Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1)

by Ruhi Choudhary

  Sully’s wife, Pam, was stout and short, a sort of soft square. Her hair had a layered boy cut and was dyed an ugly shade of dark red. If Sully was lazy and laid-back, Pam was a fireball no one could hold for long.

  “When’s the wedding?” Pam clapped her hands, excited. “You two have been engaged for over nine months now.”

  “We can’t decide on a location,” Ella held Troy’s hand. “And he’s always very busy. I’m looking at you, Jeff.”

  Sully blinked sleepily. He’d had two glasses of wine already. “Don’t look at me. Tell people to stop killing each other.”

  “Oh, poor Erica!” Pam shuddered. “My friend’s husband works for Erica’s father. Let’s just say he has absolutely lost it. Nick has a lot of work ahead of him. Oh! There he is!”

  Mackenzie stiffened. Nick approached from behind her. “Pam! Great to see you!”

  Pam stood up and grabbed Nick’s face in her hands. She showered Nick with wet kisses. He cringed but recovered quickly.

  “I missed your handsome face,” she cooed and forced him to sit next to her. Mackenzie realized that Pam had already downed three glasses of Bloody Mary. The Sullys liked to drink. “Sometimes I have a hard time believing that you’re single. Maybe I can set you up with one of my single friends.”

  Nick’s eyes darted across the table, greeting everyone. When he looked at Mackenzie, his nostrils flared.

  “Honey, we belong to a different generation,” Sully reminded his wife kindly.

  “Speak for yourself!”

  The conversation flowed easily. Sully, Ned, Troy, and Ella discussed the much-awaited game next week. Pam badgered Nick for details on Erica’s case. As much as Mackenzie wanted to listen to Finn’s account of his first sailing experience, her ear was fixated on the other conversation. But Nick kept changing the topic. The nervous bobbing of his sharp Adam’s apple and his fidgety grip around his beer bottle didn’t go unnoticed. This was going to be one of the biggest cases of his career—and Nick had started off that career by catching a serial killer. All eyes were on him. Especially after the sloppy job Bruce had done, the pressure was a lot higher.

  “Mackenzie, why aren’t you drinking?” Pam gasped, offended.

  “I’m driving.”

  “Nonsense! Where’s Sterling? You said he would join us!”

  She realized that she had forgotten to invite Sterling. She scrambled for an explanation. “He’s not feeling well.”

  “Oh, poor him. Tell him I missed him.”

  Unfortunately, Nick caught her hesitation. She saw him smirk into his drink. She wanted to throw that drink in his face.

  Mackenzie stuck out of the crowd like a sore thumb. Everyone around her laughed unrestrained; she smiled stiffly. They waved their hands around; she raised hers to order more fries. They bobbed their heads to the music; her head sat rigidly on her shoulders. Their collars were unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up; she looked like she was ready for a job interview.

  Mackenzie imagined what it would be like to shrug off her jacket, stand on the table and dance. When was the last time she’d danced? When was the last time she had thrown her head back and laughed so hard that she snorted?

  A lump clogged her throat. She didn’t deserve to feel that happiness. She didn’t deserve that freedom. She should have been in jail for what she did all those years ago. Yet she sat here in a bar just a few miles away from her father’s bones, the dirty secret that was just waiting to erupt and consume her. So, she created a prison for herself. A jail in her mind. She might have the freedom to move around and live life her way, but she didn’t allow herself the freedom to be happy. Even so, there were days when being rigid got tiring, when the glue holding her together would threaten to melt.

  She dreaded her age. She was only thirty-two. How was she going to spend her life like this?

  She blinked away the tears welling in her eyes. Nick was watching her. She masked annoyance and looked away.

  “Sterling? Is that Sterling?” Pam said.

  Mackenzie’s breath caught in her throat. She spun in her seat and saw her husband walk in with a friend. “Shit.”

