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

by Ruhi Choudhary

  “Exactly. I think that Abby did her own digging and found Erica’s phone, or maybe some other startling information, six months ago.”

  “Which is why she started acting strangely,” Mackenzie nodded, the pieces finally fitting together. She recalled Abby’s last entry.

  Something is missing from my life.

  I will never give up on her.

  I have to know what happened.

  “Why didn’t she come to us then?” Nick asked.

  “Maybe she was being threatened. They switched out her pills. Maybe they did more,” Daniel suggested. “But she continued looking. She could have stolen the money from her mother to give it to whoever was threatening her. Hence the drop at the gas station.”

  “Listen to this,” Mackenzie said. “It’s Abby’s last diary entry.”

  Daniel continued pacing the room as Mackenzie read.

  “That fits with our theory. Whoever killed Erica found out that Abby was looking into her death and switched out her pills to slow her down. But when he realized that Abby still wasn’t stopping, he decided to threaten her directly. Abby giving up cash and the phone suggests he had some leverage. He was worried that Abby had already discovered Erica’s phone. He instructed her to drop the phone and the money at the gas station. But he was never after those things,” Daniel said.

  “Which is why he was happy for the drop-off location to be in direct view of a CCTV camera,” Nick agreed. “If he was after Erica’s phone and the money, he would have picked a different location.”

  “Exactly! He was after Abby. Abby either knew something which wasn’t on Erica’s phone or she was close to figuring something out.”

  “Then why go through the trouble of having her make the drop?” Nick asked.

  “To make her think she was safe? To send us on a wild goose chase?” Mackenzie said, the words making the hair on her arms stand on end. “He knew that there was no surveillance between the gas station and the bank.” She glared at the snapshots of the man from the CCTV footage talking to Abby. “He took her.”

  It made sense. Abby and Erica’s deep friendship was no secret. From the photos in their rooms and all over social media to Abby’s meltdowns after Erica went missing. Abby was searching for the truth. Even if that meant risking her own life.

  Was Abby abducted because she found out what happened to Erica?

  Mackenzie’s blood churned at the thought of Abby’s fate. Was she even alive?

  Twenty-Four

  The silence blared the loudest in their dining room. It piped above the crackling of the fire, as the gas popped and flared. If Mackenzie stared hard enough, she could see the tips of the flames take the shape of little men dancing and celebrating.

  She looked at the crown roast of pork sitting in front of her. It was artful and elegant—almost too elaborate for her taste. She picked at the potatoes and berries surrounding the thick meat, its bones jutting out at her.

  Mushroom dressing.

  The taste exploded in her mouth. It was the same dish Sterling had made her when he cooked for her for the first time.

  She almost choked on her food. The memory threatened to unleash a cascade of waterworks.

  She looked up at Sterling, sitting across from her instead of next to her. Why was he sitting so far away? “It’s delicious.”

  He looked up from his food and gave her a lopsided grin. “The first time I made it for you, I almost burned down my kitchen.”

  “I never would have guessed. You pretended to be a pro.”

  “Fake it till you make it.” He winked.

  She regarded the dark green sweater that she had gifted him last Christmas. He had shaved and had let his hair grow into soft curls. Just how she liked it.

  She looked up from her book and found Sterling standing in the kitchen. “What did you do?”

  “What?”

  “Your hair!” she shrieked. “What happened to your curls?”

  “It’s just a haircut, babe.”

  “I liked your curls.”

  “Why?” he asked, amused.

  “They were ticklish.” She pouted.

  A mischievous smile broke across his face. “If you want to get tickled, then you just have to ask.”

  “No! That’s not what I meant!” She tried jumping away, but Sterling lunged at her too fast.

  Their laughter rang in her ears and then faded into a faint echo, eventually drowning in the stuffy silence. Could they ever go back?

  “You’re trying to make up for what happened?” she asked.

  He licked his lips and dropped his fork. “I’m sorry, Mack. I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure. Two back-to-back cases and now you’re involved in the Perez case as well. I should have been more understanding.”

  She felt blood rush to her ears. What was he doing? Was this his way of making her feel guilty? But she watched his earnest eyes—they shimmered as though he was teary.

  “I shouldn’t have belittled your emotions,” she mumbled like a petulant child. “I’m sorry too.”

  “It’s alright, babe.”

  Babe. Did he call her babe?

  She dropped her fork. The sharp clank of metal bouncing off the marble floor jolted her out of her thoughts.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She climbed off the chair and crawled under the table to retrieve the fork. But even as she grasped it in her clammy palms, a sudden urge to burst conquered her. Her chest heaved uncontrollably, like a boat caught in a storm. She clasped her mouth with her hand to muffle her cry.

  “Babe? What’s up?” His voice came from above the table. Before he could check, she quickly crawled out and took her seat.

  “I couldn’t see where I’d dropped my fork.” She avoided his eyes and wiped it with her napkin.

  “You okay? You look flushed.”

  “Yes. It’s just kind of hot in here, and I-I haven’t slept properly.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.” He set his fork down.

