Nicky grabbed a handful of pictures and began sorting through them.
Emily said, “Do the police have any leads?”
“If they do, they’re not telling me. We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.”
Emily sighed. “Well, you did right to protect the runaway, not many would have done what you did. But you got yourself into a whole lot of hassle because of it.”
Nodding, she bit her lip. “That’s for sure. I don’t think I made a good impression on the cops. Actually, I know I made quite a bad one.”
Emily raised her eyebrows. “You’re not exactly known for your love of the cops, Nicky.”
“You’ve got a point there. Now they seem to think I may be able to remember things that will help them.”
“Do you?”
“Of course not. I hardly remember anything. But try explaining it to them. They called a couple of times this morning, but I let them go to voice mail. I can’t handle them right now.”
“Did you listen to the messages? Maybe they have new information.”
“I doubt it, but I’ll check later. I am starting to remember a few more things, but nothing important.”
“Like what?”
“Just little things. Like my mother seeing me off to school. And in the afternoon, when I got off the bus, she’d be waiting.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “From what I do remember of her, it’s obvious she was a great mom. I can see that now.”
An hour later, they’d been through every photograph in the box. Most of the pictures had been taken after her mother disappeared and they found only three of her mother. She picked up a picture of her, Karina, and their father. They were on a beach somewhere, obviously on vacation although she couldn’t remember when it was or where. Nicky was in the foreground, crouched down to examine something in the sand, while her father and Karina held hands in the background. Her father was slimmer then, his hair darker.
Emily looked at it. “Did your mother take this?”
She nodded. “I’m pretty sure. I think I remember us going somewhere on a trip. I’ll have to ask Dad about it.”
“You look a bit like your father, too, the shape of your face, your eyes. But Karina really looks like him.”
She smiled. “I used to think I was adopted. I was such a square peg in a round hole. I’m talking about after my mom left.” She paused a beat. “It’s pretty obvious now that I wasn’t.”
After Emily left, Nicky, feeling restless, decided to pop into the small grocery store down the street for some fruit. She ran a comb through her hair and grabbed her shoulder bag.
At the store, she ended up picking up a couple of things, more than she needed: crackers, fruit, frozen yogurt. She got in one of the lines to pay, picking the cashier with the purple hair, a young girl who was superfast. She never said much, either, which suited Nicky just fine.
Exiting the store, she put her bag down, fished in her shoulder bag for her sunglasses, and popped them on. Standing up, she pivoted on the sidewalk in the direction of her apartment.
Cullen Fraser stood in front of her, blocking her way.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cullen Fraser put his hand up and stepped back to avoid a collision with Nicole Bosko.
He couldn’t see her eyes behind those sunglasses, which was probably a good thing, since it wasn’t hard to imagine them shooting daggers at him.
She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Do you make a habit of banging into people? Or is it just me?”
“Actually, it’s just you,” he said evenly. “You have a way of not looking where you’re going.”
A buff guy in board shorts jogging by glanced back to check her out. She was wearing a green army jacket and faded jeans, and she had her hair twisted into a messy knot at the back of her head, but it wasn’t hard to see why he’d wanted a second look at her lovely face and long, lean body.
She shifted the grocery bag she was carrying into her other hand. “Well, now that we’ve got that settled, do you mind moving out of my way?”
Clearing his throat, he reminded himself to keep his cool. “I have to ask you some questions.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know.”
He took a breath. “I was hoping you were able to remember more about what happened when your mother went missing. Can I walk you home?” She looked away, huffed, then nodded. He reached out a hand. “Can I carry your groceries?” She thought about it for a second, then shoved the bag at him.
A car drove by, a heavy bass beat thumping. When the noise had died down, he said, “Do you remember anything more about the last day you saw your mother?”
She shot him a look. “No.”
He ground his teeth. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to at least try to help him. “Have you even tried?”
She stopped, wheeled on him. “Of course I’ve tried. I’ve thought about nothing but that.”
He held a hand up, aware he’d gone too far. But she was pushing his buttons again. Her dislike of him, and the simmering resentment against cops that came off her like a bad smell, brought out the worst in him.
He said, “I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t to be placated. “Do you think I don’t care what happened to my mother?”
Her voice had risen, and an elderly man walking toward them glared at him. Bosko started walking again and Cullen followed, shaking his head.
“I don’t remember anything specific about that day. You’ll have to take my word for that.”
“Had your father left for work?”
“Probably. I started going to school that fall and I remember when I got up, he was usually gone.” Her tone was clipped and she spoke without looking at him.
“What about your sister? Where was she?”
“Karina had already eaten. She was getting a ride to school so she could be there early. It was probably to do with some school group she was involved in. I remember she didn’t take the bus.”
He nodded encouragingly. “Anything else?”