  Before Mackenzie could think of an excuse, Sterling spotted her. Being the good-natured man he was, he walked toward the table. “How’s everyone doing?” One by one, he greeted them. Mackenzie watched closely as he shook Nick’s hand. Sterling beamed at him. But Nick’s smile was forced. “What’s the occasion?”

  “We paid off the mortgage on our house after fifteen long years. I thought Mackenzie would have told you!”

  “Must have slipped my mind. That’s excellent. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you, but did you lie to your wife to get out of coming here?” Pam poked him in the chest. “She said you were too sick, but here you are with your friend.”

  Sterling wavered. He scratched his temple and glanced at Mackenzie. “I-I wasn’t feeling well earlier today, but my friend dragged me.”

  Mackenzie sighed, but Sterling’s face had changed—dimmed. He sneaked a peek at her. He knew. It made her feel small.

  “Why don’t you and your friend join us?” Pam offered.

  “Of course.”

  The drive back home had been chilly enough for goosebumps to sprout over Mackenzie’s skin. The heater in the car was working fine. Soothing music played. But she feared going home and facing Sterling. He had barely looked at her at the bar. He’d left early, stating “he wasn’t feeling well again.”

  Only Mackenzie—and Nick, much to her dismay—knew that his excuse was bullshit. But this time she appreciated Nick’s silence.

  She turned off the engine. Through the window, she saw the light of the living room was turned on, and Sterling’s silhouette sat on the couch. The cold air bit into her. She felt the skin under her eyes crack. It was too dry for Washington. Idly, she wondered where she had stored her humidifier.

  She walked in and saw Sterling’s back stiffen. She didn’t say anything yet. She hung her jacket and put her keys away. But her movements were slow and measured.

  “Sorry about today.” She spoke to his back. He had changed into his pajamas. He sat with his elbows digging into his knees. “I forgot to invite you.”

  “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?” he said quietly.

  She shook her head and headed to the kitchen. “Yes, but we managed it. No one realized anything.”

  “That’s not the point, Mack. And maybe they did but were being polite.”

  She poured herself some water and faced him. His eyes were round like saucers. He gritted his teeth behind his closed lips. She knew it irked him even more that she wasn’t groveling.

  “It’s not a big deal, Sterling. I was asked two weeks ago, and I got very busy with work. It happens.”

  “It happens? You forgetting to include your husband just happens?”

  She rolled her eyes. She felt his wrath. She saw his body quake slightly. But she felt powerful for not giving him what he wanted—a reaction. “We aren’t in high school. You’re getting mad that I forgot to invite you to something. We’re adults with busy lives. Mistakes happen. I apologized. Let’s move on.”

  She picked up her bag and decided to head to the study to work, but Sterling stood up and barreled toward her. “This isn’t just about tonight. You’ve been acting strange for the last two months! This was just the tipping point.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sterling. Sorry your pride was wounded in front of my coworkers. If you think I’ve been acting strange for the last few weeks then you should have said something before. Interesting how you chose to wait till now to have this conversation with me.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that my strange behavior only bothered you when other people came into the picture, and you felt embarrassed.”

  He clasped his fingers around the back of his head. “What are you saying? What has gotten into you?!”

  Who did you get into, Sterling? She
bit back the words, her tongue feeling heavy. She couldn’t even waggle it. It sat like a chunk of iron in her mouth. He stared at her, his eyes searching hers. Was he nervous? Was he suspecting that he’d been caught?

  Suddenly, she was hot all over. Her gut felt like it had been torched with gasoline. Blood pounded hard to her face. Her veins swelled, ready to explode. She considered smashing her fist into his nose. How dare he make her feel small? How dare he demand anything from her? He wanted her to grovel after what he had done?

  Instead, she decided to humiliate him. She laughed. She laughed in his face.

  Her laughter was slightly bitter and forced. But Sterling didn’t notice. He blinked furiously.

  “Oh, Sterling. You’re very emotional tonight. Sleep it off, baby.” She kissed him on the cheek and walked away without looking back. A few minutes later, she heard the front door close with a loud thud.

