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“Nice. Concise. Now go find Sidney Akerman.”
&
nbsp; “All over it like white on rice.”
Sal Diaz stopped pushing his lawn mower, and dragged a sweaty arm across his forehead. He was working at the house across the street from the elementary school. The place was crawling with cops and FBI. It was only a matter of time before they questioned him and Rita, alibis or no alibis. Sal was the Willises’ gardener, and his wife was their housekeeper. They spent hours a week at the huge Willis house. The cops would definitely be asking about them. They’d dig up the facts that Sal had a history of brawling and domestic disturbances, and that he and Rita were in debt up to their asses. If the Muellers and the Kitners hadn’t vouched for their whereabouts, they’d probably be in custody now.
But how long would that safety net last?
Sal had been cutting the Kitners’ lawn between two and four yesterday. And Rita had been cleaning the Muellers’ house.
The Willis kid had been taken by a woman. The Muellers both worked, Mrs. Mueller until three. She’d walked through her door yesterday afternoon right around the time school closed. Technically, Rita could have left the house, grabbed the kid and stashed her somewhere, then pretended to be downstairs in the laundry room if Mrs. Mueller walked in a minute before her. The timing was too damned close. And Sal’s background was too damned sketchy.
He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He couldn’t risk putting himself and Rita in the hot seat. Not unless—or until—the cops put them there. At that point, he wouldn’t have to go to them. They’d come to him.
And he’d tell them what he knew.
CHAPTER TEN
Hope stood in Krissy’s bedroom, tears coursing down her cheeks as she berated herself for everything that had happened.
It was her fault. Why hadn’t she left work just a little earlier yesterday? Why hadn’t she surprised Krissy by picking her up at school? Why hadn’t she known in her gut that something was wrong?
She was a mother. And mothers were supposed to know.
But she hadn’t.
Had she told Krissy she loved her when they said goodbye that morning? Had she hugged her? Had she tucked those stubborn wisps of unruly hair behind her ears before letting her out near the kindergarten door?
Would she ever have the chance to do those simple, priceless things again?
Her precious little girl. Would she ever hold her again, hear her sweet voice, revel in her exuberance? Would she ever share her childhood, struggle through her teens, see her grow to womanhood?
Oh, God, what was that animal doing to her? Hurting her? Molesting her? Worse? Where in the name of heaven was her baby? Was she alive?
Hope sank to the carpet, a knife of pain stabbing through her heart. She broke down completely, sobbing until her body was weak and trembling, until every single tear was spent.
The bedroom door opened, and she heard Ashley’s tentative, “Judge Willis? Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” Hope shook her head, not even lifting it from the carpet. “I just need to be here with Krissy’s things.” An agonized pause. “I certainly wasn’t there for her, not when I should have been.”
Down the hall, Ashley’s cell phone began playing music, signaling an incoming call. She ignored it.
“Judge Willis, you’re a wonderful mother,” she told Hope with all the conviction of knowing it was true, and that this, at least, was something she could give her employer. “None of this is your fault.”
“It is my fault. I should have been there.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have. She’s my child.”
The upbeat music of Ashley’s cell phone continued to play, its lively tempo a flagrant antithesis to the somber mood in Krissy’s bedroom.
“That’s your cell.” Hope voiced the obvious.
“Whoever it is will call back.”