“My mom was wearing a dress.” She shot him a glance. “Don’t ask me how I remember, but I do. And she had a lunch packed for me.” She stopped, stared ahead. “She said good-bye to me outside the front door. She kissed me. The school bus picked me up just down the street and she waved at me when I was on the bus.”
“Did she seem happy? Sad?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember. Normal, I think.”
They reached her apartment building. She turned to him. “Any more questions?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She got out her key, opened the door, and led him up a set of stairs to the third floor. Another key opened the door to her apartment at the end of the hallway. Following her in, he slipped off his shoes, walked behind her to the kitchen, and put the shopping bag on the counter.
She disappeared into the bathroom. The apartment had a small galley kitchen and a living room with just enough room for the love seat and chair, old and mismatched, stuffed into it. A small half-moon dining table was squeezed against a wall off the kitchen.
Marlee’s place couldn’t be more different. It was a new loft downtown, bright and open, bought with help from her parents. This place was a quarter the size but it was somehow cozy, with colorful pillows and books everywhere.
Thinking of his ex-girlfriend, he gritted his teeth. She’d texted him that morning, saying she was available if he wanted to talk. He hadn’t replied. What was there to talk about? They’d been going out for three years, had even talked about getting married, settling down. Then two days ago she’d told him she was leaving him for another cop. Now he was left wondering for how long she’d been seeing the other cop behind his back.
Nicole walked into the kitchen and started emptying the shopping bag, putting yogurt and vegetables in her refrigerator and apples in a yellow enamel bowl on the counter.
Finished, she turned to him. “What else did you want to ask?” Her eyes were puffy and
red.
Sitting down at the table, he took out a notepad and pen. “What happened after you got home from school?”
“I don’t remember clearly. Karina and I came home together off the bus. Mom wasn’t there. Karina went looking for her.” She leaned against the counter, twirled a long strand of dark, silky hair around her finger. Her anger seemed to have dissipated, as if she didn’t have the energy to maintain it. For now, anyway.
His mind went quiet for a moment as he drank in her face with its strong, carved features, then her body, slim and boyish except for those firm, round breasts that molded to the fabric of her shirt. It was the body of a dancer, lithe and graceful.
His pulse quickening, he looked away again, pretended to jot down some notes. It was humiliating. He didn’t even like her and she sure as hell didn’t like him.
She had said something and now looked at him expectantly.
He said, “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Her brown eyes probed. “You asked what happened after we came home from school that day. I said it was unusual but we weren’t too worried.” At his nod, she continued. “Karina said Mom must have gone out, but she’d be back. But she didn’t come back.”
Her eyes glistening, she walked to the kitchen window above the sink, looked out. After a moment, she wiped her eyes with her hands, then turned back to him. “Would you like a coffee? Water?”
“No thanks.”
She walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He pivoted in his seat so he was facing her. “What happened next? After your mother didn’t return?”
“My sister called my father.”
“How much time did she wait?”
The tears started again, and her eyes seemed even larger because they were wet. She blinked, looked away. “It might have been a half hour or an hour, but that’s a guess.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her reply was curt. “Please continue.”
Aware of a tightness in his chest, he stared at her a moment, then glanced at his notes. “How long before your father came home?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did you eat? Watch TV?”
“My sister made me a peanut butter sandwich. She gave me a glass of milk, too. We weren’t allowed to watch TV before supper.” She sighed. “You should talk to my sister about this. She was a lot older. She’ll be a lot more help than I am.”
He ignored that. “Did your parents ever argue?”
She shot him a disapproving glare. “Not that I can remember.”
“Not even about you?”
Her brows narrowed. “They had trouble with me, but I don’t remember them arguing about me.”
“What sort of trouble?”
She shrugged. “You asked me about this yesterday. I’m not sure. After my mother was gone, my father took me to a psychiatrist. I took medication for attention deficit for a few years.”
“Do you mind if I ask if you take it now?”
“Of course I mind.” She crossed her arms, hesitated a moment before she said, “The answer is no. I haven’t for years. I guess I grew out of it.” She spoke evenly, but a faint bitterness in her tone hinted at more complex feelings underneath.
“Do you remember telling the police your mother had a male friend she spoke with on the phone?”
She bristled. “Not at all. I would have said so if I’d remembered and I don’t even remember being interviewed. Where did that information come from?”
“I received a one-page fax today, a summary of an interview police conducted with you six days after your mother’s disappearance. They talked to you for a few minutes in the presence of a social worker.”
She sat forward, her spine stiff. “And?”
“You told police your mother spoke twice on the phone to a man who was not your father. You claimed it was the same man both times and your mother seemed upset. You said she cried after one of the calls.”
She blanched, shook her head slowly from side to side. “I don’t remember.”
“The phone calls or what you told police?”
“Neither.” She wrung her hands. “Maybe I made it up.”
“The cop who conducted the interview, Constable Melanie Wright, didn’t think so.”
