He was handsome, but a good ten years older than her. He was frowning too, his uniform unbuttoned at the top. He had a small white, porcelain cup. A coffee mug but judging by the smell that accosted her as she leaned forward, the contents were a bit stronger than caffeine.

  She tried to focus. Shaking her head, she said, "My name is Cora Shields. I was wondering if I could speak to the person in charge of Caitlin Johnson's case.”

  The man tapped a ballpoint pen against a piece of paper, and leaned back, his chair creaking from the motion. "The Johnson case? Not sure I know that one."

  The other man in the room, who was standing behind the counter, hadn't taken his eyes off Cora since she had entered. When she looked over, he smiled politely enough and nodded, a schoolboy face with a good-natured grin. But when she looked away and tracked him out of the corner of her eye, he stared at her like a wolf examining a hunk of meat.

  She was accustomed to men like this in positions like this. But though she was used to it, she was never comfortable with it.

  Still, the man with the schoolboy face said, "You remember Caitlin Johnson, Marv. That girl who ran away."

  The man with the pen continued tapping; he nodded, reaching up absentmindedly with a free hand to button his collar. "That's right, I do remember," he said slowly. "Shame that. I heard that her mother just killed herself. Is that true?"

  He was still watching Cora, but by the tone and tilt of his voice, he was directing the question towards the man behind him.

  "That's what I heard. Sad thing, that. A fine piece like that?"

  Cora looked at the second man now. He flashed another, pleasant smile, and nodded politely at her.

  She frowned back. "Who was in charge of Caitlin's case?"

  The handsome cop shook his head. "Can't say I know exactly. We're night shift. Our dad," he hesitated, coughed, then said, "I mean the captain...he's the one who assigns cases. I can go ask him. But by the sound of things, he's a bit busy. Maybe you should come back later."

  Cora glanced around, spotted a bench by the door, approached it, and sat down. As she walked, she could feel the gaze of both men on her. And when she turned, the schoolboy was smiling, and the handsome one scowling

  "I think I'll wait," Cora said simply.

  Now, the smile fell. The scowl intensified; they shared a look, but not with her. She was beginning to get the sense that not much would be shared with her. Still, she had promised Jamie to check it out. So here she was. Checking. It. Out.

  "I'm not sure what you think we can do for you," said the man with the pen. He stood up, having buttoned his collar, and frowning. "The captain is out after this; his shift is up. Maybe if you schedule an appointment, sometime next week, we can accommodate your request. Who are you, by the way?"

  "Cora—"

  "No, I heard your name. I mean who are you. I don't recognize you. Around these parts, I recognize most folk. Are you from out of town?"

  Cora hesitated but saw no harm in telling the truth. She nodded once. "I'm here for the funeral of Caitlin's mother. She was a friend of mine."

  The frowning man said, "Military?"

  Cora replied, stiffly, "SEALs."

  The schoolboy chuckled as if she had told a joke. But when she frowned at him, he crossed his arms, eyebrows going up and teasing the fringe of his reddish hair. "Holy shit, you're not joking. Man, they're letting all sorts in these days, aren't they? Not to be rude or nothing. Good for you, honey."

  Cora wanted to bite her tongue; she knew that would have been what Saul would do. How often had he tried to speak to her about keeping her temper in check? But sometimes, she found it hard not to simply speak her mind. She also found it difficult to act like Saul when he wasn't around.

  She felt the pain of realization that she might never see her old partner again.

  Now, though, her eyes narrowing, her tone hard, she said, "You've been eyeing me since I came in here, and I'm aware that both of you are armed, and both of you are law enforcement. And you can make my life miserable if you want to, but I'm going to have to be polite and clear about this. If you don't stop insulting me, and examining me when you think I'm not looking, I'm going to come across that desk and stick my fingers in both those eyes, is that clear?"

  When she finished, she tried not to wince. It had come out harsher than she had intended. Sometimes, when she started a sentence, she entered it with the best of intentions, but halfway through, she got drunk on the words themselves, and it got away from her.

