The Disappearance of Valentina Moreno

Chapter 3 ~ Weekend Getaway

              A week has passed since the incident at the coffee shop and despite going about my days as if it’s all behind me, I continue thinking about it. Because Valentina Moreno was a real little girl, not just some story on the nightly news. She belonged to a family and was loved. 

It’s the middle of the night and I’m awake once again. Julian would scold me if he knew what I was doing, but I’m doing it anyway. 

“Why is Google such a rabbit hole?” I mutter, then click on another link. 

Moonlight trickles into the bedroom as I sprawl on the chaise lounger by the French doors, tapping away on my laptop. I’ve learned a lot about Valentina in the last few days, yet still very little.

What I know is, the Moreno family was vacationing in Yosemite National Park twenty years ago when Valentina disappeared in the night. They rented a tent cabin in Curry Village and on the night of the disappearance, Javier Moreno states he kissed Valentina and her one-year-old sister Rosalinda, goodnight, after tucking them into bed around nine PM. Then, he went outside to sit with his wife, Amelia by the fire pit.

Neither of them heard a single disturbance in the forty-five minutes they sat there relaxing. Then, when Amelia went inside to put on her pajamas, she checked on the girls but found Valentina’s bed empty. They searched for her, assuming she had snuck off to the bathroom alone, but after twenty minutes of no sight of her, they panicked. 

Families camping near them, joined with the search when they heard Amelia and Javier’s distress. Then, the rangers got involved, and that’s when they discovered the tear in the tent near Valentina’s bed. A slash that appeared to have been made with a knife.

That’s the gist of what happened, but I’m sure that for the Moreno family, it’s way more than that. I bet it’s a night that haunts them. Much like the day my mother, Elaine died by suicide. But I’d rather not think about that, so I glance out the window and the hot guy in apartment 3B is standing on his balcony. He’s leaning against it with his hands gripping the railing and it's causing his triceps to flex as they peek-a-boo from his white shirt.

“What are you out there thinking about, cutie?”

Setting the laptop aside, I roll off the chaise lounger and go to the French doors to spy. It’s three AM, so why is he awake?

I bite my lip and grip the curtains. 

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship and the last time I had sex was three months ago with some guy I met online who, right afterward, said he was only interested in hooking up. Which is information I wish he would’ve shared upfront before meeting for dinner and having what I assumed was a great first date.

This is why I’m terrible at dating. 

The rules are confusing and I always pick the wrong guys. Julian says it’s because my dad is overprotective and it hinders me from understanding men. Maybe he’s right? 

“I should just become a total slut. I bet it would be a blast…” I say while gazing across the courtyard, my fingers tightening around the curtain. Then a brilliant idea hits me. 

So, I turn on the lamp beside the lounger and brush aside the curtain just enough to expose myself. I have no idea what I’m doing but hot guy in 3B looks my way, so I open the curtain further. This causes him to straighten. It’s not like me to parade around in my undies for people to see, and now that I’m standing here half-naked, I don’t know what to do.

Do I strip?

Touch myself?

Do I even look sexy?

My curly hair is sitting in a messy bun on my head and I’m not wearing makeup. Then I gasp. What if he has a girlfriend?