by Webb, Debra
But that had always been a lie.
She was afraid of the water.
No. Not afraid . . . fucking terrified.
Adeline rinsed the sink then stared at her reflection. What the hell was going on with her?
She washed her hands, leaned down and rinsed her mouth under the tap, then snatched a couple of paper towels.
“Fuck this.” She banished the fear, tossed the wad of damp paper, and stormed back into the corridor.
Wyatt waited for her. “You okay?”
She wasn’t talking about it. “Huff in the other interview room?”
“She is. But Addy—”
Adeline held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t.”
Wyatt conceded, gestured for her to lead the way.
Adeline walked past interview room 1 where Elliott had opened up enough to confirm there was something she and her friend weren’t telling, took a breath, and entered room 2.
Jessica Huff looked up, then past Adeline. “Sheriff Henderson, can you please tell me what’s going on?” She glanced at her watch. “I really don’t have a lot of time today. I’ve already been waiting here for over an hour.”
“This won’t take long,” Adeline assured her as she took a seat. Wyatt sat down next to her. “Why don’t you tell us about Cherry’s abrupt fears related to water?”
Huff blinked but not quickly enough to hide the surprise and the first inkling of fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wyatt didn’t speak, as promised, just watched the woman.
“Let me explain something to you, Ms. Huff.” Adeline leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “We know about the problem. The fact that you’re concealing information that may have something to do with why Cherry’s missing makes you a suspect.”
Outright fear replaced the surprise. “A suspect?” She looked to Wyatt. “How can I be a suspect? Cherry and I are like sisters. The idea that I would do anything to harm her is ludicrous.” Huff lifted her chin in defiance. “I should call my lawyer if what you say is true.”
Adeline reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “Be my guest.” She slid it across the table. “ ‘Course, we were hoping to keep this out of the media.”
Huff’s eyes rounded with uncertainty. She drew her hand away from the phone as if it were contaminated. “This can’t get out. Cherry would . . .”
“Cherry would what?” Adeline held that worried gaze, let the other woman see that this detective was not happy.
“She would be mortified.”
“Ms. Huff,” Wyatt said quietly, “if we can deal with this here, get all the facts, then perhaps no one else will need to be involved.”
Good move. Adeline resisted the urge to smile. “Otherwise,” she countered before the woman could catch her breath, “this could get pretty ugly. You know how the media twists things.”
Huff caved. “Okay.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Cherry will be extremely upset that I told you this, but”—she met Adeline’s gaze once more—“if it’ll help find her, that’s all that matters.”
Well, yeah. What the hell was wrong with these people? “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“Three months ago, Chastity, Cherry’s daughter, turned four. It was as if some long-slumbering phobia triggered. Cherry started feeling anxious all the time. Having nightmares. She refused to take a bath, something she’d loved doing, with her daughter.” Huff flared her hands. “She has this big Jacuzzi tub and she loved running a big bubble bath and playing with Chastity. She called it girl time.”
More of that too familiar tension knotted in Adeline’s gut. “Did she ever describe the nightmares to you?”
Huff nodded, her expression resigned. “She said she kept dreaming that she was holding Chastity under the water.” Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. “It terrified her. She was scared to death . . . that she was having some sort of breakdown.”
“Did she recall any other elements of the nightmares?” Wyatt asked.
Huff shook her head, then stopped. “Not until she got that letter.”
Adeline’s breath was trapped in her lungs. “The cut-and-paste letter?” She was careful not to mention the contents, though from Huff’s comments in her previous statement she evidently had seen the letter.
“Yes.” Huff swiped the tears from her cheeks with meticulously manicured fingers. “She and her husband had called Chastity their little princess since the day she was born. Cherry would go nuts every time Ron, her husband, called her that . . . after the letter came. Ron just figured it was because of the letter.”
A frown nagged at Adeline’s forehead, ushering forth the distant ache that threatened to turn into a full-fledged skull breaker. “Wasn’t it because of the letter?”
Huff shook her head. “It was because of something else she remembered from the dream.”
Jesus Christ. Could the woman get to the point any more slowly? “Something else?”
“In the dream,” Jessica said hesitantly, “while she was holding her daughter under the water, she would say something like ‘no more princesses’.”
The full impact of what Huff was saying suddenly hit Adeline’s brain. “Her older child is a boy.”
“Chad,” Huff confirmed. “He’s nine.”
Those deep spasms started in Adeline’s gut once more. “So you believe that Cherry was afraid of hurting her daughter? That she feared the dreams somehow might become a reality?”
“She started doing all this research,” Huff explained. “She was convinced that the dreams were connected to some childhood trauma. But her parents assured her that wasn’t the case.” Huff leaned forward. “She even started to question whether or not her parents were really her parents. Is that ridiculous, or what? I felt so sorry for her. I was literally watching my best friend fall apart.”
Adeline fought the tension clamping around her throat. “Did she talk about this to her husband?”
Huff moved her head firmly from side to side. “No one but me. She didn’t even tell Cassie. She was afraid she might be going . . . you know . . . crazy.”
