Justin nodded and left her alone.
She inspected the picture again. What an odd thing to do—taping a torn picture into the back of a book. Had the full shot originally been in there? Why did Abby do this? Who was the person with his hand around Erica? Mackenzie found a magnifying glass and held it over the torn end of the picture. The muscular arm had no distinguishing features she could make out. Was this a boyfriend? What would that have to do with Abby going missing?
She sighed and put the picture away. Erica’s murder and Abby’s disappearance were still being treated as two distinct cases. However, their wires were tangled in a giant mess. Mackenzie didn’t know which trail to follow, especially when the information wasn’t being properly exchanged.
Her phone rang. “Detective Price.”
“Mack, this is Anthony.”
“Hey, Anthony. Did you get the results back?”
“Yes, I did. I also double checked, because I wasn’t happy with what I saw.”
“What is it now?” Mackenzie groaned.
“The physical examination went fine, but the colorimetric test was off. I performed the confirmatory test last night and got the results back from the mass spec this morning. The pills inside the bottle are not antidepressants. They’re a placebo.”
“What?” Mackenzie dropped her pen.
“They’re filled with starch. Fake.”
“Why would she be on placebo pills? We have a receipt for her buying the correct medication from the pharmacy.”
“It’s possible that someone switched her pills. She wouldn’t have noticed the difference.”
“Yeah.” Mackenzie gnawed the inside of her cheek. “Thanks, Anthony. I’ll call you later.”
She hung up and squeezed the phone in frustration.
She stared at a spot on the floor. There was a slight crack in it. Suddenly, she saw her father’s blood seep into the crevice and flow toward her. Her heart thumped wildly against her ribs. Her muscles cramped and tightened. She pushed her chair away from the spot, and the scene dissolved.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened. She knew it wouldn’t be the last time.
Her thoughts were twisting and turning. The clues were suffocating whispers in her mind. She was in a maze. But the paths kept changing. She pulled out her notebook and decided to organize her thoughts. She listed what she knew.
Abby was depressed after Erica disappeared—confirmed by Hannah, Principal Burley, and Dr. Coleman.
She used Coleman to get access to antidepressants—Abby didn’t like to show her “weakness” to anyone.
She stole hundreds of dollars from her mother over the course of six months.
The antidepressants were fake.
Pages were missing from her personal journal.
Mackenzie stared at her words. The last three points didn’t make sense. Was she missing something? Maybe the pages were missing because Abby tore them off after venting. Perhaps she wrote something in the heat of the moment and discarded it later. But the money and the pills had no explanation.
Someone knew she had a prescription, had access to her home, and switched her meds. Had they known she’d faked the prescription, and wanted to stop her taking the pills without confronting her directly? Or had they just not wanted her to get well? Was this person playing a sick prank or did they want to hurt her?
Fifteen
A few hours later, Mackenzie’s hair was covered in flour and her hands were smeared with batter. After spoiling two batches, the chocolate-chunk ginger cookies were ready. It had only taken her a few hours to prepare a recipe that took her grandmother under an hour. She stared at the recipe, written on a wrinkled yellow page that had a logo of a Chinese restaurant at the bottom. Mackenzie was lucky to have it. Tracing the handwriting with the tip of her finger, a smile tugged at her lips. Her years in New York were spent watching her grandmother bake. From juicy berry muffins to buns glazed in sugar. She licked her lips and could still taste the buttercream. It was the only untainted relationship she had.
Then, Sterling happened. Then, Sterling cheated.
She packed the cookies into Tupperware. Finding a video on YouTube to show her how, she wrapped the box in silver gift paper and tied a bow on top. Lastly, she attached a note to the gift.
Dear Luna,
The secret is yogurt and ____.
Lots of love,
M
She knew Luna would like a good guessing game.
Twenty minutes later, she was parked in front of the tall, narrow house. Unlike other houses in Lakemore, this one was modern—a giant shoebox. With painted wood cladding covering the structure and a small rose garden in the front yard, it looked humble and quaint. The front of the house was all windows. The soft yellow light behind the curtains was casting a glow around the house.
It looked warm and inviting.
Mackenzie tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. Her knee bobbed up and down.
She remembered the last time she had come here. It was around two months ago. Rain had poured, heavy and violent. A storm brewed, knocking out electricity in different parts of the city. She’d ran. The beating of her heart had been louder than the crackling thunder. She’d knocked on the door till the sides of her hands bruised.
“What’re you doing here? Get inside.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“We can talk inside. Just—”
“No! Did you know?”
“What are you talking about, Mack?”
“Did you know that Sterling cheated on me?”
The memory collapsed when her phone vibrated with a message. It was from Sterling. She pursed her lips and tossed her phone in the back of her car without looking at it. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she grabbed the gift and marched to the door.
It swung open practically before the bell stopped ringing.
“Mack?” Nick stood in a grey T-shirt and black pajamas. His hair was standing in all directions, as though he had been electrocuted. His thick eyebrows were pulled in a knot. “C-come in.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, and followed him inside.
