“Can you run it to see if it’s a rental?”
“Give me a moment.”
I hear him tapping on his keyboard again. I keep myself from tapping my fingers on the center console.
“It’s registered to a Caitlyn Henderson. Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.”Why’s Madeline using that name?
“Do you want me to track it?”
“Yeah. Please.”
I remember my manners a little faster this time. I’m usually way more polite, but this shit has my mind spinning. I know it’ll take him a few minutes to get her whereabouts if he has to run through the city’s camera records to follow the car from here to wherever she is.
“She’s in Jersey. She left before we did.”
Did she go to her parents? How the fuck didn’t any of our guys see her?
“She took a weird route to near Montclair, considering she didn’t stop. She took the Verrazano Bridge to the Staten Island Expressway, then across the Goethals Bridge.”
She went to her parents if she’s near Montclair. “Did she take Ninety-Five up to the Turnpike then Essex Freeway?”
“No. That’s part of what’s weird. She took surface streets through Elizabeth, went up the Garden State Parkway, then got on the Essex Freeway.”
She went south to go north. She could’ve just taken the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, then taken the Holland Tunnel over to Jersey. From there, the Turnpike to Essex Freewaywould take her close to Montclair. She really didn’t want to be followed.
“Can you tell where she stopped?”
“Somewhere in Montclair. She got on surface streets that don’t have cameras.”
“Okay.”
“Why do you think she took such a circuitous route? Was she worried we’d follow her? I have no footage of her leaving Montclair.”
“Maybe.”
I turn my Porsche on and look at the screen as I reverse out of my parking spot. It’s not until I’m in drive that I speak again.
“Joaquin, she’s Laura’s little sister.”
My announcement is met with a moment of silence before my brother responds with surprise.
“Madeline?”
“Yeah.”
“No. She was way skinnier than Madeline ever was. She was way paler too. Madeline was always outside with Laura. While Laura used to fade in winter, Madeline had a perma-tan. We used to tease that she fake-baked to look like she belonged to Pablo’s family instead of hers. That she wanted to be Pablo’s little sister rather than Laura’s.”
None of us mention Juan if we can avoid it. Laura wasn’t a bossy big sister, but she certainly had opinions. Pablo would stand up for Madeline because he would’ve swapped either sister for Juan. His younger brother was a real pissant. Pablo would let Juan pick on him because he knew if he unleashed his temper, he’d be the one in trouble for picking on his baby brother. He’d get back at Juan in other ways.
“Why on earth would Madeline stay somewhere like that when she was so close to home?”
“She’s hiding something or from someone. You saw the bruises on her wrist.”
“I did. What are you going to do about it?”
Even if I can’t see him, I’m certain my brother cocks his eyebrow at me, already knowing the answer. Even if he can’t see me, my answer is a raised eyebrow in return. I usually don’t subscribe to “what my family doesn’t know won’t hurt them.” At least, most of the time, I don’t. In this case, I don’t know what I’m going to do, so it’s better if I don’t speak out of turn. My brother trusts me not to fly off the handle, but I won’t settle for less than the full story.
