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Rory nodded absently but didn’t answer me. I could tell from his eyes that he was already thinking of something else. He refilled his wineglass and took another bite. He was losing interest in the conversation, but I wasn’t ready to let it go.
“I wonder why Nina hasn’t come home yet.”
“Probably the girl’s just upset. Maybe she went to a friend’s place to lick her wounds for a few days. You know, if she’s hurting, she might be avoiding her mother because she doesn’t want to talk about it all yet.”
“I guess that’s possible.” Though not at all likely, given that she’d dumped Simon. But I didn’t feel like educating Rory. If he paid any attention to anything other than his business, he’d know what was going on without my filling him in.
Rory started talking again about work. About how he was going to be busy doing site visits to factories over the next two months, checking out possible opportunities for acquisition. I nodded and made all the right sounds in all the right places, and with the part of my mind that wasn’t occupied, which was most of it, I thought about where and how I would live when he divorced me. Boston was a leading contender, but there were other places, other cities. Or maybe I should look for somewhere on the coast. That might be nice, I could walk on the beach every day. Maybe I’d get a dog or something. Or a cat. I could be a cat lady. The idea was oddly appealing.
CHAPTER THREE
Matthew
On Monday afternoon at 2:00 P.M., Detective Matthew Wright arrived at the Black Friar Inn. He drove up the gravel driveway and parked his car in a pretty courtyard at the back of the inn. The small parking lot was half-full. Presumably the cars belonged to guests. That would be better than the alternative, which was that concerned family members had gathered to provide support. In Matthew’s experience, when large numbers of distressed family members got together without anyone to reassure them or direct their energies in a useful way, you could quickly find yourself knee deep in problems that distracted from the investigation. Fragmented search efforts at best, and vigilantism at worst.
Matthew walked around to the front door of the inn and pushed it open. Inside he found a quiet, pretty entrance hall, warmed by a fire burning in the grate and smelling faintly of jasmine. There was a reception desk. Behind it sat a small, dark-haired woman. She wore a navy sweater and jeans, and her hair was tied back in a low ponytail. No makeup. She stood up when he came in.
“Mrs. Fraser?”
“Yes, I’m Leanne Fraser.”
He offered his hand. “Detective Matthew Wright.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” She hesitated for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do, then said, “Could you follow me?”
She led the way into the inn’s drawing room. The room had dark wood paneling and cobalt-blue walls. The furniture was antique. There was a leather sofa, worn enough that it looked soft and inviting, and a large coffee table with books on Vermont history and geography. Leanne continued through the drawing room to a small hall where there was a door marked PRIVATE. She opened the door, and he followed her through, down narrow stairs, into a basement living room. This part of the house was obviously for the family, and the design style was very different from the main inn. Here the floors were some kind of blond wood—oak, he thought—and the walls were painted white. The living room was cozy and lived in, with a green fabric sofa that had seen a few years, and overstuffed bookshelves. The windows were small, and maybe the room was a little dark, but with the fire burning in the grate, it felt like a welcoming place. There was a man sitting on the sofa.
“This is my husband, Andy,” said Leanne. “Could I offer you coffee?” Andy Fraser stood and offered Matthew his hand. Matthew Wright was a big man, at six foot two and almost two hundred pounds, but Andy Fraser had a couple of inches and at least twenty pounds on him, all of it muscle. He had broad shoulders and big hands and the weather-beaten face of someone who works outside.
“No, thank you. Perhaps we could sit?”
Andy and Leanne took a seat beside each other on the sofa. They didn’t touch.
“I’m sorry,” Leanne said. “We don’t know how this works.”
“There are no rules, Mrs. Fraser. I’m here to listen to you. I want to know everything you can tell me about your daughter. About why you think she may be missing. And to hear anything you think might help me to find her.”
“Okay, well, I guess you know that Nina’s a sophomore at UVM. Last week she went away with her boyfriend for a vacation. She was due to come home on Saturday morning, and she didn’t, and we can’t reach her.”
“Have you been able to reach her boyfriend?”
Leanne and Andy glanced at each other. It was Andy who answered.
“We went up there to the Jordans’ house last night. We talked to his parents.”
Leanne cut across her husband. “They claimed not to know where she was. They said Simon didn’t know either. Simon told them that Nina broke up with him. He said something about Nina going off with friends, but she hasn’t called us and we can’t reach her.”
“Is it unusual? For Nina to be out of touch for a few days?”
“It is,” Andy said firmly. “She’s a good girl. She’s never done anything like this before.”
That had the ring of truth to it, but at twenty years old, the girl had a lot of firsts ahead of her.
“Has Nina ever suffered from depression? Has she ever had an issue with self-harm?”
“No,” Leanne said. She looked shocked by the suggestion. “Never.”
“Okay.” Matthew nodded. “And what about her friends?”
