. “It’s like a subway except between New Jersey and Manhattan.”
I nodded. Now that he’d translated, it wasn’t much of a surprise. Ty wasn’t a water person. Some bad experience at the Bay as a kid. He hadn’t shared much more than that and, of course, I didn’t pry. Just like I never asked him about that scar on his stomach. Because me asking questions about his past would only lead to him asking questions about mine.
“That’ll put you closer…” Ms. Morgane glanced at me. “…to wherever you’re going.”
My eyes narrowed as I looked at the two of them. After a moment, they both burst out laughing. Ty spoke first. “Let’s get this run over with before she breaks up with me.”
“Smart man,” Ms. Morgane said.
“It was nice meeting you, Ms. Morgane,” I said.
“Same.”
Ty produced a card from somewhere on his running pants and handed it to her. He’d done the same when he’d met me. I still had it where I’d thrown it on my dresser. The cardstock was 100lb gloss. Thinner than other types but also more durable.
“In case you were serious about investing in Ethereum,” he said.
I snorted because I knew nothing about it other than it was some form of crypto. Ty had tried to explain it to me more than once. I was glad Ms. Morgane was more interested in it than I was.
“I definitely will…” She trailed off as she looked behind us. I glanced back to see the man in the orange shirt on the corner. Even from a distance I could see he was staring. “You know what?” Ms. Morgane said. “Let me give you both my number.”
*
The rest of the day was a fairy tale, complete with a whole horse and carriage.
We didn’t run to the waterway like Ms. Morgane suggested, instead sticking closer to Little Street. The entire neighborhood was equally as gorgeous. More rowhouses that hadn’t been chopped and screwed into multiple apartments. Each one looking more taken care of than a 25-year-old Sugar Baby, the only indication about the age of the houses were the size of the trees outside of them.
Our race didn’t truly start until we were a block from our Airbnb and then it turned into an all-out sprint. Ty had speed but I had endurance.
I won.
I got dressed while he got started on breakfast.
Once we’d eaten and he’d gotten dressed, we’d headed for the Path and took it under the Hudson River into Manhattan. I was expecting to hit all the tourist traps. Ty had something much better in mind. We walked the city, hitting the places he loved the most. We started high, some place called Washington Heights, at this botanical garden by the same people who did that fancy celeb party every year. Then we made our way down, hitting his favorite cookie spot (Levain) and bookstore (Kinokuniya), before eating dinner in the outdoor space of his favorite restaurant (Scalini Fedeli).
He tried to stay present, but I’d still catch him on his phone tapping furiously when I came back from the bathroom or spent too much time browsing bookshelves. He always put the phone away as soon as he noticed me noticing.
Despite the test run, my feet were killing me by the time we made it back up to Central Park. So I was especially happy when Ty took us right to the line of waiting horse and carriages. Our driver was named Bill. Though I didn’t have glass slippers, he had on a top hat. We both jumped when Ty’s phone rang when we were about a half hour in. Bill was in full tour guide mode. “We’re coming up on a great place for photos.”
Ty was a vibrate person. It was the first time I’d even heard his ring tone. He quickly checked it then glanced at me as if remembering his promise to not work. He gave me a tight smile then put it away.
We’d been taking pics all day, mostly solo shots of each other or selfies with the two of us to add to our couple shot collection. None of them had made it online. We weren’t “Instagram official.” Not yet. When it came to 21st century dating, that didn’t happen until after we both said an I Love You. There was no worse feeling than dealing with a breakup and having to delete dozens of pics from your social media. Or so I’d been told.
We’d just stopped at the lake when Ty’s phone rang again. “This is Cherry Hill,” Bill said. “We’ll stop for a few minutes so you can get some beautiful pics. I’d be happy to take one of the two of you by the fountain.”
I spoke as we got out the carriage. “Work again?”
“Client,” Ty said. “It’s fine.”
But I could tell by his voice that it wasn’t. I nodded and then, “Tim gonna get mad?”
His boss.
“Probably,” Ty said.
“Don’t you have that meeting with him when you get back home?”
Ty was up for a promotion. I didn’t understand any of it but didn’t have to know what a big deal it was. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted it. Bad. And I would be damned if he didn’t get it because I was looking at lakes in Central Park.
Ty loved his job. Make that his career. Because that’s what it was. He was a numbers person who’d always been good with money and had parlayed that into a career at one of the biggest finance companies in the world. Yet another way he was more like my mother than me.
My job paid enough to keep me fed, even if it didn’t keep me happy. Five-year-old Breanna never saw herself in a dead-end job. She’d wanted to be a lawyer like her dad and the feeling only intensified after his death. College Breanna had even signed up for the LSAT and was supposed to take it—until that night.
It was why I was so proud of Ty. So determined he get this promotion. Follow his dream. “You should answer,” I said.
He kissed me so quick I wasn’t even sure it happened. His phone was already at his ear as he started to walk away for privacy. “Hi, this is Ty—” He pulled it away to stare at the now-black screen. “It died. It’s fine.”
But once again, I could tell it wasn’t. “You can always call them back with my phone. I’m at like at least 50%.”
He turned to look at me as I held my own up, complete with a photo of the two of us on our rare-for-me second date. “You don’t want photos of us in front of Cherry Hill?’ He motioned to Bill at the ready a few feet away.
“We’ll take them after you call your client back.” I handed it over. “Hurry up, Mr. Future Vice President.” The second kiss was much longer.
About the Book
It was supposed to be a romantic getaway weekend in New York City. Breanna’s new boyfriend, Ty, took care of everything—the train tickets, the dinner reservations, the rented four-story luxury rowhouse in Jersey City with a beautiful view of the Manhattan skyline. But when Bree comes downstairs their final morning, she’s shocked. There’s a stranger laying dead in the foyer, and Ty is nowhere to be found.
A Black woman alone in a new city, Bree is stranded and out of her depth—especially when it becomes clear the dead woman is none other than Janelle Beckett, the missing woman the entire Internet has become obsessed with. There’s only one person Bree can turn to: her ex-best friend, a lawyer with whom she shares a very complicated past. As the police and a social media mob close in, all looking for #JusticeForJanelle, Bree realizes that the only way she can help Ty—or herself—is to figure out what really happened that last night.
But when people only see what they want to see, can she uncover the truth hiding in plain sight?
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