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After a few rings, a soft voice picks up. “Hello?”
The déjà vu that hits is intense.
No matter their pitch, their age, their accent, I know that voice.
Every mother worried for their daughter sounds the same. It’s almost like hearing my own mom speaking with a Spanish accent.
“H-hello? Mrs. Santos?” I try to get my voice under control. What am I doing?
“Yes, this is she, with whom am I speaking?” She sucks in a breath. “Have you... have you heard something about my Emma?”
“No, ma’am,” I blurt out.
Then I smack my palm on my forehead.
Dumbass, why did you lie?
This is why I called her, isn’t it?
To tell her the truth, so she can stop this agonizing searching.
But something jerks me back. I don’t know what it is just yet, but I already told her no and now I don’t know how to break the news.
I don’t know if I can hurt her, even if it’s more painful not to let her know her daughter is dead, delaying the inevitable.
I scramble for something to say.
“My name is Mitsi—” I stop. My eyes dart around the room, landing on an unopened box of tape on the supply shelf. “Mitsi Scotch. I’m a reporter with the—” Red ballpoint pens. Legal pads. “—Red Ledger, out of North Carolina. Listen, I heard about your missing daughter online and I was hoping to find out more about her. Maybe a story in the paper could help you spread the word.”
Yep, I’m going straight to hell.
But maybe she can tell me something that makes the insanity of Redhaven make sense.
Maybe I can help her help me fix the gaping hole in my heart I won’t let Lucas Graves fill.
She’s quiet before she slowly whispers, “North Carolina?”
“Yes, ma’am. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No—well, no, I don’t think so. What did you want to know?”
“Mostly, if Emma’s behavior had changed before she disappeared,” I say. “Like was she spending time with people who weren’t her usual crowd? Abandoning old friends? Any different moods or erratic behavior? Being secretive?”
“It’s hard to say,” Mrs. Santos says with a sigh. “She’s such a fast-moving girl, always doing something, trying new things. You never know where you’ll find her next. Rock climbing one day, ballroom dancing the next. She’s never met a stranger in her life. Everyone’s a friend to my girl.” The fondness, the love in her voice rings so clear it strangles me. “But come to think of it, there was one thing a little different...”
I lean forward like I can strain toward her through the phone, bracing a hand against the wall. “Yeah? What was that?”
“She was so happy about something, but she wouldn’t tell me what. She was always trying out for modeling jobs, acting gigs, looking for her big break. I thought maybe she had a lead on something but she didn’t want to jinx it by telling me. But when I think about it, she was almost acting like...” She trails off.
“Like?”
“...like she was in love.” The woman says it almost reluctantly, and I remember Lucas talking about Celeste, how she changed and she’d gone all starry-eyed the way young women do when they find a bad thing that seems so good. “Emma was blushing at everything all the time, drifting off in her own little world. Hardly eating some nights, hardly sleeping. It’s like she was living on air and glowing with sunshine.”
“But she never mentioned anyone? You never saw her crush?”
“No—oh, you know how girls her age can be, acting like it’s Romeo and Juliet and they’re sneaking off to the next great romance. It’s more exciting when it’s forbidden.”
I frown. “Or would she keep him secret because she thought you might disapprove? Forgive me, but did Emma have a history of dating anyone more... sketchy?”
Like me.
Me and my bad luck that’s less bad luck and more not knowing what real love looks like until I’ve had my heart trampled on.
Or until I’ve trampled all over him.
“How did you know?” Mrs. Santos whisper. “Frankly, I blame her father. I never should have brought that man into my home, but he gave me Emma. Terrible deadbeat, cruel, running around on me all the time, never could hold down a job, and sometimes—” She stops and draws a breath. “Sometimes, he was so mean to my Emma. Always playing games with her just to get her hopes up and then crush them to pieces. She stopped letting him get under her skin by the time she was sixteen, but...” Marina sighs. “I still don’t know how she grew up so sweet with a prick for a father.”
“I’m sure you had a lot to do with it, Mrs. Santos,” I say softly. “Mothers always do.”
There’s a hitched sound.
I think she’s trying not to cry.
Oh, no.
“Does this help? Can you do something to find my daughter?”