She stood up, looked out the living room window. “It doesn’t make sense. Karina or my father would have heard the calls, too.”
“Unless she waited until they weren’t around. Maybe your mother underestimated your powers of observation because you were so young. She thought it was safe to talk in your presence.”
He braced for her anger, but when she turned around, there was no sign of it. Instead, the look of vulnerability in her face made him catch his breath. With her guard down, it wasn’t hard to imagine her as a young, frightened child.
She said, “What else did I say?”
“The summary seems to focus on this one part of the interview. I’m still waiting for the full transcript. I should get it in a day or so.”
She nodded, and the vulnerable look was gone. Her eyes were steady, her jaw set. “Can that be it for now? My dad and sister will be home coming home from Haiti tomorrow. You’ll be able to ask them about this. I’m sure you’ll get better answers.”
* * *
Nicky didn’t see her father and sister until two days later. Their flight from Haiti had been delayed the previous evening, and they’d been too exhausted for a visit that night. On Thursday evening, Nicky drove thirty minutes to her father’s house, a two-story Cape Cod her parents had built in the early years of their marriage in the tiny community of Stephenville. It was a private spot, set in the woods above a lake, and the only family home she’d ever lived in, although for all its familiarity she had a difficult time summoning feelings of warmth about it. The house somehow felt less like home than a symbol of a past she’d rather forget.
Her father opened the door as she walked up the front step. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his pallor was ashen. It was as if he’d aged ten years in the month since she’d run into him in a coffee shop in Riverton.
She swallowed hard as he drew her to him and enveloped her in a hug. Surprised, she hugged him back. They both had a natural aversion to such gestures.
“How are you?” She met his red-rimmed eyes with an ache in her throat. “Are you okay, Dad?”
“There have been people coming and going all day.” He voice was low and he spoke slowly. A big, strong man, her father’s shoulders now drooped and his body was curved inward, as if it had shrunk. “It’s exhausting. And of course Haiti wasn’t exactly a vacation.”
She should have come earlier. There was no excuse, other than feeling worse than the day before. It was as if she were in a fog, adrift, disconnected from everything and everybody. It had been an effort to get in the car and drive here.
In the foyer, Karina and Uncle Steve were talking to a middle-aged woman who was slipping into a pair of flats. Nicky didn’t recognize her, but the woman shook her hand and offered condolences. She kissed James Bosko before leaving.
Off the hallway, in the formal living room, the lid was up on Karina’s piano, a high-gloss ebony baby grand. She must have been playing it today. As a teenager, Karina had spent endless hours sitting at it, practicing some Schubert sonata over and over again.
Nicky hugged her sister and uncle, who were both red-eyed, then followed her father to the great room at the back of the house, made a few years back when the wall between the family room and kitchen had been knocked down. He sat down on the sofa and she chose a wing chair by the window looking out over the rocky shoreline of the lake. Karina set a glass of wine on the table beside Nicky, then sat beside their father.
After several minutes of small talk, there was a pause and her father turned to her. “I hope the police didn’t bother you too much.”
She shook her head. “There wasn’t anything I could tell them. Have they talked to you?” She glanced at her father, then Karina
.
Karina said, “They came here this morning and interviewed both of us, separately.” Her voice was harsh, her face tense and eyes puffy. She’d inherited their father’s wide face and strong nose, which made her look stern.
Their father leaned back on the sofa. “It’s okay, Karina. We must do everything we can to help them.”
Karina said, “But that’s the thing. I’m not sure how much we can help them. And it’ll probably mean they’ll drag Mom’s name through the mud again. And our family with it.”
Her uncle flushed pink. “Surely not.”
Her father said, “We have to be prepared for everything. And that may be an unintended consequence.”
Watching them, Nicky wanted to point out the danger of a renewal of gossip about the family wasn’t as important as finding out who had killed Lisa Bosko but she held her tongue. Her father, well known in the Riverton area, would suffer that consequence more.
He clutched his chest. “But we have each other, and that’s the most important thing. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true.”
Her face flushed, Karina seemed about to break into tears. “They should have done more when Mom first went missing.” She took a sip of wine and looked at her father, waiting for his response, maybe even his approval.
Her father frowned. “I can’t disagree with you there.”
Nicky’s breath hitched. She leaned forward. “I thought they did a thorough search.”
Karina exchanged a glance with her father. “You were a bit young to remember properly.” A hint of acid tinged her tone. Karina had a disapproving way of speaking to Nicky that she didn’t always try to hide.
Ignoring her, Nicky addressed her father. “Was the search not thorough?”
James Bosko rubbed his temples. “I always felt they weren’t serious about trying to find her. I remember one of cops at the time saying she probably left of her own free will.”
She swallowed. “Why did they think that? Was it because of the note?”
Her father looked at her sympathetically. “They told you about that? I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea. She just needed a couple of days.”
Extreme Pursuit (Chasing Justice #2) Page 4