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Strangely, it made me more comfortable, like I was on familiar ground. The zombie woman who’d walked through the door had scared me. Even after Andi had been taken, my mother had fixed her hair and put on her face.
“You never know when a news crew will want an interview,” she’d insisted. “I can’t be lookin’ like a homeless woman on TV.”
She hadn’t been delusional. There had been plenty of interviews after my sister was taken. Nothing like the kidnapping of a blond, blue-eyed girl to capture the public’s attention. My parents had made multiple pleas with the kidnapper to return my sister.
And he had returned her, a week later.
I grabbed a container of milk from the mini-fridge under the counter, then poured some into the stainless steel mini-pitcher. “What happened, Mom? Why are you here?”
My mother sat on the edge of the daybed, despite the fact it was unmade, the sheets looking like they had been in the center ring of a wrestling match.
“It’s happening again, Harper Leigh,” she said so softly I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
I grabbed a mug out of the cabinet—the last clean one—then set it under the portafilter, pressed a button to start making espresso, then turned back to face her. “What’s happening again, Mom?”
She stared up at me, suddenly looking older than her fifty-nine years. Her eyes were wide and haunted, her face pale. Her hands shook on her lap.
“There’s been another kidnapping.”
Chapter 5
It took me a full two seconds to process what she’d said, all while the machine behind me was working hard to force water through coffee grinds. When the whirring stopped, I seemed to come to my senses. I shook my head, a spike of pain piercing my temples, then said, “What are you saying?”
A tear slid down her cheek. “Vanessa Peterman’s little girl was taken last night.”
Gasping, I stepped back, my butt hitting the counter. “Andi’s best friend?”
She nodded, glancing down at her lap, then back up at me. “Lisa Murphy called me this morning. She lives down the street from Vanessa and TJ. She saw police show up at the Peterman house early this morning, so she called Vanessa’s next-door neighbor to see what the commotion was about. The neighbor told her that Ava was missing.”
The detective part of me sprang to life. I may have lost my badge, but I was still an investigator at heart. “Ava? That’s the name of Vanessa’s girl?” I knew from my occasional social media stalking that Vanessa had two little girls, but somehow I’d forgotten their names.
My mother nodded. “She’s twelve.” More tears pooled in her eyes. “A little younger than Andi.”
The when she was taken was implied. Andi’s kidnapping and murder had become the defining moment in our lives. Before and After. Andi was forever fourteen.
“The neighbor said she was missing. She didn’t say that she ran off?”
“Ran off?” my mother said, becoming exasperated.
Some of the tension drained from my body. “Statistically, she’s more likely to be a runaway.”
Mom’s jaw locked, and a hard glint filled her eyes. “Vanessa’s daughter would not run away. She’s only twelve, for heaven’s sake.”
“Kids younger than her have run away.” Although they usually ran from drug dens and hell holes. I’d seen it happen often enough to know. “How well do you know her?”
She lifted her chin and gave me a defiant look. “She’s grown up in our church. I’ve known her since she was a baby.”
“So not well.”
An indignant look filled her eyes. “I ran vacation bible school for three years in a row, I’ll have you know,” she spat out in disgust. “I know that child, and she’s a good little girl.” Her eyes narrowed. “She wouldn’t run away.”
I held my mother’s gaze. “Well, in this instance, running away is the preferable alternative.”
She started to say something, then stopped. She couldn’t really argue with that.
I turned on the steamer on my machine and started to heat up the milk, my mind racing as best it could with my lingering hangover. I’d be the first to admit that at the beginning of my law enforcement career, my mind had rushed to the worst-case scenario with every missing child case. How could it not when my family had been a member of the less than one percent? But it hadn’t taken many years on the force for me to accept what I already intellectually knew—stranger abduction is extremely rare. The vast majority of the time, missing kids are either runaways or taken by family or someone they know.
I frothed the milk and poured it into the mug. “Is Vanessa divorced?”