  She went back to the kitchen and saw him drive away in his car. She could have followed him. She wondered if he had gone to his mistress. Where else would he go at midnight on a Thursday? But she found herself pouring a glass of Merlot. She never touched hard liquor, knowing that alcoholism could be hereditary. Even with wine, she always knew when to stop. She couldn’t lose herself. There was always another case, another mind, to lose herself in. Any other mind but her own.

  Unfortunately, Abby’s cell phone provider had confirmed that the last time her phone was active was in the vicinity of Lakemore High, which included the area she was last seen in according to the CCTV footage. Like Erica, she also used a third-party app to make calls. Her last texts had been to Hannah at lunchtime Tuesday, discussing dinner plans.

  The lack of new information was disappointing, but Mackenzie was determined to find something. She pulled out Abby’s diary from her bag and settled on the couch. The first entry was dated three months before Erica went missing. Mackenzie quickly flipped through the pages.

  It was then she realized that several pages had been ripped out. Abby’s diary was incomplete.

  Fourteen

  September 14

  It had been three days since Abby Correia went missing. Her phone still couldn’t be traced. Hours had been spent doing due diligence on tips the team knew were bogus. And then even they stopped coming in. No one had reported a genuine sighting. The news either covered Erica’s case or highlighted the game next week between the Lakemore Sharks and the Jefferson Frogs. Abby’s picture was permanently displayed in a small window at the bottom of the screen. But there was barely any mention of her. In fact, her picture wasn’t even very clear.

  Things moved slowly in Lakemore.

  Mackenzie turned off the television, pushing the button harder than necessary. She was the only one around, hence no one protested. Sully was yet to come in; Mackenzie guessed that her boss and his wife were nursing a hangover. He was due to drop by before an afternoon’s fishing, planned weeks ago, but she wasn’t expecting him to show. Finn was in meetings with the DA; they were prepping him for an upcoming trial. Troy had driven out to Seattle to hunt down a potential suspect. Ned and Dennis were out on fieldwork.

  She looked at Nick’s desk. It was cluttered with empty coffee cups and fast food bags. It had been clean the night before. He must have come back to work after dinner yesterday, or been in earlier in the morning. It wasn’t easy to take over a case from another detective—especially when that detective had checked out after retirement and had no intention of helping. Bruce Stephens was sailing around the world with his twenty-two-year-old girlfriend.

  Mackenzie lifted her legs to her desk. A sweet ache bloomed in her calves. She had run over three miles this morning. Anything was better than dealing with Sterling and his moods. She’d gone to bed before he’d come home and left for the office before he’d got up.

  She looked at her hands. Her fingers were long and slender, ending with brightly painted yellow nails. Despite years of punching and being rough, she took care of her hands. She kept a moisturizer on her desk. She oiled her nails. Yet sometimes she would still see dried blood caking her fingertips; her hands, calloused and dry, trembling as they scraped it off. The pieces had felt soft and sticky.

  The only ring she wore was her rose-gold wedding band with textured edges. She had selected it. Simple and elegant. Her engagement ring had been too precious and gaudy to wear every day at work. She removed the wedding band and set it aside. She looked at her hands again and flexed her fingers. She typed on her computer and doodled in her diary. How did it feel to be without it?

  Did it feel lighter? Or did it feel lacking?

  She put her ring back on and picked up Abby’s journal. She read an entry dated two months before Erica disappeared.

  Dear diary,

  I had a fight with Hannah. I love her. But it wounds me to see that she doesn’t live up to her potential. I want her to quit her job at Remington’s. It’s embarrassing she works there. I know she thinks she does everything to support me. But does she have to be a waitress at a strip club? I’m trying to get us out of this poverty and misery that were a result of her poor choices, but she continues to be a part of it. Is it too much to ask that your mother work at a respectable place? If only she would listen to me, I could help her. I could help her be so much more. But Hannah just doesn’t listen.

