Her grandmother gasped and all the color drained from her face.
Panic crushed Nicole’s chest and she struggled to draw breath. “Why would someone do that?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Do you have any enemies, Nicole?”
She met his gaze and didn’t know what to feel. Brett knew as well as she that the Eggert family hated her. Something unspoken hung in the air.
Nicole ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve kept to myself since returning to Silver Lake. I’ve put my past behind me. I haven’t kept in touch with anyone from that time in my life. Now, I work and I spend time with my family. That’s it.”
A thought bothered Nicole. She had planned to meet with Mr. King, the disgruntled funeral home client, in person and compare his contract with the one she’d pulled from the files. What if someone didn’t want her to go to that meeting? She shook away the thought. Ridiculous.
No, she didn’t have any new enemies.
Just the Eggert family, who blamed her for Max’s death. And the drug dealer she had testified against. But he was in prison.
“Do you know if Missy was an aggressive driver? Perhaps the accident was the result of road rage. Or not taking care on snow-covered roads.”
Nicole shook her head adamantly. “Never. She’d pick up Ethan from school for me sometimes. I’d never let my son ride in a car if I suspected he wasn’t safe.”
Brett tapped his hand on the table and stood. “I’m very sorry about your friend.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be in touch about your vehicle.” He placed his business card on the table.
“I’m not worried about my car. Please call me when you find Missy.” She tore off a corner of an envelope and scratched down her number. On the way to the front door she handed the paper to him. “Call me the second you find Missy.”
Nicole closed the door tightly behind Brett and leaned her forehead against the cool wood.
Ethan ran down the hall and wrapped his arms around her legs. “I want to be a policeman.”
Nicole smiled, a strained gesture. Her heart ached. “Chief Eggert is the chief of police. He stopped by, but everything is okay.” She tousled his hair. Everything is going to be okay. Please, Lord, let everything be okay.
Ethan shrugged, the way kids do. He grabbed his skateboard which had been propped up against the wall. He sat down on it and rolled across the hardwood floor, already marred from fifty years of living. She opened her mouth to yell at him, but stopped. No, today was a day to be thankful. She had another day to spend with Ethan.
Guilt gave a hard edge to her sweet relief.
What if Nicole had been with Missy?
Submerged in the murky depths of Silver Lake.
Nicole slipped off her long winter coat and hung it on the closet rod inside the funeral home foyer. Missy’s fuzzy pink jacket hung in the far corner. A sudden bubble of hope bloomed inside Nicole and then popped.
No, her friend wasn’t running the vacuum or dusting some dark corner of the funeral home before she headed to her other cleaning jobs for those wealthy enough to pay for it. No, her friend had forgotten her jacket here yesterday and had asked to borrow Nicole’s along with her car last night.
How Missy had left her winter jacket at work on a freezing afternoon was beyond Nicole. Missy often claimed she’d get hot and sweaty doing her job and walk out without it. Happy, carefree and a tad forgetful. That was Missy.
Nicole drew in a deep breath trying to settle her prickly nerves. The walk here had done nothing to expend her nervous energy. The sweet smell of flowers and a faint whiff of lemon dusting spray always struck her when she entered through the front door. But the funky smell was a small price to pay for working primarily in solitude. She thrived on peace and quiet.
Except today. Today Nicole wished Missy would appear with her headphones and vacuum, cracking her pink bubblegum. Her friend was an otherwise bright spot in a gloomy business.
Nicole shoved her pink mittens deep into her coat pockets. She’d be heartbroken if she lost the only material thing connecting her to her mother. Not quite ready to face the day, she slowly walked toward Missy’s jacket and tenderly ran her fingers down its fuzzy sleeves, releasing the scent of laundry detergent. Nicole closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Today was going to be so much harder than she ever imagined.
Mr. Peters called to her from his office, snapping her out of her maudlin thoughts. She pushed back her shoulders and strode to the doorway so he wouldn’t have to get up. He seemed to be moving a lot slower these days. He smiled at her when she entered his office, but his normally bright blue eyes seemed dull. Mr. Peters had been drained from caring for his ailing wife. Today, he appeared even more exhausted, probably after learning about Missy’s accident from Brett. Nicole let out a long sigh. She was grateful to Brett for making that difficult call.
Across her boss’s messy desk, he handed her a manila file folder. “Here’s Mrs. Fenster’s folder.” The newly deceased. “She needs to be ready for a four o’clock wake.”
“Okay.” Nicole took the folder and hugged it to her chest. “You okay, Mr. Peters? You look tired.”
He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “My wife had a rough night last night. The nurse only comes during the day. I’ll have to hire a night nurse, too.” A deep line marred his forehead. “If I plan to sleep, that is.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “And then I get a call this morning that Missy has gone missing.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what her family is going through right now.”
Nicole bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to imagine Mrs. Flowers’s grief.
Mr. Peters lifted his gaze and studied Nicole. “You and Missy were close, weren’t you?”
Something about the way he said were made her bristle. “Yes, we are. We became fast friends these past few months. I pray she’ll be found safe.”
Mr. Peters folded his hands in a solemn gesture. “Yes, it’s best to pray at times like these.”
Nicole traced the edge of the manila folder with her index finger. “Guess I better tend to—” she read the name on the folder’s tab written in Mr. Peters’s neat penmanship “—Mrs. Fenster.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Peters let out a heavy sigh and settled back into his leather chair. A faraway look glossed his eyes. “I hope they find Missy.”
“Me, too,” Nicole muttered on her way out of the office. She figured the sooner she got lost in her work, the sooner she could have some peace of mind. At least temporarily.
The fax machine in the small office near the top of the basement stairs hummed to life. Curious, Nicole ducked into the room where she normally did some light paperwork. Standing over the machine, she read the paper inching out of the machine. Her throat grew dry. The document was from Isaac King, the son of Abe King. Nicole held her breath while the document finished printing. She folded it and stuffed it into her purse, eager to compare Isaac’s copy of the contract with the one she had pulled from the files yesterday afternoon. She hoped she could straighten out this misunderstanding without bothering the already stressed Mr. Peters. In the meantime, she couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Peters would do if he found both the documents wadded up in her designer knock-off purse.
She hustled down a flight of stairs leading to the basement and paused at the landing.