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“Not like this,” she seethed. “Not crawling back home with your tail tucked between your legs. I can barely show my face in public. People whisper about us as I pass.”
I nearly called her out for exaggerating, but I knew the town well enough to know she was probably right.
“I’m sorry about that, Mom,” I said with a sigh. “Truly I am. If you like, I’ll move out and go somewhere else.”
She took a deep breath as she stood up straighter. “No. Your father decided you should move back home, and so you did.”
She was right. And it had surprised the crap out of me that he’d been so adamant about it. My father didn’t blame me for what had happened to Andi—he’d always said he was thankful he’d only lost one daughter that day instead of two. Still, he’d fallen apart when they’d found Andi’s body, and he’d never treated me the same since. I knew he still loved me, but it was as though he was terrified of losing me too, and the only way to protect himself was to not love me quite as much.
So I’d been shocked when he’d shown up at my house in Little Rock a month ago without any notice. I’d just sold my century-old craftsman home to pay for my attorney fees and was packing boxes when he rang the doorbell. He’d scanned my living room from the porch, taking in my packed belongings, and asked, “Where are you moving to?”
I hadn’t figured out a new plan for my life, so I’d told him the truth. “I don’t know.”
He’d taken me out to lunch and told me I always had a home back in Jackson Creek and that I shouldn’t be too proud to come back.
“At least until you get your sea legs back under you,” he’d said kindly. “It doesn’t have to be a permanent thing.”
So I’d put most of the belongings I hadn’t sold off into storage in Little Rock and moved into the furnished apartment, because even if my mother and I could have survived under the same roof for more than twenty-four hours without verbally tearing each other to shreds, the multitude of memories in the house—both good and bad—were too oppressive.
I knew my mother didn’t want me around, the constant reminder of the daughter she’d lost and the current pariah bringing down the Adamses’ good name, but my father gave few absolute directives, and she knew better than to cross him when he did.
“I won’t be here long,” I told my mother now. “Just until I figure out what to do with my life.”
She shot daggers at me. “Call me naïve, but I doubt you’ll be finding it at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.” Pushing past me, she walked out the door, leaving it open. “Don’t make plans for tonight,” she called out as she started to descend the stairs, her angry clomps on the wooden steps. “You will be at dinner promptly at seven, semi-formal attire. I won’t take no for an answer.” Then she crossed the backyard before heading into my childhood two-story home.
“Sure you don’t want to try a latte?” I half-called out, then picked it up and took a sip. A hell of a lot better than Folgers. The woman was crazy.
Required attendance at a semi-formal dinner tonight? I shuddered at the thought. What was she up to? But I tried to shove it out of my mind. That was nearly twelve hours from now.
But I was up, so what did I do right now?
My bed looked enticing, but the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, and I was feeling more than a little slovenly after being called out by my mother. So I took a couple of ibuprofen tablets, picked up the remaining dishware scattered around, and then started the dishwasher. After stripping the sheets off the bed to wash them later in my parents’ house, I decided to clean myself up next.
I took a long shower, my mind racing over what my mother had told me. While I truly believed that the chances of Ava Peterson being kidnapped were slim, the detective in me decided it wouldn’t hurt to check on Vanessa to make sure she was okay. We may not have stayed in touch, but Vanessa and I had a bond that transcended most relationships I’d had. We’d shared Andi, and Andi would want me to offer her friend my help.
I knew I should let it go. The police were handling it. But if they were as inept as they had been after my sister’s kidnapping, Ava would be in trouble.
She’s probably a runaway.
But what if she wasn’t?
I couldn’t stop thinking about the break-ins at my house several months ago, and how the only thing the perpetrator had taken was a framed photo of me and Andi. They’d found the broken frame tucked in my dresser drawer.
More than creepy.
I couldn’t help wondering if both instances were related. There was no denying that Ava Peterman was missing only two weeks after I came back to Jackson Creek.
What if this had something to do with Andi?
My stomach churned, and I realized I wouldn’t rest until I knew for sure it was an unrelated incident.
Time to pay a visit to a childhood friend.
Chapter 6
After I blow-dried my slightly past shoulder-length dark hair, I got dressed in jeans and a blue button-down shirt, stopping just short of putting on a blazer, instead topping it with a long tan cardigan. I felt naked without my badge and my gun, but I’d turned in both when I’d resigned. I had another handgun—most cops had a backup piece—but I left it locked in my small gun box.
I thought about dropping by the house to check on my mother. She was obviously terrified a new kidnapper was on the loose, and despite the fact that we didn’t get along, I didn’t want her to worry. All the more reason to go talk to Vanessa and get the facts for myself.