  Mackenzie looked at him sharply. She felt a sluggish roll of stiffness take over her body. Like she was preparing for impending doom. He shifted in his seat and struggled for words as he finished chewing his food.

  Was he going to ask for a divorce?

  He swallowed and spoke deliberately. “You’ve been very stressed out for the last few weeks. You haven’t even been sleeping properly, and I’m getting a little worried. Why don’t you take a few days off when you’re done with this case?”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “Just four days off, maybe. I want us to go away together. We can go up to Victoria.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice came out shrill. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  “Thank God! I was worried you were going to shoot me down.” He picked up his fork and speared a piece of pork, the matter settled.

  She couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Where did you go on Thursday night, after our fight?”

  Sterling’s hand paused briefly. “To Barbarians. For a drink.”

  “There was alcohol at home, Sterling.”

  “I wanted a change of scene.” He sighed impatiently. “What’s up with the third degree, Mack?”

  She snorted derisively. “You’re a lawyer, and you think this is the third degree?”

  “You know taking a drive clears my head.”

  “You drove back home drunk?”

  “Of course not!” His nostrils ballooned. He pushed away his plate and crossed his arms.

  “Tell me a lawyer trick.” Mackenzie twirled her straw and cocked a brow.

  Sterling pretended to think hard. “Crossing your arms means the person is getting defensive. Always suspicious. Don’t buy a word when they do that.”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t like you at all.”

  “Of course not,” she said, resigned.

  “You keep doing this.”


  “Doing what?”

  He gritted his teeth behind his closed lips. “Starting something but not finishing it. Is everything okay? Because sometimes I think it’s not just the stress talking.”

  “It is just stress, Sterling. Forget about it.”

  They resumed eating, but he didn’t look convinced. Mackenzie idly wondered if she was the only one to feel the thick blanket of discomfort dampening the evening. She felt like she wasn’t sitting across from her husband of three years—but a stranger.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to talk with your husband. It was supposed to come as easy as breathing. If there was a problem, she was supposed to have an open and honest discussion with him. That was how marriages were supposed to work.

  Then why wasn’t anything like it was supposed to be?

  Twenty-Five

  September 18

  Dear diary

  I didn’t have fun at the party. It was fun dancing with Erica. I kept an eye on her at all times. So did Quinn, I guess. I didn’t drink much. I don’t like to lose control. The party sucked because of Christian. He was so sweet to me. Giving me compliments. Even tried to kiss me. I let him. Later I overheard that it was all for a bet with his stupid football friends. He made money from getting Saint Abby to kiss him at the party. I cried in the washroom. I didn’t tell Erica. I didn’t want to ruin her night. Especially when she is so in love with Quinn. I’ll never have that, will I? These people will always see me as the poor girl from the trashy part of town. Erica Perez’s charity case.

  The numbers 916 were scribbled at the bottom of the entry. Mackenzie trailed her fingers over the blue ink. 916 again, like the locker door. She closed the diary with a thud. She was beginning to believe that a teenager’s mind was more complex than quantum physics. Every time she tried to paint a picture of Abby Correia, she imagined a different girl. Sometimes she was a brat—an ambitious young woman filled with pride over her intelligence and abilities, hardened by her harsh realities—and sometimes she was soft—a girl who craved normalcy, acceptance, even attention.

  She was distracted by the sound of Troy repeatedly bouncing a rubber ball against the wall. “Are you doing that to annoy me?”

  “No, it helps me focus,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “It isn’t helping me focus, though.”

  “You should listen to some music then.”

  “That doesn’t help either. Increases my dopamine levels,” she muttered, her eyes widening at the messy state of her desk. She had received the Perez case files but was yet to organize everything. Seeing the scattered and overflowing stacks of files, her pulse beat faster.

  She was in her old kitchen. Standing by her father’s corpse. Her harsh breathing echoed loudly in her ears. She couldn’t peel her eyes away from him, from the violence. She looked up, and everyone she knew stood before her.

  Sterling. Nick. Sully. Troy. Becky. Justin. Jenna. Clint. Peck. Finn. Ned. Dennis. Anthony.

  They didn’t look at the body on the floor; they watched her. Like she was a monster. Like she was evil. Like she was their biggest shame and disappointment all at once. It was then she felt the weight in her hand. Confused, she looked down, and her breath hitched. She held the dented pan matted in blood and clumps of hair. Her mother wasn’t there at all. A sickening realization made her throat close.

  I did this. Look at me. Look what I am. Look what I did.

  “Tough. This is how I prepare for interrogation. Got a lawyered-up black widow coming over in an hour.”

  But Mackenzie wasn’t listening. She plummeted into a frenzy and began stacking up the papers and arranging them in the correct folders. She knew Troy’s eyes were trained on her back. But all she could focus on was how the knot in her chest loosened with every bit of progress she made. She pulled out Lysol and wiped her desk and chair clean.

  “Mad Mack. Such a perfectionist.” Troy wheeled next to her. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she said with a fake smile, and opened Clint’s email on her laptop. There were no retailers that had the name “ER.” But there were three retailers in the States who used similar logos with the club suit. He had found three branches in Washington. “Club Suits” in Seattle had two club cards overlapping. “Glamor” in Lakemore had an inverted club in the logo. Then there was a boutique called “Picardo’s” in Tacoma with a simple club card as the logo. None featured the letters “ER.”

