“And there wasn’t any.”
“I didn’t even look toward the parking lot. In the drop-off lane, no. I worried she’d be late, but, according to my watch, she should have had time to make it to class if she hustled.”
“I see.” He didn’t immediately say anything else. Instead, he watched her until she wanted to squirm. But no way would she give him the satisfaction.
She kept her hands folded on her lap and gazed back at him as if she didn’t have a reason in the world to be anxious or mad. Of course, now she probably looked as intelligent as a cow placidly chewing its cud.
Finally, he stirred. “Ms. Harper, how do you think she managed to vanish somewhere between the curb and the school entrance? That can’t be more than twenty, twenty-five yards. There are a couple of spindly little trees in planters, but I don’t see her hiding behind one of them.”
Guilt clogged her throat. “I think she had a plan.” And how she hated knowing she’d been played. “The minute I drove away, she must have gone to a car in the parking lot. Somebody was waiting for her.”
“What if you’d seen her and gone back?”
Meg hesitated. “I’d have been exasperated because she was risking being late, but I don’t know if I would have gone back even if I’d noticed her heading into the parking lot. I’d have assumed she’d spotted a friend arriving and was going to meet her.”
His eyebrows climbed. “Her?”
“Or him.” Fuming, she exclaimed, “What’s the point of this? I didn’t look back. I wish I had, but I didn’t. If I had the slightest idea what happened to her, I’d tell you. All I want is Sabra to be home, safe.” Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
His gaze seemed to drill a hole in her, as if he thought he could see beneath her lies to where she’d buried the body. But at last he nodded.
“I’m headed over to the school. I’d like to speak to your daughter. Do I have your consent?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what she can tell you. She’s helped me call every friend she can think of. Emily is really scared.”
“Scared?” Those damn eyebrows were the only expressive part of his face. “That’s an interesting choice of words. Why would she be scared? Does she have reason to think Sabra was taken against her will?”
Meg’s shoulders sagged. “No. Of course not. It’s just that they’re good friends. Emily can’t believe Sabra wouldn’t have told her if she’d intended to take off. She said...” She had to swallow. “She thought Sabra trusted her.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, appearing, for an instant, genuinely reflective. “Is it possible Sabra did? And that your daughter thinks she’s living up to that trust?”
“No.” Despite their recent conflict, she knew Emily. “I’d have been able to tell if she was lying about something that big. She’s...not that good at it. We’ve had a little more tension between us lately, but we’ve always been close. She really thought I’d let Sabra stay home.”
“I’d still like to talk to her.”
What could she do but consent? She dipped her head. Maybe she’d been kidding herself and he would succeed in worming something out of Emily with his Guantánamo Bay interrogation tactics.
“I understand a nine-one-one call was made this past week bringing an officer out to your home to investigate a loud altercation.”
Meg’s cheeks flamed. He knew about that. Of course he knew. He’d have looked her up before he came here this morning. She’d been humiliated enough, but she hadn’t let herself realize how the “altercation” would look now.
It was suddenly hard to breathe. He really thinks I could have hurt or even killed Sabra.
“Emily and Sabra were caught at a party some officers broke up,” she said, voice thin. “I thought they were at a friend’s. I had to go pick them up. They were...not falling-down drunk but inebriated. I never yell, but... I guess I must have.” Oh, who was she kidding? Of course she had yelled. And the witch next door had called the cops.
“I see.” Still with that poker face, he studied her. “Have you looked at Sabra’s room to get an idea what she actually took with her Friday morning?”
Meg blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “She only had a small backpack. How much could she have packed?”
“Are you sure it held books?”
She hesitated, trying to picture it, but she couldn’t. Sabra had clutched it rather than slinging it over her shoulder when she got out of the car, and Meg hadn’t noticed the shape when it sat on the van floor by Sabra’s feet. Galvanized, she jumped to her feet. “No. The girls share, and I think Emily would have said if it was obvious stuff was missing, but...”
He nodded and rose to his feet, too. “Do you mind if I take a look at her room?”
“No.” She hurried to the stairs, aware of him mounting them right behind her.
The girls’ bedroom door was shut. Meg usually allowed them their privacy, but now she walked in without hesitation.
Bedcovers were flung aside. Clothes were strewn everywhere: on the floor, over chairs, wadded on the single dresser, hanging out of the wicker hamper. Meg didn’t allow herself to look at the detective for fear she’d see disdain. For a moment, she scanned the room helplessly. Amid this mess, how could she tell what Sabra might have taken?
“If she packed clothes, then her schoolbooks have to be here somewhere,” she said, thinking aloud.
Meg didn’t see either Sabra’s iPod or phone, but she always had those with her. She didn’t see a charger, either, but the girls might have both been using Emily’s.
Detective Moore went to the closet. Meg dropped down on her hands and knees to peer under the bed, wincing at the dust bunnies sharing space with a couple of stray socks, a CD case, a dirty plate, candy wrappings and a bra that looked like it might have crawled under there. No books or binder.
When she pushed herself to her feet, she saw that he’d been watching her, something different about his face. Had he been checking her out? Right this minute, she was too stirred up to care.
He turned back to the closet, and she began yanking open dresser drawers. The contents of the top one seemed skimpy, but given the quantity of clothes that were dirty or had never been put away after being laundered, that was hardly a surprise. The second drawer was full, but when she picked up a couple of garments, she saw that they were things Sabra wasn’t able to wear right now. Her maternity wardrobe was limited.
Third drawer...was heavy. Too heavy. Heart sinking, Meg crouched to tug it open. Then she stared, aghast, at the pile of textbooks and a binder. And, oh no, there was her calculator.
Meg didn’t move.
Her very stillness must have caught the detective’s attention. He crossed the room and looked over her shoulder. “Well, we know what she didn’t take with her.”
“She ran away.”
“Appears that way,” he agreed but with an odd note in his voice.
When Meg turned to look at him, she found he was back to watching her...and she had a very bad feeling she knew what he was thinking.
HOW IN HELL could he be attracted to a woman who reminded him in any way at all of his mother? Driving toward the high school,