Meg couldn’t help wrinkling her nose, just a little.
“Mom doesn’t like Jenn,” Emily told Jack. “She told Mrs. Farabee, my sixth-grade teacher, that I’d stolen something from her, and it wasn’t true.” Indignation rang in her voice. “She was just trying to get me in trouble.”
Not smiling, although Meg could tell he wanted to, Jack asked, “Has she improved any since then?”
“She’s a cheerleader.”
“Ah.” One side of his mouth tipped up. “Popular, huh?”
Emily sniffed. “Yes, but I don’t know why. All she wants is everybody to look at her all the time.”
“You know,” he said, “the most popular kids in high school rarely stay that way in college, never mind later in life. This Jenn, for example. Is she smart? Good at anything in particular?”
“She can do the splits,” Emily said, as if to be fair. “Before she moved here, she was in gymnastics.” She shrugged. “Mostly she’s pretty.”
“Gotcha.” He smiled at her. “So are you.”
“I’m not blonde and blue-eyed.” Her mood visibly dimmed. “Like Jenn and Sabra.”
“But you like Sabra and not Jenn,” he observed.
“Sabra’s not totally full of herself,” Emily said.
“Did you try to talk to Jenn?”
“Uh-huh, but it didn’t help, because she says she heard some kids in class talking, and she wasn’t sure who. She thought maybe this guy named Dan Hooper, but I don’t know him that well, and she wasn’t even sure it was him.”
Jack nodded. “All right, Emily, here’s the thing. I want you to quit asking questions.”
Emily’s mouth opened in instant protest, but he shook his head before she could say anything.
“We have two possibilities here. Sabra left willingly. She either took off, bought a bus ticket or stuck out her thumb and could be anywhere by now, or she’s not far away, staying with someone she knows. Option two, she was abducted. And that’s what you’re really afraid of, isn’t it?”
Emily’s face worked. Finally she nodded.
“If that’s the case—and I’m not convinced—it could have been a stranger. In which case we won’t learn a thing asking questions at the high school unless someone comes forward to say they noticed someone hanging around outside that morning, or Sabra getting pushed into a car. And why wouldn’t that person have already done so?”
Meg sat silent, understanding where he was going with this. The dread she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge felt like cold fingers on her skin.
Predictably, Emily started to argue. “But then why can’t I—”
“You didn’t let me finish.” All detective now, Jack sounded deadly serious. “It’s hard to imagine someone didn’t notice a stranger lurking. As we discussed before, Sabra would surely have struggled if someone grabbed her. Screamed or yelled. Your mother didn’t see anyone else coming or going right when she dropped off Sabra, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t other people around.”
Emily nodded, if reluctantly.
“I think it’s likelier that, if she’s being held against her will, it’s by somebody she knows and trusted enough to go with that morning. She did pack as if she intended to be away for a night or two. So unless that person is a relative, say, like her father—”
“But she didn’t know him,” Emily protested. “She said she didn’t even have a picture of him.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment, his gaze staying keen on her face. “Then chances are this person is someone she knows on a day-to-day basis. Another student, a former friend, a guy who maybe doesn’t go to the high school but has to have been around. It could even be an adult.”
“You mean, like a teacher?” Her voice was hushed.
“Conceivably, but there are other employees at the high school. Secretaries, janitors, groundskeepers, counselors. There are teachers she’d remember well from middle or elementary school, too. Friends of her mother. People her mother works with. Parents or older siblings of kids you do go to school with.”
Meg had a feeling she was gaping at him with the same owlish expression as her daughter had.
He looked from one to the other of them. “The point is, Emily, word will get around if you’re asking too many questions. What if you come close to the truth but don’t realize it? Whoever he is could perceive you as a threat. Do you understand?”
She swallowed. “Yes. But...”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“I know people! And you don’t.”
“But this is what I do for a living. I’m asking you to back off and let me handle the investigating. Tell me if you hear anything, but don’t be so obviously nosy you’ll draw attention.” He paused. “Okay?”
Emily’s lips tightened, but she gave a jerky nod.
“Good.” He smiled at her. “I haven’t given up, Emily.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
She didn’t have to say what she was thinking. Meg was afraid she knew. Promise or no promise, Emily wasn’t about to give up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MEG PUSHED HER grocery cart through the store on Sunday, wishing she felt more enthusiastic. She had a list, of sorts, but hadn’t written out a menu for the week the way she usually did. Neither she nor Emily seemed to have their usual appetites. Still, she was overdue, and they were nearly out of basics like milk and eggs. Normally she avoided shopping on weekends, but she’d concluded she couldn’t wait.
She bent over to grab several large cans of diced tomatoes, ignoring the approach of another shopper until, from behind, came a familiar, male voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you grew all your own vegetables.”
Meg straightened, smiling at Jack Moore. She felt just a little breathless at his unexpected appearance. She waved at the items in her own cart.
“And milked the cow I keep out in the back forty, and gathered eggs from the chickens that hide behind the garage every time they see you coming?”
