by Barb Han
He flexed and released his fingers a couple of times in order to quell the rising tide of anger inside him—anger that had no outlet.
“Please, sit,” Stella pointed to one of the chairs at a round wooden table in the eat-in kitchen when she had sufficiently rubbed cleaner into the spot. “Can I get either of you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Daniel didn’t sit. Instead, he stood behind a chair at the expensive-looking dark wood table.
Other than a handful of professionally-taken pictures sprinkled on side tables, there was no evidence that a teenager lived there. The place would pass the white-glove test of the pickiest snob. No taco night, beer and rowdy football parties here. This was more of a wine and cheese tray house. “I’d like to see Ashlyn’s room if it’s okay with you.”
Stella stopped on a dime. Her back was turned, so he couldn’t see her expression. He had a feeling he knew what it would look like anyway.
Clara seemed to study her sister’s reaction carefully. Given her line of work it was most likely habit that had her head cocked to one side and her gaze intent on Stella. Clara seemed to be taking every movement in from the suddenly taught shoulders to the deep breath that came a moment later.
There was a long uncomfortable silence. Daniel wondered what was really going on with Stella. By Clara’s account the woman was a good mother. She’d shown signs of being concerned for her daughter’s well-being. So what about her was eating at him?
“I’ll take you upstairs,” Clara turned to him, breaking the tense silence.
Stella stood there mute as he walked past, looking like she’d taken a sucker punch.
What did she think they were there for?
The whole scene had the feel of walking into a setup. He didn’t like it.
Granted, the woman had been through a lot. Her only child was missing. Losing a child was a hell he didn’t wish on anyone. Pain clawed to the surface every time he thought about Naomi and Ruthie. For the first time in two years, he contemplated the idea that there could be something worse than death.
Not knowing what had happened, having his wife and daughter disappear without a trace and no word—especially with the way he and Naomi had left things between them—would rip out his soul.
Daniel followed Clara up the staircase from the kitchen. It wasn’t as dramatic a stairwell as the one in the entryway. This was a more direct route to reach the second story with one step at the top that lead to a small landing.
Upstairs was large and had a room for just about everything. He passed by a movie room, a private gym and a game room on the way to Ashlyn’s.
The door was closed. He watched Clara’s reaction. Her back muscles pulled taut the minute she stood in front of it. She placed her right hand on the painted wood like she was feeling for a heartbeat. Her left hand twisted the knob.
The scent of weeks-old dog urine hit the minute Daniel stepped inside. No doubt more of Berkley’s handiwork. The room looked out of place in the orderly house. Chaos would be the best word to describe Ashlyn’s space. Clothes were scattered around the floor. White, plush carpet was visible in a trail around her bed that led to an adjoining bathroom. Every other inch of the large room was covered with clothes, books or shoes.
Daniel had no personal experience with teenagers but figured this room was typical.
“A federal-something-or-other agent took Ashlyn’s laptop,” Clara said, her voice laced with so much pain as she stood there, looking bewildered, lost and alone.
That he understood.
“Did they share information with you?” He figured that he already knew the answer to that question because if they had then the job she’d be hiring him for would look a lot different.
“Not really. Not much.” Clara’s gaze locked onto something in the adjacent walk-in closet. “They don’t do a lot for international runaways. That’s what they classified the case as. I distinctly remember hearing those words.”
Daniel moved next to her. The electric impulses firing between them couldn’t be more out of line. He chalked the heat up to being near a beautiful, intelligent woman. And that was as far as he would let himself go.
His gaze landed hard on the objects she’d fixated on. Moving boxes. There were two medium boxes stacked on top of each other marked “Clothes” and a third still-open box stacked on top. It was half filled.
“Timothy thought it would be easier if we started to move on with our lives,” Stella’s voice, thick with emotion, echoed from the doorway.
The question begged whether Stella’s husband had first-hand knowledge that Ashlyn wasn’t coming back.
Something had been bugging Daniel since walking in the front door and it dawned on him what it was. There was no sign of a search for the missing girl. He expected Missing fliers to litter the kitchen table or…something to indicate a full-scale search was on. If this had been his child there’d be no end to which he wouldn’t go in order to bring her back. His small home would look like a command post for WWIII. He and his wife sure as hell wouldn’t have been boxing up their daughter’s clothes.
“This can’t be,” Clara said almost under her breath.
“We were going to tell you. I swear.” Stella wrung her hands together. “Ashlyn wanted to go live with her father full-time and Timothy thought—”
“What?” Clara wheeled around on her sister. “That her leaving home would be best? For whom? Him? He sure as hell wasn’t thinking of Ashlyn. She’s a teenage girl. She needs a mother.”
Stella intensified her gaze on a spot on the carpet, wringing her hands together.
“I didn’t think you’d understand and that’s why we’d decided to tell you after her trip,” Stella said.
Clara stalked over to her sister. “I’ve never doubted anything you or Timothy has said to me up to this point. But I’m telling you right now that if he had anything to do with her disappearance there’s no end that I won’t go to ensure justice is served on him and on you for being an accomplice.”