“What did Cherry do about her concerns?” Adeline felt as if she were poised on a cliff and that the woman’s next words might send her plummeting over the edge.
“I don’t know.”
Shit. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re her best friend. She told you everything. Things she didn’t tell her husband.”
“She wouldn’t talk to me about it.” Huff’s expression reflected her certainty. “But she was doing something. Every time I called her she was busy. When I couldn’t catch her at home, her husband would say that she was tied up with work research.”
“But you didn’t believe that,” Wyatt suggested.
“No. I called her office. She was taking a lot of personal time. Her secretary thought she was going to physical therapy for back pain.”
“And you’re certain she wasn’t.” Adeline pushed Huff for clarification.
“If Cherry ever had back pain in her life,” Huff confided, “I never heard about it. No, I think she was trying to find answers.”
“To the dreams?” Adeline asked.
Huff nodded. “She didn’t want anyone to know. Not even Ron. And that was totally weird. They have a perfect relationship. She never hid things from him. Not in twelve years of marriage.”
“You believe she was looking for the childhood trauma that had provoked the dreams?”
“Yes. I think maybe her parents were keeping something from her.”
“Are you suggesting that Cherry had considered the idea that Mr. and Mrs. Bowden might not be her biological parents?” Wyatt ventured.
Adeline stared at him. Not because what he asked wasn’t perfectly logical . . . but because that same question had been hovering in the back of her mind. Only it wasn’t about Cherry.
“I can’t imagine why she would have actually considered such a thing,” Huff argued veh
emently. “She looks just like her mother and they have tons of photos of her as a baby. Cherry and I attended school together from day one of kindergarten. There are no secrets in her family’s past. Our families have known each other forever.”
Adeline searched Huff’s face. Zeroed in on her eyes. “What do you think happened to Cherry?”
Huff didn’t speak for a long moment, but she didn’t break the eye contact with Adeline. “I think she ran away.”
Now there was an answer Adeline hadn’t been expecting. “Why do you believe that?”
“I saw the fear in her eyes.” Huff’s tears spilled past her lashes once more. “She was scared to death that she’d hurt her baby. She didn’t tell a soul she was coming here. She just up and left and then disappeared. She took her purse and her phone.”
“But she didn’t withdraw any money from the bank,” Wyatt countered. “Neither her credit cards nor her cell phone have been used since her disappearance.”
“Cherry kept a petty-cash fund at home. A few hundred dollars. Maybe she took that,” Huff offered. “And she has a lot of sorority sisters from law school. Any one of them could be giving her refuge.”
“You’re certain this has nothing to do with her husband?” Wyatt asked.
“It’s not about her husband.” Huff shook her head. “It always comes to that. When a woman goes missing, everyone suspects the husband. Trust me”—she looked from Wyatt to Adeline and back—“her husband is amazing. If he weren’t, Cherry would never have left her kids with him.”
The woman was telling the truth to the best of her knowledge. Adeline had no doubts about that. But—
“Please don’t tell Ron I said this,” Huff went on, “I don’t want him to know I kept this from him.” A sob tore from her throat. “If I’d thought for a second that any of this might save her from some monster, I would have told you. I swear. But I don’t think there’s a monster involved here.”
“You don’t believe Cherry was abducted?” Wyatt asked for clarification purposes.
Huff shook her head, her lips trembling. “I don’t. I’m convinced that Cherry is running from this”—she flared her hands as if she didn’t know how to explain—“thing that’s happening to her.” She took a deep, fortifying breath. “She won’t come back until she’s sure it’s safe for her daughter. I can guarantee that.”
Chapter Ten
Prescott Home
Hattiesburg, 3:50 P.M.
Charles Ronald Prescott was home with his children. His mother-in-law had sequestered her grandchildren in the family room and was reading to them so as not to expose them to any police talk regarding their mother. The husband had closed down his dental office the day after his wife disappeared. Four times per day, like clockwork, he checked in with the Hattiesburg police as well as with Wyatt.
Wyatt hoped like hell he wouldn’t have to end up delivering the news that his wife’s body had been found.
Addy had introduced herself and interviewed Ron. Thankfully with a good deal more finesse than she’d used with Huff and Elliott. Wyatt had kept his comments to a minimum as she requested. As if he hadn’t gone over these same details with her already, she first explored the master bedroom, closets, drawers, and then inventoried the home office, family computer, files—everything—along with the husband. She’d asked about the petty-cash fund Huff mentioned. The money was in his wife’s lingerie chest, tucked into a sock.
Adeline would find exactly what Wyatt and his team had found.
Nothing.
But that knowledge hadn’t kept her from touching the things Cherry Prescott had touched. Her clothes. Jewelry . . . the pillow where she’d laid her head at night.
Wyatt’s desire to watch every move she made warred with his frustration. He wanted to be annoyed that she thought she had to go over every step he’d already taken. But watching her do so was nearly worth the irritation it generated for him as a cop.
“The folks from the state forensics lab took the home computer,” Ron explained, repeating what Wyatt had already told her. “They’ve checked her cell phone records. All electronic communication devices here and at her office. No calls to or from anyone she didn’t know. No e-mails. No Internet searches of interest. Nothing.”