  And now, both men were frowning at her.

  The schoolboy with the reddish hair was resting his hand on his holster. "What did you say to me, girl?"

  Though, by the look of him, he was a few years younger than she was.

  She didn't look away, nor did she apologize. She had said it, and so she was going to stand by it.

  The other man, though, gave a quick shake of his head. "Let it go Hurley. Look, Ms. Shields, we appreciate you coming in here. And I apologize for any breach in decorum my little brother may have caused you, but, if I'm honest, maybe it's best if you schedule something and come back later."

  Before Cora could reply, though, the one named Hurley was shaking his head. "Hang on. It's not all right. Did you hear her? She threatened a police officer."

  Cora, again, didn't say anything. Once the words were done with, sometimes all that remained was to let the scenario play out.

  She knew she was probably pushing things a bit too far. On the other hand, she had never been a big fan of law enforcement officers like this. Soft men with positions daddy had provided for them.

  The boy with the reddish hair, who couldn't have been much passed his mid-twenties, was glaring at her, his hand resting ominously on his gun.

  She remained sitting on the bench.

  Reaching a sudden decision, the schoolboy suddenly stepped behind the desk, and began to march towards her, his shoes clicking against the tile floor.

  She didn't move. Rather, she just watched him approach. If he tried to lay a hand on her, she wasn't sure what she would do. People like her old partner entered most situations with a plan.

  Cora, on the other hand, felt she spent most of her life trying to figure it out as she went.

  "Hang on, Hurley," said the older brother, frowning. "Let it go. You were staring at her. I saw you."

  Hurley looked over, scowling. His face was turning the same color as his hair. "I was not," he snapped.

  "You were too. And if you make me, I'll go get Dad."

  The younger police officer muttered, shook his head, and sneered. "Whatever, man," he snapped.

  Deciding the older brother was the more reasonable of the two, Cora looked at him. "I need to speak with whoever was in charge of Caitlin's case.

  The second officer sighed, moving from behind his desk, and crossing his arms as he leaned against the piece of furniture.

  "Look," he said slowly, "I'm guessing you're here on behalf of Jamie, is that right?"

  Cora paused. "You know Jamie?"

  "Oh, we know Jamie," said Hurley, the same creepy look in his eyes, somehow now reaching the tone of his voice.

  Cora ignored him.

  The other cop said, "She's come by a few times. Clearly very upset. She is aggrieved. I think that's the word, right?"

  Cora didn't respond.

  He continued regardless, "Suffice it to say, we've already looked into things. Dad was very clear. But we talked to some kids. They are confident Caitlin is off somewhere with her boyfriend. They saw her get into a car with him. Besides, I'm sure you know this, but things were not good between Caitlin and her family. Sometimes, a girl has gotta sow her oats for a bit. I'm sure she'll be back in a couple of months or something."

  Cora shook her head. "It's already been a couple of months. From what I heard, someone saw Caitlin being forced into the back of a car."

  "No ma'am. That was the initial statement, but it was from an unreliable witness. They were inebriated at the time. The others confirm the story. In fact, my own nephew was there. He says otherwise."

  Cora glanced around incredulously. "Your nephew? Let me get this straight, you two are the officers on staff. Your dad is in charge. And your nephew is now the star witness?"

  The handsome cop frowned. "Not quite sure what you're insinuating, ma'am. But let's just say this. Caitlin isn't the only young woman to pull a stunt like this. We've had two other runaways this year. They left notes, one of them left a video. They went off to Denver. Big dreams and all that. One of them said something about trying to make it to Hollywood." He shrugged and gave a little shake of his head. “This shit is contagious entitlement. That's all.”

  But Cora leaned in now, pushing slowly off the bench. "Other young women have gone missing?"

  "It's not like that. One of the kids, Cynthia Whitehall, she was a friend of the family. She was always talking about being a movie star. And so, she went off. Her mother cried for a week, but she got a voicemail just last month.

