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Stuck among some random paperwork, I finally find the list of the evidence collected at the crime scene. This is what I’ve been looking for. I scan the items and nothing unusual jumps out at me. All of Eve’s clothing is listed: the secondhand pair of brand-name jeans that she had bought at the thrift store, her boot, socks, underwear, bra, sweater, a light jacket.
Then it hits me. What I found odd about the crime scene photos. Eve wasn’t wearing her scarf. She wore that thing all winter long. With a coat, without a coat, it was always hanging around her neck. She should have been wearing it.
I remember her wearing it the day she died. I flip back to the crime scene photos to take a look.
It’s not there. It doesn’t make sense. I push away from the table and stand up. I blink back tears. How Eve loved that scarf. I remember the day we found it at the secondhand store. I told her it was hideous but she said it was beautiful.
That was just like Eve. She saw something or someone who was different or damaged and took him or her under her wing with little or no forethought. She always fought for the underdog. Case in point—Nola. Even if it was true Nola could fend for herself. Eve just didn’t want Nola to have to. I look back through all the crime scene photos just to be sure. It’s not there.
Then I skim back through my dad’s notes until I find a notation in his messy handwriting: Charlotte Knox and others indicate that Eve often wore a multicolored knit scarf. The scarf wasn’t found at the scene nor with her belongings at home. Did killer take it with him? Poss. trophy?
My phone rings again. I’m tempted to ignore it but I know I can’t.
“This is Maggie O’Keefe,” I say cautiously into the receiver.
“Maggie,” my brother says. “Dad took off.”
“What do you mean, he took off?” I ask. “Where would he have gone?”
“I don’t know.” Colin sounds panicked. “Leanne is beside herself. She says she went inside to get Dad’s medicine and when she came back out to the porch he was gone.”
“He probably just went for a walk. Have you gone looking for him?” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice. I’m honestly not alarmed. Our dad has taken off before; he never goes far.
“Of course I went looking for him,” Colin snaps. “I’ve been looking for him for the last thirty minutes. I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t important.”
I prop my elbow on my desk and lower my forehead into my hand.
Just outside my office door the phones are ringing in a constant cacophony. I should be answering phones, I should be in the evidence room preparing to send the samples from Eve’s case off to the lab, I should be looking into the arson files to see if there is a connection to the fire at our place. But something in Colin’s voice tells me that he truly believes my dad is in trouble.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “I’ll be right over.” Colin hangs up without saying goodbye. He’s pissed and I can’t blame him. I’ve been so caught up in my own personal dramas that I haven’t been paying attention to the people I need to. My family.
I grab my keys and head to the elevator. When I reach my car I’m relieved to find there’s no note on my windshield to greet me.
When I pull up to my dad’s house, Cam Harper is just pulling out of his driveway. I park and unlatch my seat belt. The restraint is rubbing against my blistered shoulder. And just like every time I see Cam, a bubble of rage rises in my chest. I remember the first time I noticed him looking at me as something different than his babysitter. I had put the twins to bed hours earlier and I was curled up on the couch watching a movie and trying to keep my eyes open. I didn’t even hear them come inside. Mr. Harper jostled my shoulder and I awoke with a start to find him looking down at me. Wake up, Maggie, he said. We’re home. He smelled like cigarettes and alcohol. He held out his hand to help me from the sofa. His fingers were warm and smooth and completely enveloped mine. His eyes never left mine and my skin burned beneath his gaze. It was electric and I went to bed that night with the memory of my hand in his.
It progressed quickly after that. I loved him. And Cam Harper did what any thirtysomething man who is sleeping with a fifteen-year-old does. He manipulated me.
I sit there for a moment trying to gather my thoughts. I haven’t been inside the Harper house since the night Eve died. In fact, Cam Harper and I haven’t spoken since. Though God knows I tried. He tossed me aside like a piece of garbage, which is exactly what I felt like. Now when our paths cross, he doesn’t look me in the eye. He doesn’t dare.
I throw open my car door and step out into the street. Leanne comes down the porch steps to greet me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says tearfully. “I only left him alone for a minute.”
“It’s okay,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Where’s Colin?”
“He’s driving around looking for him,” she says. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats.
“It’s okay, really,” I assure her again. “Did you go check with the neighbors?” I scan the street. All is quiet. The trees are still, American flags droop limply from their poles and doors and windows are shut tight to keep out the simmering afternoon heat.
Leanne nods. “I checked with everyone but there.” She points to the Knox house. “I saw her drive off in her truck a while ago.”
“Stay here and let me go look around,” I tell her. I start to make my way over to Nola’s house and despite my order for her to stay put, Leanne is right behind me.
The driveway is empty; it doesn’t look like Nola is home. The shades are still pulled tight. I knock but there’s no answer. I press my ear to the door and listen. I dig into my pocket for my cell phone and call the Knoxes’ home phone. It rings and rings and I hear it echo from inside the Knox house. It eventually goes to voice mail and I hang up without leaving a message.
“It doesn’t look like he came over here,” I tell Leanne. “You go back to the house in case he comes back and I’ll go around the back and see if he’s wandering around someone’s yard.” Leanne nods and just as we are walking away, a crash comes from inside the house.
I pound on the door again. “Nola?” I call. “Are you in there? We’re looking for my dad.” No answer. I give an experimental twist of the door handle. It’s not locked.
