The bottle of Cam’s scotch sat on the table. All the food was in the oven, staying warm. All that had to happen was for Cam to come home and then they’d eat.
Where was Cam? She was never this late. Michael pulled out her phone and pressed Cam’s number. She waited until it switched over to voice mail and left a short message. Then she dialed again. Perhaps Cam was busy and couldn’t get to it in time. She tried a third time. Again, there was no answer.
Michael looked at her watch. This was strange. Where could Cam be? Finally, she called her brother.
“Jean-René,” she started, “did Cameron do any investigating for you today?”
“No, not today. Why?”
“She’s not here and her car is gone. At first I thought she’d gotten delayed somewhere, but she’s never this late, especially without telling me. She doesn’t answer her phone. I called three times. She knows what time I’ll be here. I even cooked dinner for her. It’ll be dried out if it sets any longer. I cooked a special chicken for her.”