“No,” Bruce said again, frowning. “He seemed like a good kid. A quick learner. Did everything I asked and then some.”
Cassidy sighed. “I have to go down there.” She looked at her watch but realized the lowering sun could have told her the time instead.
“I’ll go with you,” Bruce said, draining his beer.
A wave of gratitude washed over Cassidy. She knew the group was going on their tour soon, and she would never dream of asking Benita to miss any more of her vacation. “Thank you.”
“I can give you a lift whenever you’re ready.”
Cassidy took another sip of her drink for courage. “I’ll just go change. Meet you out front in five minutes.”
On the way to her room, she typed a message to Rebecca on her phone:
Heading to the place where police found R’s phone.
Cassidy slid the phone into her pocket and entered the room. She hadn’t bothered to unpack her things into the drawers. With such a meager wardrobe, why bother? After returning from the police station, she had left her cutoffs and tank top on the bed and her second set of clothes in the mesh bag. So why were they now stacked on top of the bag? She looked around for signs that the maid had been in the room, but the beds and carpet looked exactly the same as when they had checked in. I must have taken out my clothes and just don’t remember, she thought.
Benita arrived, her wet hair slicked back and her pareo tucked tightly around her torso. “Hey,” she said, sounding breathless. “Get this.” She was holding Reeve’s phone.
“I got into Reeve’s banking app,” she said.
“What? How?”
“It wasn’t hard. He saved his password.”
“Oh.” Cassidy’s stomach rolled into a tight knot. Were the two of them breaking laws?
“Anyways, Reeve made a payment to something called Tikvah International.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know yet. But he made it the day they left Costa Rica.”
“Huh,” Cassidy said, still not sure she understood where this was going. “How much?”
“Two thousand dollars,” Benita replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Two thousand?” Cassidy echoed. She thought of his dingy flat. “How does a broke videographer find that kind of money?”
“Maybe he’s not that broke.” Benita shook her head. “I’ll look into it more. Bruce told me you’re going to where the phone was found?”
“Yeah.”
Benita grimaced. “Well, here,” she said, handing over Reeve’s phone. “Maybe you want to show the picture to—someone who might know who the girl is.”
“Right,” Cassidy said, sliding the phone into her pocket.
Cassidy headed for the hotel lobby. Once at the front door, she had an inspiration and took out her phone. She opened WhatsApp and tapped out a new message to Mel: Reeve’s phone was found in a dumpster where a stabbing had taken place.
He wrote back right away: And the police were generous enough to part with it?
She typed: Not sure generous is the right word. Do you know of something called Tikvah International?
Never heard of it, he replied.
Well, she thought. It was worth a shot.
What’s your plan now?
Visit the site of the stabbing
Please tell me you’re not going alone
I’m not
OK. Be careful
Cassidy gripped the phone and shook off her creeping anxiety. I don’t want to do this, but I owe it to Reeve to see it through, she thought.
Thirteen
Cassidy found Bruce waiting astride a moped.
“What is this?” she asked, unable to hold back her amusement at seeing his tall frame folded up on such a small vehicle—painted canary yellow at that. She had expected a car.
“It’s the most genius mode of transport ever made, is what this is,” he replied, unfazed. “Hop on,” he added, and turned the ignition key.
Cassidy awkwardly slid one leg over the seat behind Bruce. There was nowhere to put her hands except around his waist. When Bruce pulled out of the hotel parking entrance, she had no choice but to hang on tight.
They traveled down a narrow street to a park facing a peach-colored Catholic church, turned north, passing taco shacks, minimarts, T-shirt shops, and blocks of apartments. The streets felt hushed in that post-siesta way but Cassidy knew that within the hour, the restaurants and bars would be full to bursting with tourists on the prowl. They reached an intersection with what she assumed was the main road into town. Across the street stood a row of low buildings: a Falafel restaurant, a bus stop, and a whitewashed building with the name “Chabad House” painted in blue lettering.
“What’s that?” Cassidy asked above the hum of the motor as they idled.
“It’s a synagogue,” he said, turning onto the road.
Cassidy followed it with her eyes as Bruce sped past.
Just then Bruce swerved to avoid another moped leaving the curb, and Cassidy instinctively tightened her grip around his middle.
The Uno gas station came into view. Bruce pulled into the cobbled parking area in front of the glassed-in minimart.
Cassidy slid off the moped, and Bruce rested it on its kickstand. Cassidy looked around, walking slowly towards the side of the building where she had spied the dumpster.
The area around it looked unremarkable. The packed dirt ground revealed no bloodstains. There were no broken beer bottles or discarded cigarettes that she could sample for DNA. Like they’d do DNA testing here, she scolded herself. She did not attempt to lift the garbage-stained lid of the dumpster, rationalizing that the police had already cleaned it out.
She stood there and closed her eyes, hoping to feel some kind of epiphany. Had Reeve been here? Had he gotten into a knife fight, been injured or killed, and the other person dropped his phone in the dumpster to rid the scene of clues? Cassidy knew it was possible. The most likely explanation is probably true, Pete used to say.
But why would Reeve get into a fight behind a gas station? The only reason was drugs. Reeve had either been selling or buying, and the deal went bad.
A buzzing sensation caught her attention. It was coming from her pocket. She checked her phone but the screen was black.
Reeve’s