Sneakily, she looked around the house where she had spent countless nights drinking wine, playing darts, and dissecting cases. She wondered if anything had changed. But it had only been a few weeks.
His house was still brown, leathery, and woodsy.
He gestured for her to sit on the couch. She noted the stain from the time she’d spilled red wine after laughing too hard. She sat away from it. Silence hung between them—heavy and imposing. The air was cinched with palpable tension. She was afraid to move too much or talk too loud.
He rubbed his hands together and bit his lip. “Just surprised to see you.”
“Yes. I mean… I thought…” She struggled for words. Instead, she sighed and pulled out the gift from her bag. “Cookies. For Luna’s birthday tomorrow.”
He took it slowly. “You remembered. She really wanted your cookies for her birthday this year.”
“I know.”
She didn’t even take her bag off her shoulder. She sat straight and rigid and ready to dash, her hand coiled around the strap, pulling it tight.
“They’re chocolate-chunk ginger.”
He grinned. “She’ll love them.”
“Right.” She looked at the framed picture perched on the end table. Luna was dressed as Wonder Woman. She stood with her chubby hands on her hips, her stance wide. Her smile was naughty and her front two teeth missing. Mackenzie had taken it last year at Halloween. “Where is she?”
“At her mother’s. Shelly will bring her over tomorrow morning.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
She saw the door to his study was ajar. It was the room Nick retreated to when working on a case. He had a wall-sized board inside where he pinned pictures of the crime scene, evidence, suspects, witnesses, and victims. She referred to it as his “lair”—teasing that only serial killers had such rooms.
“How’s the investigation going?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Just struggling to understand the reports. After all these years, forensics still confuses me.”
“Have you looked into the people on the sex offender registry living here?”
Nick covered his mouth with his hands. His eyes looked amused.
“Were there signs of sexual assault?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Mad Mack,” he smiled. “Did you come here to poke around?”
“No. I came here to give Luna her gift. I should go.” She stood up.
Nick followed. “You don’t have to leave. Do you want juice or soda? Or did you finally start drinking coffee?”
“No, thank you.” She avoided his eyes and headed for the door.
It felt too easy to give in.
“Thanks!” he called out.
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.” She didn’t wait for a response and shut the door behind her.
Shivers crawled up her chest as she sprinted back to her car. She yanked the door open, turned up the heat but didn’t drive. Finally, she burst.
Tears rolled down her chilly skin. She felt weak. Every wisp of air made her insides bleed.
Suddenly, she saw herself running away from Nick’s house in the storm weeks ago. She barely recognized herself. There was nothing polished or collected about her. She was messy; her hair was frizzy, her eyes red, her nose swollen as whimpers escaped her lips. Nick stood at the porch, calling her name. But she didn’t stop.
She recalled the sinking feeling. Like she was on quicksand. She thought time would make it better. She thought this sinking feeling would fade away.
It hadn’t.
Sixteen
September 15
Mackenzie plugged her nose when she entered Sergeant Sully’s office. His office had a map of the state covering the wall on one side. The other wall was plastered with pictures of fish, fishing gear, and insect traps. It was his latest hobby. Before, it was making ships in bottles.
Lately, his office had smelled like Scotch. It was a scent Mackenzie had grown up with—familiar but not comforting. Today it had been replaced by an even stronger odor.
Sully had spent the previous day fishing at Yakima River. It was his dream to catch a four-pound rainbow trout like his brother had. But all he caught was whitefish.
“No trout?” Mackenzie asked.
Sully put his hat away and sulked. “No trout.”
“You didn’t find time to take a shower?”
Sully pressed his lips in a thin line. The ends of his mustache tickled his cheeks. He shed his coat and hung it against the door. “This Erica case is a shit show. Samuel Perez wants the FBI involved.”
“The FBI?” Mackenzie took a seat. “Does he have connections there too?”
He rolled up his sleeves and fixed the clutter on his desk. “Not many. It’s not their jurisdiction so they can’t take over. But they have agreed to consult on the case.”
“What does Nick want?”
“Does it matter?” He extended his hand. She handed him the file for her case. “A man can’t fish in peace. All I catch are these damn whitefish. I wouldn’t mind some variety.”
“You could wait till the end of the month and catch a sculpin?”
His hand flipping the pages froze, and he looked up. “They show up later? Trout love them. Anyway, what am I looking at? Any leads?”
“She was stealing money from her mother but stopped around a week ago. I sent Justin and some officers to comb her room and the house, but the money isn’t there.”
“We’re assuming that the money was on her? Her backpack, perhaps?”
“That’s the most obvious choice.”
“What does it say here?” Sully squinted and pulled the report closer to his face. “Amylum. Polymeric carbohydrate?”
“Starch. Anthony concluded that the antidepressants were placebo. Someone switched her medication out.”
Sully raised his eyebrows. “Strange. Had she been taking these placebo pills?”
