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CHAPTER NINETEEN
L ucy didn’t stay home on Sunday. She couldn’t risk her mother noticing a light on. Or watching for her car to leave. Or seeing the television flashing through the blind. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t prepared to handle Sandy.
Getting up at her normal time, thanks to the alarm clock on her cell phone, she bathed instead of showered—keeping her chin dry—and with very tender fingers dressed in slacks and a crew-neck top and the navy jacket that went with the slacks, slipped on black loafers, strapped on her gun and left the house as usual.
Driving hurt her fingers, but if she gripped the steering wheel with her palms instead of her fingers it wasn’t so bad. Not eager to lose her job, she bypassed the station and went down to the river. Something about the Ohio River, even on a cool November Sunday with only the big black cargo barges out on the water, gave her a feeling of strength. The river ran no matter what. Had for many more years than she’d been alive. And would for many years after she was gone, too.
The water put life into perspective.
She pulled into one of her favorite spots—a roadside parking lot with a few picnic tables scattered along the raised bank. She was exhausted. Didn’t feel like walking. Or even getting out. She wanted safety. Security. She wanted to be at home without having to answer to Sandy. She wanted to sleep. And so she reclined the seat of her Rendezvous and went to sleep.
Her cell phone woke her. She knew immediately where she was, but had no idea how much time had passed. A lot, based on the position of the sun in the sky.
The number had a Comfort Cove exchange.
“Hello?”
“Lucy? It’s Emma. Sanderson.”
“Emma!” She leaned forward, bringing her seat to its upright position. “How are you?”
“Good.”
“And plans for the wedding? Are they driving you nuts?”
“Nope. Everything’s under control,” the high-school teacher said. Lucy wasn’t really surprised. Emma Sanderson was the most organized, think-ahead person Lucy had ever met. And she’d thought she was bad.
But she understood. Completely. Emma had to control her environment for her mother’s sake. Just as Lucy did.
“I got your RSVP. And Detective Miller’s, too. I’ve put the two of you at the same table for dinner, if that’s okay.”
“It’s fine. He offered to drive so I didn’t have to be down at the docks at night.”
“Good. That takes care of one of the reasons I called,” Emma said, a lighter tone to her voice than Lucy was used to. “Since you’re unfamiliar with the docks, I didn’t want you down there after dark by yourself. They’re safe enough during the day, but it’s never good for a woman to be down at the docks alone, and not good for a woman to be alone outside at night, period. I’m arranging rides for all the female guests who are attending alone.”
Emma and her mother, Rose, had a lot of close associates from the education field, and from all of the work they did to promote child-safety education. And Emma was Emma. Always careful.
“I’m really glad you’re going to be here, Lucy.”
“There’s no way I’d miss being there. I just wish I had some good news to bring with me. Some closure for you. I swear to you, I won’t give up on finding Claire, Em. And neither will Ramsey.”
“I know. I take it there’s no news on the missing evidence they retrieved? I figured Detective Miller would call if there had been, but…”
“Not yet. It’s still at the lab in Boston. I have my lab here looking at the sample of Claire’s DNA found in the Buckley home as well as comparing Claire’s DNA against a sample from someone of interest, but still no answers there.”
“I figured you’d call if you knew anything. I just… With the wedding so close…”
“How’s your mother doing?” Would Rose be a blessing at the wedding, or a nightmare?
“Better than I expected. She likes Chris.”
“How could she not?”
“He’s a fisherman.”
Emma and Claire’s father had been a fisherman, too. He’d run out on them when Claire came along. And had been killed in a bar brawl not long after—by the husband of the woman he’d just slept with.
“So how about you? Any doubts?”
