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“Oh, she’ll stay. Marybeth’s going to make certain of that.”
A couple of miles flew by. The sun was setting over the desert, shedding a golden glow over a breathtaking array of cactus flowers. Spring had always been Martha’s favorite time of year, with the desert in bloom, not only a signal of winter’s end but also proof that a land most assumed to be barren had hidden beauty and life.
This year she saw the flowers as little more than a lie. False hope that all was not barren. When, except for those few brief weeks, barren was exactly what it was.
David’s arm joined hers on the armrest. Close but not touching. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
It wasn’t going to be good either. She could already tell.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I DON’T WANT TO, but I can’t figure out a way to justify keeping the information to myself.”
Great. She’d hooked up with a preacher who had a conscience. Would life never cut her a break?
“Then tell me.” She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. “We’re on another wild-goose chase, right?”
“No.” With the shake of his head, his arm brushed hers. “Although, of course we might be, but that’s not it.”
“What then?” Against her will she looked over at him, her heart sinking when she encountered the seriousness of his expression.
“Shelley didn’t go to San Diego with Monica Wilder.”
“Yes, she did.” There simply
was no other option.
He kept driving. “No, she didn’t.”
“What makes you say that?” For a guy who was supposed to make people feel better, he was failing miserably. First he’d called to tell her that her older daughter had been raped. And now her second child was not only lying to her but disappearing for weekends, as well. Who knew what that would be about? Whatever it was, Martha was fairly certain she couldn’t take it.
“I visit Edith Walton once a week—”
“Monica’s grandmother.” Oh, God. It was legitimate.
“She said that Monica had invited Shelley to go, but Shelley told her she had obligations at home. Apparently Monica had a horrible time, bored stiff spending the weekend with her parents.”
“Have you ever met Monica’s parents?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you understand Monica’s boredom,” Martha finished dryly. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. At all.
But she didn’t think screaming—or worse, crying—was appropriate at the moment.
Not surprisingly, David didn’t reply. Except to say, after a long silence, “I’m sorry.”
Her arm was touching his on the console now. The contact was a good thing. She didn’t know why; she was probably beyond figuring it out, or caring. She just knew it was.
“Where do you think she went?”
The possibilities were endless, most of them too horrible for her to contemplate.
He glanced at her quickly, due to the heavier traffic as they drew closer to Phoenix. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“If there’s something you know, then I expect you to tell me. Period.”
“About a month ago, I was driving on the outskirts of town and saw Shelley coming out of the desert with a group of kids.”
