Rachel curled her feet under the bench. “I’ll come over on one condition.”
“I know, no dragons.” Olivia nodded, reiterating Rachel’s rule for whenever Olivia did her toes. Dragons looked good on some people, but Rachel believed she wasn’t one of them.
“I’ll take the red-arrow case,” Rachel said, and watched the pride ignite in Olivia’s eyes.
“You don’t have to do that,” Olivia said firmly. “I can handle the workload.”
“You shouldn’t even have it. You’re administration now.”
“Frank always kept his hand in. I can do it, too.”
“Sure, maybe after you’ve had some experience. This is a red arrow, Liv. Not a truancy or welfare fraud. Take the damn help.” Rachel urged. “Second Golden Rule—take help when you need it.”
Olivia was silent for a moment. “You think I need it?”
“I think you’re one week away from drooling in a straitjacket.”
Olivia’s laugh flooded Rachel with relief. “Okay.” She nodded. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Rachel flashed Olivia a smile, picked up the file and flipped through the paperwork. The nice steady hum of adrenaline entered her veins.
She scanned the information at the top of the page. “She’s from my old stomping grounds.”
Olivia’s face mirrored Rachel’s surprise. New Springs was a sleepy agricultural town on the edge of the desert. It was a medium-size town, quiet.
It was an eerie coincidence and the hair on her neck went stiff. She turned to the second page and the picture of the young girl with a sneer, tangled blond hair and eyes so angry and hurt at the same time that Rachel felt like she was looking at herself at that age.
“How old?”
Rachel went back to the first page. “Twelve.”
Olivia’s soft sigh was distressed. “They just keep getting younger.”
Rachel stopped listening. She actually, for a moment, couldn’t breathe. The girl’s name was Amanda Edwards. And she was from New Springs. It could just be a coincidence. Edwards, after all, was a common last name.
She flipped to the photo again. The blond hair, the eyes so blue, unlike most other blues. Like the color of the sky closest to the horizon on a clear day. Rachel knew that color like she knew the same muddy-green of her own eyes. It was a blue just like Mac Edwards’s eyes.
“Rachel?”
Please don’t let it be, she prayed, and turned to the third page with the names of the parents typed in black and white across the top of the page.
Mother—deceased.
Father—MacArthur Edwards.
All the blood in Rachel’s body fell to her feet and she saw stars, her skin crawled. Rachel fingered the red-arrow sticker on the front of the file that meant Frank thought Amanda should be removed from the home.
From Mac’s home.
Oh, Mac, what went wrong? She shook with a sudden chill that filled her bones.
“Rachel? You okay?” Olivia asked, her hand brushing Rachel’s shoulder.
Rachel took a deep, shuddery breath. “I’m fine,” she lied. “I need to get back into work.” She stood, ignoring Olivia’s protests. She scooped up the files and her half-eaten salad and ran back to her office like a possessed woman.
Mac Edwards had a daughter.
And she was in trouble.
Rachel shut her office door and sat at her desk, rolling her chair up tight so the edge of the desk bit into her stomach. She cleared a small space on her ink blotter and opened Amanda Edwards’s file. There was a shaking in her stomach, an awful quiver. A million thoughts buzzed and careened through her brain like bees.
Mac has a daughter and Frank thought she should be removed from the home.
There had to be some kind of mistake. The man she knew would have become a great father. He had been a caring, gentle boy with patience and kindness to spare.
Look at what your brother made me…
Rachel shook her head, pushing the memory to the black hole it came from.
But something had happened to Mac and his daughter. And when something happened to a twelve-year-old girl it was usually because of the parents.
Rachel touched the picture of Mac’s angry little girl, tracing the eyes that looked as if they had seen too much.
What went wrong?
Rachel dove into the file, tearing through pages, trying as best she could to gather the available information from the clues Frank had left behind.
Amanda Edwards, runaway age twelve. Amanda and a fourteen-year-old girl, Christie Alverez, were investigated six months ago in connection to a fire that burned down a barn and an acre of pasture on a horse farm ten miles away from New Springs.
The farm belonged to Gatan Meorte.
Wow. Gatan Meorte. Rachel wiped her hand down her face as memories assaulted her. She would have thought that old recluse was long dead.
Amanda and Christie had been missing for two days and were caught hitchhiking along Highway 13 the day after the fire.
Horrifying images of what could happen to two girls on the highway flooded Rachel’s imagination and cramped her stomach.
Frank’s notes, printed precisely in damning black and white, filled the last page.
Amanda is an angry young girl, with violent and suicidal tendencies. Her grades have dropped significantly in the past year since her mother’s death. It is my opinion that the mother was Amanda’s primary caregiver and when she died, the father did not pick up the slack. I recommend this child be removed from the home because Mac Edwards is in denial of his daughter’s behavior to the point of delusion.
He says he has never seen her act out and that his daughter’s running away was a complete shock to him. Amanda needs to live in a reality-based situation where her actions have consequences, as opposed to having her behavior excused or swept under the rug as is the case with her father. Even more disturbing, when told that Amanda could be removed from the home if he did not face the reality of his family, Mr. Edwards had a violent outburst. He broke a chair and a window and had to be physically restrained. It is my opinion that there is probably some underlying abuse between Mr. Edwards and his daughter. In light of this and Amanda’s growing criminal record, she needs to be removed from the home.
Rachel had to read the words five times before they sank in.
She leaned back and counted the ceiling-tile squares, a calming exercise that rarely worked, but that she tried with unwavering faith.
She couldn’t begin to picture the gentle, funny Mac she knew breaking a window or a chair in rage.
We could get married, that way you could stay.
She squeezed her eyes shut until the memory faded.
What happened to the mother? Rachel wondered. She went back through the file, but other than the note that the mother was deceased there was no mention of her.
How ironic that Rachel could have been the one with the twelve-year-old daughter—Mac’s daughter. That night at the quarry had been thirteen years ago almost to the day. A twist of fate and her life would have been completely different.
Rachel checked the date of the file. It was one of Frank’s last cases. The last time he’d interviewed Amanda was three weeks ago—the same time he’d told Mac that DCFS might take his daughter.