  Hannah? Not Mom? Mackenzie frowned. She never maintained a journal as a teen. No pen could handle the words she wanted to write. But would she ever have referred to Melody by her name if she wrote about her? She knew she often thought of her as Melody, but that was a way of distancing herself. A barrier. At home Melody had always been Mom. She got a piece of paper and wrote the sentence.

  Melody is dead.

  She stared at the words. They were clinical and impersonal. She wrote again.

  My mom is dead.

  The words were a splash of ice-cold water to her face. She shivered. The last image she had of Melody shimmered before her eyes. She had climbed out of the yellow cab in New York. She had looked healthier. All her bruises had healed. Her face lacked the perpetual tension and worry. She’d smiled and raised her arms to embrace Mackenzie. The corners of eyes were wrinkled.

  Mackenzie crumpled the paper in a ball and tossed it into the trash can. The next entry was a week later.

  Dear diary,

  Erica wanted to buy this sparkly blue dress for the party next weekend. I told her it was a bad idea. The dress was pretty, but she didn’t look like herself in it. It was too loud for her. Subtlety suits Erica. She already stands out too much. I see the pressure she is under—to perform, to behave, to impress. She attracts a lot of attention with those pretty almond-shaped eyes and her thick dark hair. I don’t want people to think she is vain and only focused on her looks. I want people to see her real beauty. I want people to think good things about her. How will they do that when she is shining too bright?

  Mackenzie was still pondering Abby’s words when Justin walked in with a file.

  “Good morning, ma’am.” His voice boomed in the empty office. She kicked out a chair for him to sit on.

  “The day you stop calling me ma’am will be the day. What do you have for me?”

  He ignored her comment and sat down. “I spoke to Jenna. The gas station does keep a backup drive. They said they would send us the recordings by tomorrow morning.”

  She put the diary away. “These things are slow.”

  He opened the file in his lap and pulled out a paper for Mackenzie’s review. “I obtained the prescription receipt from the pharmacy Abby purchased her medication from.”

  Mackenzie remembered seeing the prescription pad on Coleman’s desk. She imagined how easily Abby could have snatched a paper from it when Coleman was turned around.

  “As you can see here, the prescriber’s name is Dr. Ian Coleman, and his signature is at the bottom,” Justin continued.

  “Did you get a handwriting analysis done?”

  “I did.” He pulled out another report from the file and handed it to her
. “I submitted the two signatures Abby allegedly forged and Mrs. Correia and Dr. Coleman’s original signatures. They do not match. The forged signatures have a steeper slant. The letters don’t tail off correctly. But most importantly, the writing stroke lacks fluency and is stilted. Indicative of a person slowing down when copying a signature.”

  Mackenzie scratched her head. So they knew Abby had faked the checks and prescription, but they still didn’t know why, and if either fact was linked to her disappearance. Mackenzie hadn’t believed Hannah when she had said her daughter was different. All parents said that. But now she wondered if Hannah was right about Abby. “This is good work, Justin. Anything else?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. I went back through the books from her locker, and realized that a picture was taped into the back of one.” He gave her a picture in a sealed evidence bag.

  Abby and Erica were standing together. Abby wore a sparkling blue dress. Erica was dressed in black. They were at a party. A vague outline of students could be seen behind them, holding red plastic cups. A beer pong table was set up next to Abby. But what caught Mackenzie’s attention was that the picture was torn. There was an arm wrapped around Erica’s waist. It was a boy’s arm, thick and hairy, but the rest of him had been torn off. The edge of the picture on Erica’s right was ragged. Mackenzie ran her fingers over it through the bag. The tear wasn’t slow and careful, as if Abby had simply wanted a picture of just the two of them, and removed the boy as gently as possible. It was sharp and forceful.

  “You find the rest of this?”

  Justin shook his head. “Looks like high school drama to me.”

  “I guess. The checks still seem to be our most promising lead right now. We also have to wait for the surveillance video.”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Can you leave this file here? I think Nick might be interested in reviewing that picture.”