“Mr. Prescott.” Addy picked up the framed family photo positioned on the corner of the desk in the couple’s home office. “Did your wife mention being afraid of anything at all during the final weeks before the disappearance?”
Ron shook his head. “Nothing.” He collapsed in a chair by the bay window. “I mean, I sensed that she was anxious about something but she insisted it was only next year’s elections. As the city attorney, she was subject to stress during any change in the administration.”
Addy returned the photo to its original position. “Any trouble interacting with you or the children?”
Wyatt watched the husband’s reaction to the seemingly off-the-cuff question. Surprise. Confusion. Both cluttered his face before the veil of sheer grief he’d worn for four days now fell back into place.
“Absolutely not.”
“Mr. Prescott,” Addy nudged, her tone gentled, “you need to be aware that we’ve gotten conflicting reports from some of your wife’s friends which suggest there was, in fact, a problem of some sort.”
Uncertainty claimed the man’s expression. “Well, maybe a little. Nothing really.” He lifted his shoulders ever so slightly in a beaten-down shrug. “She seemed nervous about bathtime with Chastity. She told me the last time she bathed her, the baby had slipped and fallen beneath the water and it scared her to death. But that’s completely understandable.” He shook his head, irritation needling its way into his expression. “I can’t imagine why anyone thought that was a big deal. Do you have children, Detective?”
Addy shook her head. “No, sir. But I can see where that sort of incident would unnerve the best parent.”
“Exactly. You worry yourself sick that you’ll make a mistake and you try your best. Sometimes your child gets hurt anyway. Cherry is a wonderful mother.”
“I’m sure she is,” Addy agreed. “Your home tells me a lot about both of you. Caring and loving. Don’t mistake my questions for doubt in that area.”
Ron looked around. “Right now it’s a pretty sad place to be. I don’t know how much longer I can keep the kids away from the news . . .”—his voice quavered—“or keep explaining away their mother’s absence. I’ve been afraid to send Chad to school since . . .”
“Understandable,” Addy sympathized. She walked over and sat down in the chair next to his. “Again, my questions are not a lead-in to any sort of accusation. You have to appreciate that we’re looking at the most remote possibilities in an attempt to get a handle on why anyone would have taken your wife. Of course, her kidnapping could be a random act of violence, but we have to rule out all the possibilities to find the motive behind this crime. Finding your wife is dependent upon every step we take, no matter how painful or seemingly insignificant.”
“You have no idea how badly I wish there was something I could tell you,” Ron offered, surrendering to the defeat once more. “I want my wife found, alive and unharmed. But I just don’t know why this has happened. There were no warning signs . . . no unusual events. Nothing.”
“How was the relationship between your wife and her parents?” Addy asked, venturing into sensitive territory. “Did you sense any tension between them?”
“I can answer that question, Detective.”
Wyatt turned toward the voice. Patricia Bowden stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Addy offered, pushing to her feet, “I didn’t want to disturb you and the children.”
Ms. Bowden walked into the office and closed the door. “My granddaughter is napping. Her brother is occupied with a computer game of some sort.” Mrs. Bowden went to her son-in-law and stood behind him. Her hands settled reassuringly on his shoulders. “My daughter and I are close, Detective Cooper. Very close. Her husband is correct
, something was bothering Cherry but she didn’t want to talk about it. She chalked it up to work whenever I asked. I cannot believe that if something was going on with my daughter on a personal level, she wouldn’t have come to me about it. She always has.”
“Ms. Bowden,” Wyatt interjected. He hated to stir up emotions, but this had to be asked. “Why didn’t you mention this during your previous interviews?” He split his attention between the two. “There’s nothing in either of your statements to indicate you felt there was a problem.”
Ron dropped his head, stared at his hands. “We talked about it.” He lifted his gaze back to Wyatt’s. “Patricia, Howard, and I. We were terrified that if the police thought Cherry was having some sort of midlife crisis or issues with motherhood, you wouldn’t treat the case as seriously. Please understand,” he said, looking from Wyatt to Addy and back, “we’re desperate. We weren’t trying to hide anything or lie to you . . . we’re just desperate.”
Sadly, this was exactly the sort of miscommunication that stalled far too many investigations. Not to mention that it sent the cops looking in the wrong direction far too often. Wyatt stifled the frustration. This family was, as the husband said, desperate.
“I’d like all three of you to revise your statements,” Wyatt urged, trying not to let his impatience show, “we need every detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant. And you have my word that we will continue to work hard, no matter the circumstances, to find Cherry.”
“Any additional information,” Addy put in, “could make all the difference. The slightest detail could be the one that makes or breaks the case.”
Prescott nodded. “You have my word, Detective. All we want is Cherry back home safe and sound.”
Addy stood as if she’d heard all she needed to hear. Wyatt wasn’t quite finished, but before he could ask the question related to Huff’s revelations that nagged at him, Addy spoke up again. “One last question, Ms. Bowden.”
Cherry’s mother stared expectantly at Addy.