The humor on his face was friendly rather than mocking. “You do have that back-to-earth vibe.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Because I drive a hippie bus?”
“Maybe. Plus, your food’s better than anyone else’s.”
“But comes from the same ingredients. I’m just talented.”
His grin flashed. “Maybe the secret is that you actually cook from scratch. Unlike some of us.” He had piled a number of frozen, microwaveable dinners in his cart.
“That might be the secret,” Meg agreed, laughing.
“Emily with you?” He glanced around, as if a teenage girl might materialize.
“No, she’s theoretically studying with a friend and working on a newspaper article.” Emily had wanted to write about Sabra’s disappearance, but the plan had been squelched by the faculty adviser. Emily was still mad about that.
“Do you have to go straight home?” Jack asked. “Or will you let me take you out to lunch?”
“Is this about Sabra?” she asked.
The skin beside his eyes crinkled with a smile that didn’t reach his lips. “No, Meg.”
She really ought to say no. The better she got to know him, the more he alarmed her. Over the years, she had let herself wonder how different life would be if she had someone strong who could love her. Jack, she had come to believe, had the ability to care deeply. The frightening part was that she looked at him and wanted to see her fantasy come to life. She wanted him to care about her. Which was stupid.
And yet she heard herself say, “That sounds nice,” when really she hadn’t thought the decision through at all. Sort of like the night she’d asked him to stay for dinner. “If you’ll wait until I’m done shopping.”
He relaxed in some subtle way, making her realize he had braced himself for a refu
sal. Which meant... She wouldn’t let herself think about that.
“Of course I will,” he said, so casually she wondered if she’d imagined things. “I’m not done myself.”
They ended up more or less staying together, although he bought considerably less. He usually ate lunches out, he admitted, and rarely took the time for more than cereal or frozen waffles for breakfast.
He had his groceries loaded in the back of his car in time to help her stow hers on the floor of the VW. At the screech as the side door slid closed, Meg winced, waiting for a sardonic comment.
Instead, Jack said, “I’m tempted to ask if I can drive your bus.”
Laughing in disbelief, she handed him the keys. “Feel free. If you’re used to a stick shift, that is.”
“Learned on one.” He circled to the driver’s side.
The trip to the café he’d suggested wasn’t even half a mile, but he appeared delighted by the experience of driving her ancient vehicle. The first corner he took had him groaning as he discovered how much muscle was required to turn the steering wheel. “Lucky this thing can’t get moving very fast,” he observed, “considering a quick swerve isn’t an option.”
“Well, no,” Meg admitted, “but I’m a very careful driver.”
“Can you speed?”
“Maybe in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone.”
His laugh was deep and husky.
At the café, the after-church crowd had come and gone, allowing them to aim for a relatively private booth near the back. This was still a small enough town they had to stop several times, once for Meg to say hi to a local artist, twice for Jack to greet people. It hadn’t occurred to Meg that word might reach Emily that her mother had been seen out with a man. Not that there was a reason in the world she shouldn’t go out with any man she pleased. Still, she couldn’t help remembering the way Emily had watched the two of them together.
She decided to put that particular problem out of her mind for now. Once they’d ordered and their drinks had come, Meg said, “I know it’s the weekend, and you probably don’t want to talk about work, but I wonder if I could ask you something about Emily.”
“Of course you can.” His eyes stayed warm.
“Is she really in danger?”
After a worrisome hesitation, he said, “Probably not.”
Probably? Not what she’d hoped to hear. Although...did she want him to lie?
Then he shook his head, as if disputing what he’d just said. “Almost certainly not. Meg, you have to recognize that Sabra likely ran away. Teenagers do it all the time, for the flimsiest of reasons.” And yet he kept searching for her.
“I’m so sorry I said that to her about calling social services.” An exasperated throwaway to her, a threat to a frightened girl who didn’t know Meg well enough to realize she’d never meant it.
“Did she seem chastened?”
Meg frowned. “Well, she was dramatic at the time, but...no. I always had the feeling she was convinced she wouldn’t need me for very long anyway.” She focused on him. “I told you that, didn’t I?”
“That she was smug.” When Meg agreed, Jack said, “That’s one of the reasons I’m pursuing this as actively as I am, you know, especially given that Emily admits to having noticed the same thing. As immortal as teenagers tend to feel, it’s hard to imagine a pregnant girl feeling smug about a plan to run away. Whether she had a known destination or not, sticking out her thumb and getting in a car with strangers would have to be frightening.”
“Unless she took a bus, or...” She couldn’t think of any other practical possibilities. Yes, Frenchman Lake had a small airport, but where would Sabra have gotten the money to fly? And would she have been allowed to board without a driver’s license and parental permission?
“I’ve checked at the Greyhound station. She neither bought a ticket nor boarded a bus the day she disappeared, or in the following couple days.”
“An older friend could have driven her somewhere.”
“But where? Why?”
She shook her head, sharing his frustration but also wishing he’d laid her fears for Emily to rest.
