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But I was getting ahead of myself. I didn’t even know if a ladder had been used to access the porch. For all I knew, they’d snuck in through the back door and tied the ribbon as a distraction.
I walked around the house, keeping close to the side as I looked around.
I could hear Vanessa still crying upstairs, and part of me wanted to crumple with grief. This wasn’t just some random citizen’s child. It was Vanessa’s little girl. While I’d cared about every case I’d worked, this one struck too close to home.
The only thing I knew to do was find Ava.
Chapter 9
I studied the ground underneath the porch railing and found what I was looking for—two rectangular indentations spread far enough apart that they appeared to be from the base of a ladder. I slipped my phone out of my pocket and snapped several images of the markings, then took a quarter out of my wallet and placed it on the ground next to one of the marks before taking more photos. They wouldn’t do me much good without a crime lab, but it didn’t hurt to have as much information as possible.
Worried the officers upstairs would notice what I was doing, I stood as I slipped the quarter back into my pocket and walked over to the house next door. Hopefully, they wouldn’t slam the door in my face.
This house was just as old as the Petermans’, but it wasn’t as well maintained. The porch had some soft spots on the floor, suggesting wood rot. Skirting around them, I walked up to the front door and knocked.
An older woman opened the door, wearing a deep scowl. She had on a pair of jeans and a black cardigan sweater buttoned up to her neck. Eyeing me with a distasteful look, she asked, “Can’t you read? No solicitors.” And she emphatically pointed to a sign posted next to the door.
“I’m not a solicitor, ma’am.” And here’s where it got tricky. “I’m looking into Ava Peterman’s disappearance. Have the police been by to ask you any questions?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No. I only spoke to Vanessa this morning when she called asking after her.”
Idiot police force. “Did you see her last night or this morning?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Vanessa—I haven’t seen or heard anything.” Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Are you a reporter?”
“No. I’m a good friend of Vanessa’s.” I considered adding a lengthier explanation but left it at that, hoping she wouldn’t press. “Have you seen any unusual cars or trucks on the street lately? Maybe someone who parked and watched the house, or drove past it multiple times?”
“I thought Vanessa was overreacting this morning. Are you saying the girl’s still missing? Was she kidnapped?”
“We’re not sure,” I said carefully.
She studied me with pursed lips, and I was sure she was going to slam the door in my face, but to my surprise, she opened it wider and took a step back. “No sense letting the warm air out. Come on in.”
I followed her inside, casting a glance over my shoulder at the street, then shut the door behind me.
She walked into a living room with older furniture and plants scattered everywhere. The room was comfortable, unlike the Petermans’ living room, which felt more like a showroom than a space to be lived in. Although, to be fair, I hadn’t spent any time in it—I was basing it on the chilly reception.
Two sofas faced each other with a long coffee table between them. They ran perpendicular to the fireplace on the opposite wall, which had a small fire burning behind a metal screen.
She took a seat on one sofa, and I sat on the other, opposite her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t offer you anything to drink.”
“That’s fine,” I said with a reassuring smile. “I’ve had about five cups of coffee today already.” I decided to jump right into it. “Do you know Ava?”
She made a face. “Not very well. Those girls don’t spend much time playin’ outside. Not like kids did when mine were little.”
“But you have had interactions with her?”
“From time to time,” the woman said. “Mostly in passing.”
“You say the girls don’t play outside much?” I asked. “I saw a bike on the porch. Do they ever ride bikes?”
Pursing her lips, she seemed to consider it. “I’ve only seen them out on bikes a time or two, and not recently, but…” She leaned closer, holding my gaze. “It’s not like I’m watching out my windows, spying on my neighbors.”
I lifted a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “I apologize if I gave that impression.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Sorry. I guess I’m just a bit defensive after TJ accused me of being a busybody last week.”
“What prompted that?”