Stella reacted as though her sister had thrown a physical punch. “It’s not a good idea for you to be here, Clara. You know the rules. Now get out of my house.”
“Tell me what you know,” Clara demanded.
This wasn’t going anywhere positive.
Daniel moved next to Clara and ushered her out of the bedroom with his hand to her lower back. “We won’t find what we’re looking for here.”
Clara didn’t argue but her body resisted moving forward. He guided her down the hall until they reached the game room where she fell in step.
“We can’t go. I need to ask my sister a few questions.”
“She won’t talk,” he stated. “And even if she did, she doesn’t know anything.”
“How do you know my sister is unaware?” Clara blinked up at the masculine figure that was ushering her down the stairs.
“Call it professional intuition.”
Clara’s hesitated once outside the front door. “Maybe we should go back.”
“She’s already mentally checked out,” he said. “She’s not going to give you what you need.”
Daniel ushered her into the truck and then checked his phone. “There’s a café a couple miles away according to GPS. Let’s get out of suburbia and talk.”
Clara’s mind was racing. Her thoughts retracing steps to figure this new puzzle piece into the equation.
Ten minutes later, Daniel pulled into a bustling parking lot, parked and held open her door for her. She climbed out of the cab and her mind was practically numb from overthinking.
Inside the café, she kept quiet after they’d ordered while waiting for the barista to make their drinks. Her thoughts raced and she clicked through every conversation in the past couple of months to see if any hints had been dropped by her sister or her niece. Her brother-in-law had kept quiet, too.
The coffees were handed out and Clara sat at a two-top away from the other tables. She hated secrets. She hated keeping them. She hated them being k
ept from her.
“What if my niece did run away?” She twisted her hands before clasping them and putting them in her lap.
“Is that what you really think?” he asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, she loves her father. But he works long hours. He’s not around enough to keep an eye on her. Plus, a teenage girl needs a female role model. Ashlyn has been through a lot and it’s already hard enough to be thirteen.”
“I’d like to pay him a visit.” Daniel thumped the table.
“I have a few words for Andy.” She set the cup down between them. “Ashlyn didn’t even give me a clue to what was about to happen.”
“Teenagers like to keep secrets.” Daniel took a sip of coffee.
“Shouldn’t I have known something was up with her?” She glanced up at him. “You have kids?”
Daniel looked out the window at the parking lot and unfocused his gaze. Something about the way he stared made her question her judgment in asking something so personal.
This was the second time she’d asked without receiving an answer. She’d seen similar reactions from patients when they recalled something painful. Her heart twisted and she thought about the emotion in that kiss from last night, which also made it a bad idea to spend too much time around this guy.
He was broken and it was probably the broken parts of her that were drawn to him. Emotional involvement with anyone was a stretch and someone similarly damaged would logically never work. Her traitorous heart wanted to remind her that the passion in that one kiss was more than she’d experienced in her entire life. Clara had always held back, protected herself. And she would this time too.
Besides, up to now she’d been holding onto a thin thread of hope that Ashlyn would be found. That thread tethered her to sanity, kept her focused when everyone else seemed to be giving up. Without that thread…
Clara couldn’t even go there, not even hypothetically. She’d seen the aftermath of losing a child in the couples that she’d counseled. Most marriages couldn’t be saved following the devastation, like a town that couldn’t be rebuilt after an earthquake.
“How long has Timothy been abusing your sister?” His question shocked her out of her revelry.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s eighty-one degrees in the morning. It’s Texas in August. She had on a long sleeve hoodie,” he said.
“But—”
“I caught her arm when I was helping her stand and she winced. I must’ve grabbed her on a bruise,” he continued before taking a sip.
Clara sat there, mute, for seconds that stretched into minutes. Daniel didn’t speak, either.
So many puzzle pieces clicked together. And then she said, “That bastard.”
“No argument here.” He clenched and released his fingers a few times before drumming them on the table.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” She pushed against the table, scooting her chair back. She folded her arms. “What kind of therapist am I if I can’t see what’s going on in my own family? Underneath my own nose?”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not good at your job,” he argued. “Isn’t there a saying about the cobbler’s son never having shoes?”
“And an accountant who doesn’t balance her own checkbook but that doesn’t excuse me from realizing that my sister is being abused.” Clara heard the defensiveness and frustration in her own voice. She hated sounding weak but it felt like she’d taken a hit, recounting all those times her sister wore long-sleeves on hot summer days.
What if that man hurt her niece?
“I can almost hear what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. He was nowhere near Jamaica when Ashlyn was kidnapped according to your own statement. You were his alibi as was your sister,” he argued.
“I’m starting to wonder if I had anything right,” she admitted, a well of tears sprang to her eyes.
And then she slapped her palm against the round table.
“Dammit. I should’ve realized what was going on. It makes even more sense why Ashlyn couldn’t stand to be in the same room with Timothy. He was forcing her out of her home, hurting her mother. She never mentioned a word of what was going on. All she ever said was that home was getting rough,” Clara said.