  “Things are rough when kids leave the nest. But it's nothing more than that. It's a small town up here in Westville. Some people just don't like sticking around."

  Cora listened to all of this, frowning now. At first, she had thought Jamie was engaged in wish fulfillment. But now, listening to this, she wasn't nearly so sure.

  The offhand way the police officer was dismissing the disappearance of three girls, two of them, having somehow left video or audio farewells notwithstanding was off-putting.

  “Cynthia Whitehall contacted her mother last month? And when did she go missing?"

  "She left," said the man, emphasizing the last word, "about six months ago. That's all. Young women are flighty like that. Now, I really must insist, why don't you come back later. Maybe in a few days; does that work?"

  Cora hesitated, but then she nodded once. "I'll call to schedule an appointment."

  Before she could say anything else and get herself in trouble, she turned, moving back towards the door.

  Again, she was caught off guard as it didn't open automatically. As she pushed out into the parking lot, approaching the minivan she'd been loaned, she couldn't help but scowl.

  Even as she walked to the car, she could feel eyes watching her.

  Perhaps it was just because it was night. The darkness affecting her. Or perhaps it was because of how those two police officers were acting.

  But something was strange in Westville

  She had agreed to stay a day. She had wanted to do it out of courtesy for Jamie and her sister.

  But now, something else was taking root.

  A bone deep suspicion.

  Cora scowled, opened the front door to the van, slipped inside, and gunned the engine.

  Before she had even left the parking lot, her phone was in her hand, the call connecting to Jamie, who answered on the second ring.

  Before she could breathlessly greet her, Cora interrupted and said, "Do you know the address for Cynthia Whitehall's family? I need it. Right now."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Night had fallen completely. Cora stared towards the small, single-story house set on half an acre, against a backdrop of mountain peaks. Her hands twisted on the steering wheel, attempting to find some warmth in the sudden chill of the night.

  She checked her phone, making sure she had the right address, and her eyes bounced from the text on the device to the number over the door.

  She pushed from her car, hands in her pockets, moving towards the small home.

  Cynthia Whitehall had been taken six months ago. Another runaway according to the police department.

  But three girls in a year, running away from the same small town? The police writing it off as quickly as they had?

  She frowned, shaking her head in frustration as she approached the house.

  She tried to adopt as nonthreatening an expression as she could. A smile was too much, and so she settled for a quizzical look. Her hand raised, she knocked on the door. And then she stood awkwardly on the porch, waiting.

  There was no response at first. Only the quiet. And then, she heard the sound of footsteps.

  Hurried steps, with rapid and excited energy.

  Another voice came from inside the house, deeper in. "Sasha, don't. Wait for me!"

  But the footsteps didn't stop. Cora heard the sound of a bolt sliding, the door opening. And then, she had to glance down to meet the wide eyes of a small face. A young girl, no older than six, with caramel skin, and a wrinkled nose stared out at her. Cora stood in the door, staring down child. She cleared her throat hesitantly, eyes bouncing over springing curls, and moving in the direction of another figure stalking swiftly towards them, a bathrobe being tightened.

  "Sasha, what did I say? Get away from there."

  The little girl stared at Cora, a look of disappointment clouding her features. "You're not Cynthia."

  Cora grimaced, realizing that, perhaps, by knocking on the door so late at night, she had aroused hopes that would now only be painful. She gave a small, sad shake of her head. "Sorry, I'm not. You're right."

  The little girl bit her lip, and turned, darting back to hide behind the older woman's leg. "Who are you?" said the woman in the bathrobe. She had bags under her eyes, and close-cut hair. Her face was haggard with wrinkles around her eyes. She looked exhausted, but it wasn't the sort of exhaustion that came from a lack of sleep, more like an emotional toll visible in every glint and glimmer of her eyes. And the same, dark eyes were fixated on Cora, watching her with suspicion.

  "Mrs. Whitehall?" Cora guessed.

