Dr. Allie Hollister rounded the circular drive of the Vandermont home and parked behind two patrol cars. This part of El Dorado Hills might be considered one of the more affluent areas of the Sacramento Valley with its mini mansions, lake views and lush acreage, but at six in the morning, the winding roads and sporadic street lamps did not make for a relaxing drive.
It didn’t help that she was suffering the aftereffects of a champagne-heavy dinner at her foster siblings’ new restaurant last night. No doubt she’d used alcohol to compensate for the fact Eden and Simone, her two best friends, hadn’t been able to come with her. Not even two cups of coffee and a painkiller put a dent in the pounding in her skull.
“Dr. Hollister.” A fifty-something uniformed deputy with wary “I’ve seen everything” eyes and a too-tight lip line strode down the paved walkway and offered his hand once she’d climbed out of her mini-SUV. “I’m Deputy Sutherland. I appreciate you coming out. When Mr. and Mrs. Vandermont weren’t able to immediately get in touch with Hope Kellan’s parents or uncle, they insisted we call you. Not the end to their daughter’s sleepover they were expecting, I’m sure.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Between her suddenly attentive mother and finding herself embroiled in the opening of the cold case concerning her best friend’s murderer twenty years after Chloe’s death, it wasn’t as if Allie slept much these days. Right on cue, her cell phone chimed. Allie glanced at another text message. Obviously she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. Compared with yet another update on her parents’ upcoming anniversary celebration—how many reminders did she need to bring potato salad?—suddenly making the trip up to the foothills didn’t seem so bad. Not that Allie was thrilled one of her most challenging patients—nine-year-old Hope Kellan—had started what Allie had planned as a quiet Sunday at home with a jarring bang. “I’m just sorry Hope’s recent proclivity to running off had to take this turn. Shall we?” She pocketed her phone, hugged her arms around her torso and wished she’d worn more than a thin sweater over her pastel-pink pedal pushers and matching tank. Her mind was all over the place these days; she couldn’t seem to concentrate to save her soul. As someone who prided herself on keeping an eye on every aspect of her life, she was not coping as well as she’d like.
She aimed her gaze at the oversize glass-and-wood front door, quickly determining that her entire house would probably fit in the tiled atrium. She knew of the Vandermonts in passing; Matthew Vandermont was a big-time lobbyist while his wife was one of the top real estate agents in the region. She also knew they’d both come from very humble beginnings, which explained their dedication to providing the numerous scholarships at various private schools, including their daughter’s.
“Mr. and Mrs. Vandermont are with their daughter and her friends in the sitting room. Just there, off to the right,” Deputy Sutherland said. “My men are still trying to get a feel for the property. It’s more extensive than we expected, but we should be able to get an organized search underway soon.”
“How extensive exactly?” Allie stopped just outside the doorway to get her bearings. The home was elegant but with homey touches, family mementos, framed certificates of achievement, and photographs from vacations, events and gatherings that included not only the Vandermonts but their daughter’s friends, as well. Warm, Allie thought. Welcoming.
“There’s at least four acres of wilderness leading down to Folsom Lake,” the deputy explained. “And I do mean down. No fence line to speak of and the property lines are a bit skewed given recent construction projects. No telling what direction the girl might have gone in. I was about to call in reinforcements and have them bring up the search dogs to help.”
“Hope,” Allie said as diplomatically as possible. “The girl’s name is Hope and you’re right. More officers can’t hurt.” Self-doubt crept in around Allie’s practiced interaction with law enforcement. Had she misjudged Hope’s recent excitement about this long-awaited sleepover with her three best friends? Or had Allie been so distracted during their last session that she’d missed warning signs the little girl planned to run away? While Hope had become increasingly withdrawn in the months since her parents’ contentious separation had turned into a vicious custody battle, her spirits had lifted considerably with the arrival of her uncle Max. Other than her three best friends, talking about her hero firefighter uncle was the one thing guaranteed to bring a smile to her freckled face. “I’m sure your team will find her safe and sound,” Allie replied in an encouraging tone. “Hope is a smart girl. If she got lost, she’ll know enough to stay put until someone finds her.”
“At least we aren’t having to deal with harsh weather,” Deputy Sutherland agreed. “I’ll go make the call. You all right with them?”
Allie peered into the sitting room that glimmered in the same glitz and glamour as the outside façade. “I’ll be fine, thanks. Mr. and Mrs. Vandermont.” Allie set her bag on the floor by the door. The sitting room was decked out in hues of gold and white. The lush carpeting, glass coffee table, enormous French glass doors leading to a backyard with a pool and that large expanse of land reminded Allie of the house Simone, one of her own best friends, had grown up in. Sophisticated, rich. Isolated. But again, where Simone’s house had all been for show with nary a hint of emotional attachment, here she saw a celebration of family. As detached and remote as Simone’s parents had been, the Vandermonts exuded concern and warmth as Allie approached them. “Thank you for calling me. I can only imagine how worried you must be.”
The last words nearly froze in Allie’s throat as she focused on the three girls sitting between the handsome couple. She’d seen photographs of the girls, of course. Mercy, Portia and the Vandermonts’ daughter, Willa. Hope talked about them incessantly during their sessions, something Allie herself could relate to given her own relationships with her two best friends. But seeing the three of them here, together, without Hope...
She had to remind herself to breathe.
“Hello, girls.” Allie didn’t recognize her own voice as she rounded the table to crouch in front of them. Willa, all thick blond hair and debutante blue eyes, clung to her mother in a way that made Allie question who was comforting whom. Mercy, a strawberry blonde, conveyed a familiar edgy defiance that Allie could see masked a good amount of fear. And then there was Portia. Allie blinked as she took in the girl’s slight frame, pale complexion and a pixie cap of dark, dark hair. Allie touched the edge of her own cropped cut. Unease bubbled inside her. “I’m Dr. Hollister, but you can call me Allie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“We know who you are,” Mercy told her as Mr. Vandermont tightened his hold on a trembling