“I don’t know anything new,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
She let out her breath with a wheeze—or was it a whimper?—and grabbed the door frame for support. “Oh, God. I thought—”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded like he meant it. “Uh...may I come in?”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Meg retreated, Emily doing the same but sticking close. If she’d still been a toddler, she would have grabbed hold of her mommy’s leg and been sneaking peeks at this stranger.
“Emily.” He nodded at her daughter and followed them into the living room. There, he gave off the vibe that he was a little uncomfortable. Was it because he had hoped to tell her something he didn’t want Emily to hear?
This time, when Meg offered him a cup of coffee, he accepted.
“Sugar? Cream?”
“Just black.”
“Emily, would you mind pouring a couple of cups?” she asked. “There’s a pot on. You know how I like mine.”
A flash of rebellion showed, but the teenager shrugged and left the living room.
“Please, sit,” Meg said.
“Ah...” He glanced warily at the sofa and moved toward an armchair. She chose her usual rocker.
“Did you hear from CPS?” he asked in a low voice.
That was what he didn’t want Emily to hear?
“Yes, and a social worker came by this morning.”
“It go okay?”
Was he really interested or just trying to maneuver onto her good side now?
Deciding to take his question at face value, she said, “Yes, the woman seemed nice and, unless I misinterpreted her, didn’t believe I’d done anything wrong taking Sabra in. We did agree to talk once Sabra is home.”
“Good.” His broad shoulders relaxed. “The principal came on a little strong, I thought.”
Was he supposed to tell her things like that? Or, once again, was he trying to—
Meg made herself stop. Spinning in circles, trying to decide what everyone’s true agenda was, could make her crazy. And it wasn’t like her.
“I guess you could tell I was mad,” she admitted.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re right. I could.”
Emily appeared, a suspicious gaze aimed at the detective. “Um...here,” she said, less than graciously, plunking down a mug on the side table next to him. She brought Meg hers, then stood there looking stubborn.
“I’d like you to hear this, too, Emily,” he said.
She reached out and grabbed Meg’s hand. They held on tight. He’d lied when he said he didn’t have anything new. His expression right now had her pulse picking up again.
He looked at Emily. “Please be honest with me. Have you heard anything at all from Sabra since Friday morning? Phone message, text, a secondhand message?”
She shook her head vehemently. “I’ve been calling and calling, but her phone’s off.”
“It’s not just off, Emily.” His deep voice was gentle. “I’m guessing it’s been destroyed.”
“You mean, like, she dropped it or something?” Emily didn’t sound as if even she believed it had been a simple accident.
“It’s possible.” There was the unexpected kindness again. His chocolate-brown eyes met Meg’s briefly. “If she dropped it on the street, a car could have run over it. If it went in the lake, that wouldn’t be good for anything electronic. Who knows? I’m finding it worrisome, though. I’d think she would want to stay connected.”
“Emily was just telling me that Sabra never turned her phone off,” Meg heard herself say.
“Most kids don’t.”
“Aren’t you looking for her?” Emily burst out.
“I am, in a roundabout way. I can’t search physically until I have some idea where to look.” He sounded as if he had all the time in the world to answer her questions. “I’ve been talking to students, teachers, Sabra’s mom. I even talked to her little sister today.”
“Sabra really missed Bryony,” Emily said.
Meg hadn’t known that.
“I was hoping Sabra had told her things she hadn’t told anyone else, but it seems not,” he said. “This is a puzzle to me, because I’m getting the feeling Sabra was usually...” He seemed to be searching for the right word. “Outgoing. Open with her emotions.” More slowly, his gaze keen on Emily’s face, he said, “Maybe even had trouble hiding what she was thinking or feeling.”
For a moment, Emily stood silent, her forehead crinkling as if she didn’t get what he was saying. Then she dropped her mother’s hand, a glare that could have started a grass fire aimed at him. “You think I know who he is, don’t you? That Sabra couldn’t keep it to herself. Well, you’re wrong. Okay? She didn’t tell me!”
Tears already brimming in her eyes, she raced from the living room and tore up the stairs as impetuously as Sabra had the last time Meg tried to get her to see sense.
After a discernible pause, the detective said, “Well, that went well.”
Meg’s laugh broke. “But oh, so familiar.”
“She does that when you talk to her, too, huh?”
“We’ve always been so close. Then, this last year, she jumps on anything I say.” She backtracked. “No, that isn’t true. I get glimpses of the Emily I know, but the next second she’ll be yelling at me because I treat her like a little kid. I never wanted to be the kind of parent who—” She made a face. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear this. You’re here about Sabra, not—”
“I don’t mind.” His expression was kind...no, more. It was...she couldn’t quite decide, but it sent her pulse thrumming for a different reason. “I’m pretty good at listening.”
Because it was his job, she reminded herself, trying to resist the tug of this unfamiliar attraction. She bet he was really good at getting people to spill their worries and, yes, secrets.
Even so, she started talking, because he was here and offering. “She’s always accusing me of lying to her. Just lately, she’s become convinced I wished she’d never been born.” Oh, boy. She shouldn’t have told him that. But he looked sympathetic, so her stupid mouth kept flapping. “The irony is she’s gotten pretty good at lying to me.” And she shouldn’t have said that, either, not after she’d assured him the other day that she could tell when Emily was lying.
His eyebrows rose. “About?”
“Oh, you know about the party last week. Right to my face, she told me they were making a video for Spanish class with another girl. Maria Espinosa. Did you talk to her?”
“I did.”
“I gave permission for them to spend the night at Maria’s. I could call her mom if I wanted, Emily said, as casual as could be. No, I trust you, I said. Of course, she and Sabra had intended all along to go to that party instead. Maria may have known about it—I don’t know—but she stayed home. I talked to Mrs. Espinosa. There’d never been any plan for them to spend the night.”
“You think it might have been Sabra’s idea.”
“Sabra claimed Emily had wanted to go because some boy she likes was there.” Feeling helpless, she shook her head. “I actually think I believe her.