  "That's right. And who are you?"

  Cora extended a hand as if in greeting, but then, when she received no reciprocation, she lowered her arm. "Cora Shields. I am a friend of Jamie Johnson."

  Everyone in this town seemed to know each other. The woman nodded hesitantly. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry about Adelaide. I'm guessing you were in town for the funeral."

  "That's right. Look, I know it's late. And I don't mean to be a bother but I'm actually looking into the disappearance of Adelaide's daughter Caitlin."

  A look of pain flashed across the older woman's face. The expression of exhaustion morphed into one of grief.

  She said, softly, "Do you think it has something to do with my daughter? Is that why you're at my door?”

  "I don't know. I'm just looking into it, is all."

  "Are you some sort of private investigator?"

  Cora wrinkled her nose at the question; she wasn't sure why, but this comment made her uncomfortable.

  "Nothing like that. Just a concerned friend. I stopped by the police station. A couple of the officers mentioned that your daughter went missing as well. I know it's probably painful to talk about, but do you mind if I ask some questions?"

  Mrs. Whitehall hesitated. She glanced towards the small girl clinging to her waist. She patted those bouncy curls and whispered, "Sasha, why don't you go back upstairs?"

  The little girl didn't let go at first, and the woman had to pry her fingers off one at a time, disentangling them from her bathrobe. Then, she gave a gentle little push, sending the girl gliding towards the stairs. Her footsteps thumped against the wooden steps, and she disappeared at the top.

  Whitehall turned back, her voice shaking. “The police said Cynthia ran away. And I understand why they thought that. My daughter was going through a rough time. We weren't exactly close…" the woman trailed off, shaking her head. Her voice shook with grief. But then she looked at Cora again and frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't know you. What do you think this has to do with Caitlin?”

  "I really don't know," Cora replied honestly. "But I heard another girl went missing too."

  "Erin. She was a friend of Caitlin and Cynthia. They all knew each other from school. Everyone in the town knows each other."

  Cora nodded, hesitating briefly. "Was there anything suspicious surrounding the disappearance of your daughter? Anything you can tell me?"

  "Nothing really. Just that we had a strained relationship. She was dating someone who I didn't know. She didn't want to introduce me. Said I was too judgmental." Mrs. Whitehall scowled, her eyes flashing at the recollected accusation.

  "I see. And you say she was a friend of Caitlin's? And this girl, Erin. Who is she?"

  "She also comes from a single mother family," Whitehall said with a defiant tilt of her chin. "In fact, things were rough between her and her mother too. It's a phase. They all go through it."

  Cora was frowning now, though. This was the third missing girl who had a strained relationship with a single mother. And two of the girls, by the sounds of things, were dating some mysterious boyfriend.

  Cora considered this for a moment. "Did you tell all of this to the police? Did the captain know?"

  "It's not a very big police department. But they said she ran away. Said they had proof. I don't think they looked into it too much." The bitterness was evident in the woman's voice. But she shrugged, and murmured, "Maybe I could have been better. God, I know I could've been. But I've been trying my best. I really have." Her voice cracked, and she glanced up the stairs. She bit her lip, and looked back at Cora with those exhausted, worn features. The emotions gouged into every wrinkle.

  "You're doing great," Cora said, unsure what else to add. She wasn't sure why she said it; it didn't feel as if it was her place. But someone had to, besides, her heart went out to Mrs. Whitehall—no one deserves to lose a daughter, runaway or otherwise.

  "Is there anything else you can think of? Anything that stood out around the time of her disappearance?"

  "Disappearance? So, you don't think she ran away?" There was a note of fear.

  Cora quickly backtracked. “I don't know anything. I'm just trying to cover my bases."

  Whitehall murmured something and adjusted her bathrobe. "The police were confident. You should probably talk to them. She ran away. She must've." The woman nodded her head fiercely. Clearly, she wasn't leaving room for any further discussion.

  Cora supposed she would have to get answers the hard way.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18