“I will,” Jack says. “There’s just one other thing . . .”
“What?”
“I found a shoe.”
I’m about to explode and Jack isn’t making any sense.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I say.
“There was a sneaker in the parking lot, over by the Jeep. It’s a woman’s shoe, Converse slip-on, size eight, cream-colored. The left foot.”
I wrack my brains, trying to remember what Aida was wearing when she stepped into the Jeep. A lavender-colored crop top. Jean shorts. Bare legs. And then, down on her feet . . . sneakers, as usual. The kind you can slip on without tying the laces. White or cream, I’m almost certain.
“Stay there,” I say into the phone. “Stay by the Jeep. Keep the shoe.”
I hang up the phone, hurrying back into the office.
“I’ve got to go,” I say to my father. “Do you mind if I take the car?”
“Go ahead,” he says. “I’ll take a cab back to the house.”
I hurry down to the main level again, my mind racing.
What the fuck is going on here? Who was Aida meeting? And how did she lose a shoe?
As I drive to meet Jack, I try calling Aida again and again. Her phone rings, but she doesn’t pick up.
The fourth time I call, it goes straight to voicemail without even ringing. Which means her phone is switched off.
I’m starting to get worried.
Maybe I’m a fool and Aida is shacked up in some hotel room right now, ripping the clothes off some other man.
But I don’t think so.
I know what the evidence looks like, but I just don’t believe it. I don’t think she’s cheating on me.
I think she’s in trouble.
25
Aida
I’m sitting across the table from my new best friend, Jeremy Parker. He passes me the little box I’ve been waiting and hoping for all week long, and I open the lid to peek inside.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe it,” I breathe.
“I know,” he laughs. “This was the hardest one I’ve ever done. Took me three whole days.”
“You’re a miracle worker. Honestly.”
He grins, almost as gleeful as I am.
“You mind if I put the whole thing up on my YouTube channel?” he says. “I was wearing my GoPro the whole time, got some great footage.”
“Of course!” I say.
I close the box, still hardly believing what I’m holding in my hand, and I stow it back in my purse. I give Jeremy a slim envelope of cash in return—the amount we agreed upon, plus a bonus for saving my fucking ass.