As if reading her thoughts, Jack said, “As for Emily, we have no reason at this point to believe anyone, including Sabra, is in danger. I’m being cautious, that’s all.” He smiled slightly. “Some people would say paranoid. It’s an occupational hazard, you know.”
Meg nodded. “You’ve soothed my motherly fears.” He’d tried anyway. She’d give him that. “Shall we talk about something else?”
“Sure. I’m curious—” He started, then pulled out his phone. Irritation and a flash of something far more intense crossed his face before he pocketed the phone again.
“If it’s work...”
“It’s not,” he said shortly.
Silence was her best resort.
In a timely interruption, the waitress appeared with their lunches. Meg spread her napkin and picked up her grilled chicken sandwich. Jack didn’t move.
“My mother keeps calling,” he said abruptly. His cheekbones seemed more pronounced, the skin around his eyes tight. “I...don’t have a good relationship with her.”
Meg resisted the urge to cover his hand with hers. She settled for, “I’m sorry.”
He appeared to brood for a moment. “It’s more accurate to say I have no relationship with her.”
“I know something about that,” she said wryly.
He went for a smile that was only a little twisted. “She walked out on my dad and me when I was ten. I’ve never set eyes on her again. Never heard from her again, until a few weeks ago.”
Shocked despite her own background, Meg set down the sandwich. “But why now?”
He flipped open his napkin, as if to give himself something to do, then grabbed a couple of French fries. “She wants to tell me how sorry she is.” Irony edged his voice. “She’s filled with regret. It’s not too late for us to start over.”
“You did talk to her, then?”
“Once. I didn’t recognize the number.” He ate the fries, then made a grumbly sound. “She took me by surprise. I finally hung up on her midword. She keeps calling every couple of days, even though I don’t answer and delete her messages unheard.” He wasn’t even trying to hide how much anger he harbored against his mother.
It really wasn’t any of her business, but...he knew too much about her. This seemed only fair. “Do you know why she left?” Meg asked. “I mean, I assume your parents were fighting.”
“Yeah. She said she wasn’t meant to only be a housewife and mother. She needed to pursue her dreams before it was too late.” A tone meant to be sardonic cut sharp as a knife.
“What was her dream?” she asked gently.
“She’d been a singer when Dad met her. Mary Chapin Carpenter folk/country, I gather.” His big shoulders moved in a shrug. “Heck of a voice, I do remember that. I’m not sure she had the originality to compose, though.”
“She didn’t make it, then?”
He shook his head. “Dad and I never talked about her, but later on I looked her up on the internet. She fronted a couple of minor bands in Seattle, none of which went anywhere, and that was a lot of years ago. I don’t know what she’s been doing since then, and don’t give a damn.”
Meg had no regrets about her parents, but she suspected Jack’s feelings for his mother were a lot more complicated, and for good reason. Too quickly, she blurted, “Did you love her?” The minute she saw his face, she regretted opening her big mouth.
He took a few bites without answering. Meg debated whether she ought to apologize.
But he surprised her by saying gruffly, “Yeah. Of course I did. I was a kid. She was fun. In retrospect, I can see that she always was flighty, but then...” He shrugged again. “My father is a steady man. I was luc
ky.”
Luckier than me, Meg couldn’t help thinking, but she didn’t discount the pain the child he’d been would have felt when his fun, lighthearted mommy left one day and never so much as called again. “Do you have siblings?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Not that I know of.”
Oh. How odd that would be, to find out his mother had another family he hadn’t even known existed.
The lines in his face had deepened. “She’ll give up.”
“Does your father know she’s called?”
“No. God, no.” Jack cast her a look of near dislike. “Why am I telling you about her anyway?”
His expression didn’t bother her as much as the sneer she heard in his voice. Because he didn’t like having been coaxed into talking about something painful? Or because he regretted talking to her in particular?
She pushed away her plate, lifting her chin. “Why shouldn’t you?”
He made a scathing sound. “You probably sympathize with her.”
Meg stared at him in shock, then shook her head. “I’m ready to go.” How could she ever have kidded herself that he had depths beyond the hard-nosed detective? His expression changed.
“Meg...”
She waited. After a moment, he nodded, although he hadn’t finished eating, either. She slid out of the booth, knowing he was behind her as they went to the cash register at the front of the café. She was upset enough to pull out her wallet.
“Let me,” he said.
Looking only at the middle-aged waitress who’d gone behind the counter, Meg said, “Please split the check.”
She paid, then stood to one side as Jack did the same. He held the door politely for her. She hated passing so close to him she caught the scent that was uniquely him.
“May I have my keys?” she asked stiffly.
“Meg, I don’t know what you imagine I was implying—”
“Implying?” She hoped the glance she flicked his way felt like the midday sun in the Sahara Desert.
They hadn’t locked her VW. Why bother? No one wanted to steal it. Circling to the driver’s side, Meg contemplated driving away without him. Unfortunately, he had already gotten in before she did.
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