“I feel bad,” he suddenly said as we left Cocoa Beach and took the beachline. I accelerated the car, then sipped my latte that we had bought at a drive-thru Starbucks on the way.
“You do?” I asked, startled at this sudden honesty from him.
He nodded. I spotted a dead raccoon on the side of the road and felt sick at the sight of the blood.
“I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.” He hid his face in his hands. “I can’t believe myself. Here I am, worried sick about Sarah, and then I go and pull something like that.”
I felt relieved. With him saying this, we could hopefully put it behind us. I was going to try to, at least.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I said, wanting to change the subject. It felt uncomfortable talking about this. “Don’t worry. You had a weak moment. We all have them from time to time. The important thing is to find Sarah. That’s all we need to focus on right now. She knew someone from her past might catch up to her one day, or she wouldn’t have said what she did to you. That’s our focus. If this same guy killed her boyfriend back then, then we might find him through that truck.”
He turned and looked at me. “You’re amazing; have I told you that?”
That made me smile. “Really? No. But you don’t have to, Scott. I’m not doing this for you, but for her.” It wasn’t a total lie. But it was a lie. I was doing it for him, mostly. But he didn’t need to know that.
“No, I’m serious. You’re the only one who has believed me. Everyone else thought I hurt her, even my own family. I don’t know what I would have done if you had refused to help me.”
That made me blush. I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I mean, you have enough on your plate as it is with two infants and all those other kids. I don’t know how you do it.”
I thought about Owen and Angel back at the house. I had persuaded my mom to take them both today, even though it meant having her inside my messy house and facing weeks of criticism for it afterward. I felt bad for asking her to do this. It was a long time since she last had an infant, and she wasn’t exactly used to the chaos that came with it. At first, she had looked at me like I was nuts for even asking, but somehow—Lord only knows how—I had managed to talk her into it. I might have accidentally promised to go to a vegan health conference of some sort with her in a few weeks in Orlando. I was probably going to regret saying yes to it, but how horrible could it be?
It’s going to be awful, and you know it. Your mom is going to try to persuade you to live healthier and exercise more, and she’ll always be on your case while you’re there, telling you if only you ate this or did this, then you’d live a healthier life.
“All it takes are a few small adjustments.”
That’s what she always told me.
“Just cut out the sugar in your coffee, and drink water instead of soda. Eat a piece of fruit instead of the cookies you always stuff yourself with.”
Oh, yes, it was going to get horrible, and I’d have to eat quinoa and kale all day, but so be it. If this could help us find Sarah Abbey, then I was willing to make the sacrifice. Besides, one of the children could happen to come down with something right on the day I was supposed to go, right? It was possible. Then, naturally, I couldn’t go. My mom would have to understand that. Of course, she would.
“So, this guy has that type of truck?” Scott asked as we came closer to Orlando and could see the signs leading to the airport.
“He bought it in 2010, yes. For twenty-five thousand. The truck is from 1991.”
“And does he still have it? Could he be our guy?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out,” I said. “I haven’t exactly told him we’re coming. I just found his name and address in the DMV records. His name is Jeffrey Johnson.”
Chapter 31
“Is this it? Are you sure?”
Scott peeked out the window of the minivan. I had parked by the house and killed the engine. I squinted my eyes to better see against the bright sun that stood right above us.
“What in the…”
Scott got out, and I followed him, slamming the car door shut behind me. There was barely anything left of the house in front of us. It had very obviously been ravaged in a devastating fire. The roof was completely gone, and there was nothing left but the charcoaled walls. I got the feeling it had been a nice house before it burned down. All the neighboring houses were very exclusive—cute, older Florida houses from the nineteen twenties, several of them two-stories, with lots of space and big yards. The entire neighborhood surrounded Lake Sylvan, where you could go fishing or boating.
“You sure you got it right?” Scott asked.
I looked at my phone at the address, then at the mailbox where the house number was still written. “Yes, that’s it.”
“I’ll be…” Scott said. He glared toward the garage or the little that was left of it. “You think the car was in there when it burned down?”
“Excuse me? Can I help you?”
A woman in high heels came from the house across the street and approached us, tapping along on the asphalt. She was gorgeous with her long hair in a ponytail, light makeup, and expensive blue business suit. I felt inadequate and unaccomplished in my old baggy jeans.
I smiled. “Yes, maybe you can. I’m Eva Rae Thomas, and this is Scott Benton.”
I reached out my hand, and we shook.
“Isabella Hayton.”
“We’re looking for a Jeffrey Johnson.”
Her smile faded, and her lips stiffened.
“Jeff?”
“Yes, he lives here according to DMV records, but…”
She swallowed. “Jeff…did use to live here. But I’m afraid…he died in the fire.”
I froze. “Oh, no. That’s awful. I am so sorry. Did you know him well?”
She nodded. “I’m actually his sister. We bought these houses in the same neighborhood to be close together.”
“How awful. I am so sorry. What happened?”
She shook her head with a deep exhale. “They don’t know. It was probably caused by something electrical; at least, that was the conclusion in the report. It happened at night. Jeff was sleeping. He had taken a couple of sleeping pills as he sometimes did, so he didn’t wake up.”
She sniffled and fought her tears, then placed a hand under her nose for a few seconds like it calmed her down.
“How long ago was this?”
“It happened four years ago,” she said. “Can you believe it? We’re still fighting the insurance company to get the money. They keep dragging it out.”
Four years ago? Tommy was killed two and a half years ago. It couldn’t have been Jeffrey Johnson who drove the truck then.
“That’s tough,” I said and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. Isabella looked at me and nodded.
“Why are you looking for him?”
“We’re actually looking for his car,” I said. “A Ford Skyranger. One of the rarest pick-up trucks Ford ever made.”
I showed her a picture of the truck from the Internet. Isabella’s face lit up. “Yeah, that’s Jeff’s truck. He loved it so much—ugliest thing in the world if you ask me, but he never did care for my opinion.”