“What was your sister referring to back then when she said you know the rules?” His gaze was locked onto her and his head tilted to the side.
“I’m not supposed to ‘shrink’ her as she puts it. Basically, I’m not allowed to voice an opinion.” Clara drummed her fingers against the table.
He gave her a look like he didn’t want to add insult to injury.
“Go on,” she said. “Spit it out.”
“How long has your sister been drinking before ten a.m.?”
“I noticed that,” she admitted. The alcohol hadn’t gotten past her. Thinking back, her sister had been off since before the vacation. “She’s been acting different ever since marrying him, to be honest but the past couple of months have been worse. She stopped spending time with me and Ashlyn. No more girls’ lunches or shopping trips. I figured that, being a relative newlywed, she wanted space so that’s when Ashlyn started spending weekends with me when it was supposed to be Stella’s turn. I knew my niece didn’t like Timothy but I had no idea it could be because he was physically hurting her or my sister.”
“We don’t know what your niece knew and he may not have touched Ashlyn,” he said, taking her hand. She shouldn’t let him be her comfort, especially since her body hummed with need every time she was close to him. But she was so tired of always being the strong one. Of being alone. So she didn’t pull back.
“She obviously wanted to keep me in the dark. There could’ve been a lot she was keeping to herself.” Betrayal stung. Logically, her mind knew that didn’t mean Ashlyn was doing anything wrong. But keeping secrets still hurt. A twinge of guilt struck. Clara had to remind herself that some secrets weren’t hers to tell and yet that didn’t lighten the feeling of betrayal.
“What about her social media accounts?” he asked.
“Her privacy controls are locked down tighter than a bank vault. That much, I know. She is only allowed one account and that’s basically to send pictures back and forth with her friends.” Clara was certain that was the only account that Ashlyn maintained. “Stella monitors it. She insisted that Ashlyn add her as a friend and my sister stays on it. I’m on it, too, for an extra set of eyes. I counseled Ashlyn about the potential dangers of social media, especially when it comes to teens and using good judgment.”
“So we talk to Andy and Timothy next. See where that leads.” Daniel took a sip of coffee.
Clara’s cell buzzed. She checked the screen and then stared at Daniel.
“It’s Mrs. DeSanchos.”
Chapter 10
Daniel listened to one side of the conversation between Clara and Mrs. DeSanchos. It was mostly, “Uh-huh,” and, “I see.”
The call ended with a deep sigh.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“She says she wants to help in any way she can but that this has been very hard on Makayla and if there’s any way we can leave her out of further questioning Mrs. DeSanchos would appreciate it.”
Daniel wouldn’t bite on the irony of that statement. The undercurrent of the conversation having been that the woman wanted to help—and by help she meant leaving her and her daughter alone. “The kid’s best friend is missing after a vacation together and Mrs. DeSanchos doesn’t think her daughter would want to do everything she could to help find her?”
Clara made eyes at him. “Her mother has always been overprotective of Makayla. Sometimes parents think it’s best to shield kids from painful situations.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t provide the other side to that argument.”
“Whether or not Mrs. DeSanchos wants us to speak to Makayla isn’t going to stop me from doing what I need to in order to find my niece,” she stated plain as day. “I owed it to the woman to hear her out but I don’t agree wit
h her.”
“Your sister must’ve called her the minute we left.”
“Which also means she probably called Andy and Timothy to warn them that we might be coming around,” she agreed.
Daniel drained his cup, stood up and chucked it in the trash. “Not Timothy. She’s scared to death that we’ll reach out to him and stir the pot again.”
“Does that mean we go to him first?”
“I don’t like him but not because I think he’s responsible for Ashlyn’s disappearance.” Daniel stepped aside to allow her passage through the maze of two-top tables and toward the exit.
“Then where are we headed?”
“What school does Makayla go to?” he asked.
“Brighton Prep Academy,” Clara said.
“When does the school year start?”
“Most schools in Texas go back the third week in August but Brighton is technically year-round. They get a month break for summer,” Clara said. “They went back last week.”
Daniel palmed the keys and directed her to the pickup.
“Can you get us inside the building without getting arrested?” Daniel asked.
Clara shrugged. “I can try.”
The school grounds were immaculate. Brighton Prep Academy was written in Greek-looking letters scrolled above a two-story red brick traditional building in a downtown Dallas neighborhood. Towering Oaks lined the streets and the grass was the most beautiful shade of green that Clara had ever seen. Immaculate didn’t begin to describe the manicured flower beds that housed a mixture of native plants and bright florals.
Inside, the school day was hitting its stride. Clara glanced at her watch. By third period Ashlyn would’ve been in History class with Makayla if she’d registered at the Academy this year as she was supposed to before her life turned upside down.
“She should be here with her friends,” Clara said almost under her breath as she led the way into the building. “I offered to pay tuition but my sister and Andy wouldn’t hear of it.”