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SERAPHINA
My mother was anxious the entire time Press and Beau were in Luisa’s room.
“Go see what they’re doing,” she hissed.
“We know what they’re doing. They’re looking for anything that might help us find her.”
“If there was something in her room, I would have found it.”
I was growing weary of my mother’s attitude, particularly with her treatment of me. “I’m not the enemy, Mom. I want to find my sister.”
“I know you do, baby. I’m sorry I’m so on edge.”
“It’s understandable. However, I would think you’d be ecstatic to have help, given the police were ambivalent about looking for her.”
“I am happy to have help, Seraphina.”
“But you don’t care for the people providing it—at least one of them.”
“There are things you don’t understand.”
“Are you referring to the wine formulas again? If you are, I’ll repeat, you have no way of knowing what happened in the bar that night. You don’t know for certain Dad talked to Hewitt Ridge. My God, if he hadn’t bought the property, we would have no money whatsoever to live on.”
“We didn’t anyway.”
“Because of the accident.”
She lowered her voice. “If Hewitt Ridge hadn’t stolen from your father, there would not have been an accident.”
I shook my head. “You know, if he were still alive, I could see Dad not wanting to take responsibility for his actions. Knowing four people lost their lives because he drove drunk would be a terrible thing to live with. However, I don’t understand why you would blame the Ridge family for something that had nothing to do with them. Formulas or otherwise.”
“You weren’t there. You didn’t know,” she snapped.
“Neither were you.”
“I mean with your father when he realized he’d have to file for bankruptcy.”
I was incredulous. “I was there, Mom.”
“You were a child.”
“I was eighteen years old. I knew what was going on.”
“A child,” she repeated.
I stood when Press and Beau came downstairs. “Any luck?”
“We found a shirt in your sister’s closet that smells of men’s cologne. We’d like to get it tested to see if there are traces of any other DNA. Other than that, not much. How long was she seeing Jorge?” Beau asked.
“Maybe three months.”
“Four,” said my mother, who stood behind me with her arms folded.
I’d glanced at her over my shoulder but turned my head to look at Beau. “Four,” I repeated.
He nodded and turned to Press. “Anything else?” he asked him.
He held up a clear plastic bag that held my sister’s shirt. “I’ll get this back to you.”
