"Look, it's probably nothing," Dante insists. "Think about it."
I nod my head feverishly. "Yes, of course, I know that. It is probably nothing, but what if it's not? What if something's happened?"
He nods and squeezes my hand.
The directions ping left and he turns on Mulberry Lane, pulling up in front of the gate.
"Do you know the code?" he asks.
I shake my head no.
There's no one up front but perhaps calling information will help. He dials 0 and after a long pause, just before we're about to give up, somebody answers.
"We're looking for a friend of ours. She was here for a party last night.”
"Yeah, okay, sure." The woman hesitates on the other end and then buzzes us in.
"That's a good sign," Dante says.
"Why?" I ask.
"Well, if something happened at the party, she probably wouldn't be so forthcoming."
I nod, he's right. But that still doesn't answer where Allison is.
Cassandra comes downstairs, wearing sweats and her hair pulled up in a loose bun on top of her head. Without makeup and the eyelashes, she looks completely different from the woman that I had met earlier, but still familiar.
Even her voice is different however, not so soothing, not so deep, more like a normal voice belonging to a normal person.
She recognizes us immediately.
"Oh, I was wondering why you two didn't attend. Are you dating now?" she asks.
Despite how she's dressed and the fact that she is barefoot, she still has a certain air of superiority that disarms me.
"So are you two officially together? Will we see you again?" she asks, prying and smiling out of the corner of her lips.
"Yes, we're dating," Dante says, "officially, so no plans to visit anytime soon, but thank you for the memories."
"Yes, of course.” She shifts her weight from one side to another. Suddenly, I wonder if the two of them have ever been together.
"We're actually here to talk about Allison. Did she attend the party last night?"
Cassandra looks down at the floor. "Normally we don't give out that kind of information," she says after a long pause.
"Yes, I know.” Dante takes control of the conversation.
He takes a step closer to her almost pulling her away from us. He turns a little bit toward her and she turns toward him and he says, "Allison's a very close friend. She was supposed to go here last night and she didn't come home, so naturally Jacqueline is very worried and so am I."
Cassandra looks at me, not quite believing it. "We protect our guests’ privacy and therefore, we can't reveal whether they attended or did not attend," Cassandra says. "It's in the rules."
"Please, you have to help me," I plead. "We're staying in the same place. She said that she was going to go to this party. I thought she would maybe stay out until five or six but she should be home now and I'm just really worried about her. This isn't like her to not call me."
Cassandra exhales slowly and I can tell that I may be getting through. "Yes, she was here," she says. "She seemed to have a good time. She met a guy, he went by the name Lincoln."
The eager smile on Dante's face suddenly drops. "He went by the name Lincoln?" he asks. "What did he look like?"
"Kind of like you, tall, broad shouldered. In fact, the two of you could be brothers. That's not his real name, is it?" Cassandra asks.
Dante doesn't reply, he just stares into space somewhere behind her.
"Can you tell me about what happened last night? What did you see? When did she leave?"
"She met Lincoln right at the beginning of the party. They were hanging out the whole time and then, I don't know, they went into one of the rooms in the back. The party officially ended around five. Some people went out for breakfast. I am not aware of what Allison or Lincoln did."
"So you don't know when she left?" I ask.
"Sometime after five."
I swallow hard; that was hours ago.
It's early afternoon now and she's still not back. "Was Lincoln with anyone else? Like his girlfriend?" I ask. "Wife?"
"No. He came by himself. Listen, I have to go. I have to clean up and set up for the afternoon. But I didn’t tell you any of this,” she adds.
“Thank you,” I mumble. “One more thing. Do you think that Allison might be coming back?"
"Usually we have a rule that you attend only one party a week, that way we have a good variety of people circling through."
Cassandra’s phone rings and she ushers us out, saying that she has to take this call.
Out on the doorstep, when the door closes in our face, I look up at Dante who looks crestfallen.
"It may not be him," I say. "I mean, the guy could be using an unusual name."
"She said that he could be my brother."
He rubs his temples.
"Yes, but that doesn't mean that he is your brother. Your brother was at home with his pregnant wife. He didn't leave her to go to this party."
"Yeah, I never thought that he would, but now I don't know."
"We can't just doubt him because of this whole story; we have no idea who Allison met last night."
"He was by himself," Dante says, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, but you of all people know that it is possible to get into this place on your own."
He shakes his head.
"Let's go back," I say, taking his hand.
"Go back where?" he asks.
"I'm going to call her again, but I just want to, I don't know, maybe drive around a little and check the cottage again.”
"No," Dante says, "I need to talk to Lincoln."
29
Dante
Jacqueline insists on going back to the rental and walking around the town aimlessly looking for her friend, but I can't wait.
I need to know now the answers to the questions that I seek. When Cassandra said Lincoln's name, I had some doubts at first. No, it wouldn't be my brother. There's no way. It's just some guy using a cool name to draw attention to himself or away from who he really is.
But when she looked at me closely and said that he could be my brother, that just changed everything. Lincoln and I don't really look like we could be related on the outside, not if you look from far away.
But if you look closer, if you really look, past the hair color, skin color, I'm much more olive skinned than he is, then everything changes.
That's what I saw in Cassandra's eyes, the realization that we may be related. I drive back to the house pressing on the accelerator and weaving through traffic.
I can't get there fast enough.
No matter what I do, it's not enough. After my uncomfortable conversation with my mother and her threats to call the police, you'd think that she'd leave and go back to Cape Cod. But no, when I walk back into the house, I find her swimming in the pool.
I wave a brief hello, and she smiles, climbs onto a lounge chair and opens her book, taking a sip of a cocktail.
The arrogance of my family is hard to explain to strangers and so, I never even try.