  Mackenzie bit the pad of her thumb. At least the logo was distinctive enough to narrow down the brands. But they still hadn’t gotten the exact match. She went on their respective websites. Glamor in Lakemore had shut down two years ago. Club Suits was still open; she scoured over their online shop but none of their clothes had the single club card with “ER” etched inside. Picardo’s was a small boutique with a poorly maintained website. They had no samples online. But something caught her eye—they offered to add monograms to the labels to personalize clothes for their customers.

  “ER” could be the man’s initials. If those initials were removed, the logo was a perfect match. She quickly jotted down the address and hours of the boutique. It was a thirty-minute drive away.

  She sighed in relief. There was a lead. The problem was that there was no way to predict when the jacket was bought. There was also a big fat chance that the jacket had been bought outside of Washington. But her quick search of the website told her that Picardo’s was a family-run, small-scale boutique with only one store.

  Nick walked in and caught Troy’s ball. “Playtime’s over.”

  “Come on!” Troy whined.

  But Nick scoffed and didn’t return the ball. “Need to focus, Clayton.”

  “Listen to music!”

  “It increases my dopamine.” He dropped onto his chair and loosened his tie. “Also, Murphy’s looking for you. He wants to sit in on your interview.”

  “What?!” Troy groaned. “I will die of old age before that guy decides to retire.”

  Grumbling profanities, he left them alone in the office.

  Mackenzie pointedly showed Nick her back as she read the initial statements recorded by Bruce a year ago. She felt his gaze boring into her. There were faint murmurs of people talking and moving outside the office door—a low hum of activity. But still, the tension could be cut with a knife.

  Straightening her shoulders, she spun on her chair to find him facing her. “We need to talk.”

  He raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “We have to work together, so we have to be able to communicate properly.”

  “Agreed.” He narrowed his eyes.

  “Nothing has changed between us.” Her voice almost broke. “We aren’t friends anymore. But we can have an efficient working relationship.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He gave a sharp nod.

  “Good,” she sighed.

  “I was thinking about the money.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat.

  “You’ve started smoking again?” Her voice rose, but she bit her tongue. It wasn’t her business anymore. Except she had spent a year trying to get him to quit.

  “I got a vice, Mack. Sue me,” he said as he perched a white tube between his lips.

  “You can’t smoke inside.”

  “I’m not. The ritual helps me think.” He rolled his eyes.

  “You want to expose Luna to poisonous air?”

  “She lives with her mother.”

  “But still––”

  “Working relationship, Mack.”

  She ground her jaw. “Fine.”

  “Any leads on that man in the video?”

  “Yeah.” She showed him the address. “Clint narrowed the logo down to three stores in Washington. I did some research. Seems like this is the place to go to. They use the exact same logo. ‘ER’ looks like initials.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Initials? That’ll really help us narrow it down.”

  “Did anyone with these initials turn up in Erica’s investigation?”

&n
bsp; “Nope.”

  Mackenzie suppressed a shudder. Would he keep Abby alive? Why would he? The best way to keep her silent was to kill her.

  “We have to assume she’s alive until a body turns up.” He’d read her thoughts. “Besides, Clint said he would have Erica’s messages and call logs by this evening. There was some damage to the phone, but the data isn’t lost. It might give us a clue.”

  Where was Abby Correia? Was she even in Lakemore anymore? Mackenzie turned to look at the map of Washington State on her computer screen. The great outdoors was abundant in Washington. Abby could be buried in the woods or sitting in the bottom of a lake.

  “Coffee?” Daniel St. Clair walked in, carrying a coffee tray. “How’s it going?”

  He looked crisp and fresh, with a shaven jaw and combed hair. If she breathed deep enough, she could catch the scent of fresh linen from his suit.

  “Oh, thanks.” Nick frowned and took a cup.

  Daniel offered the tray to Mackenzie, but she shook her head. “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Seriously?” He raised his eyebrows. “Never heard that before. How do you function?”

  She shrugged, “I get by.”

  He put the tray away and leaned against Troy’s desk. “Get by? I heard they call you Mad Mack around here. Gum?”

  Mackenzie’s face flooded with color as she shook her head. She caught Nick suppress a laugh and shot him a glare. “A silly nickname. Are you staying at a hotel?”

  “I rented an Airbnb for a month. I’m hoping it’s not going to take longer than that, but if it does, I’ll consider a hotel.”

  “Think we’ll find Abby in a month?”

  “We better. Otherwise we might never find her.” He tapped his foot to a random rhythm.

  “So how long have you been in Chicago?”

  “Around four years. Moved around a lot.”

  “Violent Crimes division?” Nick asked.

  “Now,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was in counterintelligence in Texas.”

  “What made you switch?” Mackenzie folded her arms. “Violent Crimes can be disturbing.”

  “I don’t mind disturbing. It keeps me on my toes. I started with Violent Crimes at first,” Daniel’s eyes grew distant. “Nothing makes you understand human nature better than murder.”