A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

conference, when asked by a reporter. He said it wasn’t what he
meant to say, that he wasn’t actually trying to blame his wife for her
own disappearance. But by then, it had already run in the paper.
There was no taking it back. Public opinion of him had already
formed.
“Any leads on Shelby?” Bea asks.
“The cops used their dogs to track her scent a couple of blocks.
Then it disappeared. They think that was where she was snatched.
They used luminol and found blood there, on the street. Someone
tried to clean it up. Or the rain washed it away.”
“No idea who?” she asks.
“None yet, but I’ve got my ideas.”
It surprises me. “You do?”
“Shelby didn’t have many enemies,” he says, “but she had one.”
“Who?” I ask, on edge. I don’t know Shelby. I don’t know what kind
of person she is or was, or if she was the kind to make enemies.
He thinks awhile. He isn’t quick to say. He looks around, as if
we’re being watched. “Dr. Feingold,” he tells us in time, his words
weighty.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
He waits a beat. He’s already said more than he wants to say. But
then he says, “Her obstetrician.”
“Why were they enemies?” I ask.
“I can’t talk about it,” he says, and our conversation ends abruptly
there. Jason decides that he needs to get the baby back inside, out
of the rain, which only then begins to fall. It starts as a drizzle, but
soon comes down in sheets. Bea and I watch as Jason Tebow turns
with that infant awkwardly in his arms and pushes his way through
the door. He lets it slam loudly closed, startling both the baby and us.
On the other side of the door, the baby begins to scream.
We turn and make our way back down the walkway. “What do you
think he means by that?” I whisper as we reach the sidewalk.
Bea shakes her head. She isn’t sure.
We move on. We go to more houses; we knock on more doors. No
one has seen Meredith or Delilah. The lack of information, of
answers, is wearing on us. We’re getting nowhere.
But then, at nearly noon, a text comes through the group chat.