“Yes. They sell fifty pills in a bottle. I counted—there were twenty-six pills in there.”
“I see.”
“Her mother has agreed to give us a list of people who would have access to Abby’s room. But she did mention that Abby would always hang out at Erica’s. She rarely invited anyone over because she was embarrassed.”
“Well, teenagers have weird hang-ups. My daughter barely takes my calls. Okay, you think someone was trying to hurt Abby indirectly, by messing with her meds?”
“Yes, but the person who switched her medication falls under the profile of someone more passive,” Mackenzie stood up and started pacing. “Someone who wanted to watch her suffer. Kidnapping is an aggressive action. Unless Abby discovered that someone was messing with her and the person retaliated?”
Sully huffed and leaned back in his chair. “You better hope that’s not what happened. Because that would mean the girl is dead already. Have you considered the possibility that she ran away?”
“Yes,” Mackenzie admitted. “The thought did cross my mind briefly, but I decided it’s highly unlikely.”
“Why? Maybe that’s why she took all that money.”
“Abby doesn’t fit the profile of someone who would run away. She doesn’t have a history of running away or getting into trouble. She is focused, ambitious, and studious. Her goal is to succeed. What would running away accomplish? It’s something else.”
“Alright. If you think so.” He didn’t look convinced.
The lack of attention on Abby was stinging. Where was her picture on the billboards? Why had her posters got washed down in the rain last night?
“We need more resources on this case. Things will move much faster. Only Justin is working on this full time with me. A missing person is a high priority.”
“I agree, Mack. But my hands are tied! You know how these things work.”
“I hate politics. If the same person who abducted Erica took Abby, then we don’t have much time!” She pounded her fist on the table.
“You think the cases are related?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t you? What are the chances that her best friend goes missing on the anniversary of her disappearance? We should combine the cases.”
“Is this because you want more resources and money for your case?” He rolled his eyes.
“No!” Her face heated. “I believe there is a link here.”
“Then find it!” He raised his voice and waved his finger. “You get me concrete evidence, and I’ll make sure that the cases are combined. I can’t do that based on circumstantial evidence and your gut.”
Seventeen
Mackenzie and Sully’s meeting was cut short when Justin knocked on the door. The surveillance video from the gas station had arrived.
“Did you set it up in the conference room?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Justin matched her pace.
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Good. I still have hope.” She was almost giddy. Every fiber of her being pulsed with anticipation. If this video didn’t show Abby walking back, then they were stuck with no new evidence.
In that case, they would have to approach the case the robust way—interrogate every student, every teacher, gather up volunteers to scour the woods in Lakemore and have divers inspect the lakes. Unless the missing person was a child, the police hesitated to do that. Plus, Mackenzie knew that the department wouldn’t invest that much time or money into looking for Abby. Especially if Sully thought she’d run away.
She swung open the door to the conference room. Two monitors were set up on the round walnut table in the center. Clint, from IT, was seated on a chair and clicking away on the computer. He was one of the tallest people in Lakemore PD and had to slouch to level with the screen.
He looked up at Mackenzie and nodded. “Detective Price.”
“Hey, Clint. How’s it goin
g?”
“I was just finishing up with compressing the files they sent us. They still use MPEG4 compression, which is archaic.” He arched a sharp eyebrow. “But I’m done.”
Mackenzie and Justin sat on either side of Clint. Justin unrolled a photocopied blueprint of the gas station on the table. “The station uses sixteen-megapixel cameras running all day. It takes up more digital storage space, which is why they delete files every week from their local server. Camera One over here monitors the entrance to the gas station forecourt. Camera Two covers the exit. Three through Six cover the pumps. Seven monitors the entrance to the building. Eight and Nine are inside the building itself.”
Mackenzie took out her pen and drew on the plan. “Abby should pass the gas station every day when walking back from school. We should see her around here.”
“That would be either Camera One or Camera Three. Let’s see both,” Justin said.
“And Clint, can you start on Thursday, September sixth? I want to check if she used the route regularly after school—the weekend we can skip for now.”
“Sure.”
The two monitors lit up with surveillance video from that date. The time stamp was three in the afternoon. One monitor showed Camera One, and the other showed Camera Three. The traffic was usual. They watched cars come and go.
“There’s Abby!” Mackenzie almost jumped. “Camera One gives us a better angle.”
Abby walked past the station. She kept her head down. Her pace wasn’t too slow or too fast. It was the same the next day as well, and the following Monday. Then Clint played the video from September 11—the day she disappeared.
Mackenzie leaned forward. The glow from the screen danced on her face. She didn’t want to miss a single moment or any discrepancy. Abby walked into the frame of the camera. She was wearing a yellow top and blue jeans. She carried her red backpack. This was after her last confirmed sighting.
Mackenzie felt her bones tickle. This was it. Maybe they would watch someone approach her. Or see the license plate of the car that snatched her.
Our Daughter's Bones: An absolutely gripping crime fiction novel (Detective Mackenzie Price Book 1) Page 8