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

by Ruhi Choudhary

  “Is that why you took a case in Lakemore? It’s a small town for someone who’s been all over the place.”

  Mackenzie was fishing. The spark in Daniel’s eyes told her that he’d caught on to her. “Place doesn’t matter. I just want to help.”

  Nick cleared his throat and filled Daniel in on his discussion with Mackenzie about the jacket. Daniel nodded, a knot forming between his brows. “We find out what happened to one girl, we’ll know what happened to the other one.”

  “I’ve been going over Abby’s private journal.” Mackenzie picked up the diary and inspected its frayed state. It was very unlike Abby and everything else in her room. “Some pages are missing. I assumed that there wasn’t a reason, but since seeing that cryptic entry about Erica, I’ve been wondering. What if they contained sensitive information?”

  “It’s possible.” Nick flicked the end of his unlit cigarette. “She got rid of the pages to keep them out of the wrong hands? We know her house wasn’t safe because her pills were switched out. Maybe she suspected something.”

  “Or someone took them,” Daniel said. “Something in those pages incriminates him.”

  Twenty-Six

  2013

  Mackenzie examined her reflection in the mirror. No amount of makeup could conceal the distress in her eyes. They were puffy and red, like the tip of her nose. She smoothed her black dress over her petite body. She had lost several pounds over the last month planning the funeral. Her eyes caught a glimpse of her grandmother’s picture on the wall behind her.

  She took a jerky breath. Her grandmother was an exact replica of Melody—only older, wiser, and more caring. If she closed her eyes, Mackenzie could hear her stern voice chastising her for stealing cookies from the jar after bedtime or not finishing her homework. Her grandmother was her shield. She never thought anyone else could protect her. Now, Mackenzie again felt like the twelve-year-old who was left at her grandmother’s doorstep.

  Alone and defenseless.

  Strong arms wrapped around her waist. Sterling rested his head on her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

  “No.” Her voice broke.

  He tightened his hold on her. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “I know,” she touched the side of his face. “I feel like I’m saying goodbye to my mom again.”

  “Your grandmother lived a long and happy life.”

  “Yeah, I feel like a kid again. She always took care of me.” She tried blinking away her tears.

  “You took care of her too,” he gently reminded her. She’d moved her grandmother to a retirement home in Lakemore two years ago so that she could look after her. Saturday nights were spent with her.

  “I’m alone now.”

  “I’ll take care of you, Mack.” He spun her around and pressed his forehead against hers. “You’ll never be alone.”

  “God, I hate funerals.”

  September 18, 2018

  “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of a vibrant young lady, Erica Perez. A beautiful and kind soul who was taken from us too soon.”

  Mackenzie tuned out the monotonous words of the lanky, square-faced priest—she bet he used the same description at every funeral. Every soul was beautiful. Every loss was heartbreaking. Every death was a reminder to appreciate the gift of life.

  Instead, she counted the windowpanes running along the wall; it kept her tethered but distant.

  Misery was too easy to fall into.

  “Samuel and Gabriella seem to be holding it together,” Nick whispered at her side. He tipped his head in the direction of the couple, standing next to Erica’s picture and her closed casket.

  Even if it weren’t for the media attention the Perez family had attracted, she would have known Samuel Perez before he’d taken his place at the front of the church. She’d seen him at several Lakemore events; fundraisers, charity galas, retirement parties, election nights. Samuel was neither a politician nor a law enforcement official, but he was the most important person in the food chain.

  He was money.

  Erica’s body had finally been released to the family. A year after she disappeared, they were going to bury her with dignity.

  The thought clogged her throat.

  With dignity—a courtesy she couldn’t show her father.

  “They look devastated.”

  “Even Arthur Bishop’s here.”

  She followed Nick’s gaze to a man sitting in the front row. His mop of sandy brown hair looked like a wig. “Who’s he again?”

  “Samuel’s business rival. Perez drove his business out of Lakemore a few years ago, but Bishop’s big in Tacoma now. His liquor empire runs through northern Washington up to British Columbia.”

  “I’m guessing he was a suspect in Erica’s disappearance?”

  “Not really,” Nick shrugged. “I looked into him, but there’s no real motive. What’s in it for him if Erica goes missing? The rivalry’s all business.”

  “Still, that’s dignified of him, to show up at her funeral.”

  “Money always sticks together, Mack. Plus, there’s the mob rule. Don’t touch the family.”

  Samuel Perez’s build was beefy under his black suit. His black hair matched his eyes. He stepped up to the microphone and spoke of his daughter. Gabriella was taller than him but of scrawny frame. A black dress hugged her flat body and exposed her stick-like legs. Her surgically contoured nose was red as she sobbed into a dainty handkerchief.

  “Look at that—Nathaniel Jones.”

  Mack followed Nick’s gaze again, and spotted Nathaniel Jones standing in a corner wearing a solemn expression. He was gigantic—that’s the first word that came to her mind. Well over six feet tall, his body looked artificially inflated. He had no hair on his head but had bushy grey eyebrows, pulled down in a pained frown. Next to him stood a tall boy with a sharp jawline leading to a pointy chin.

  She had seen him at Lakemore High. The alpha of the pack—he had told off his friend for commenting on Mackenzie’s hair.

  “Quinn Jones. Are Nathaniel and Samuel friends?”

  “Since high school. Nathaniel owns Empire Media. They own more than half the newspapers in Washington and have a monopoly on the local news network.”

  “No wonder Erica’s disappearance received this much coverage.” No one had cared about Abby. Would they now?

  She looked at the closed casket in the center. From afar, she couldn’t make out the intricate details of the design, but the hardwood was a gleaming walnut.

  Erica had been hit with a rock, based on the pattern of fractures and the moss and fern particulates found in the skull. It indicated that she was struck and killed in the woods, as opposed to being transported there from another location.

  She looked at the casket again. A sinking feeling overtook her.

  “Mack?” Nick’s elbow poked her.

  She jumped. “What?”

  “I was saying let’s fill in Samuel and Gabriella together.”

  She nodded faintly. The service had ended.

  “You okay?” Nick said as they made their way out of the church.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I won’t judge you if you want a smoke,” he offered with a disheartened smile.

  She paused in her tracks. The memory of standing behind the church five years ago flashed in her mind. She remembered her jumping heart and her back pressing against the cool concrete. All she could think about was that she was burying the only person who’d been a good parent to her. She’d needed a moment away from the noise.

  Then a hand had appeared in front of her face, holding out a cigarette. She’d sucked on it in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves, while Nick watched her silently. No tears were shed. No words were spoken. It was the first and the last time she’d touched a cigarette. After some time, she’d gone back inside, loathing the rancid taste in her mouth. And neither of them ever mentioned her moment of weakness again. Until now.

  “No, thanks.”

  A lazy roll
of thunder rumbled. The plush greenery outside the church glistened. Bunches of poppy flowers were planted around the walls. The pebbled path from the double door entrance of the church led to the main street, where a black SUV was parked.

  Daniel sat on the hood drinking coffee, looking at the thick spread of trees around the church.

  A bolt of lightning ripped open the sky, and water poured down—heavy and uninhibited. Mackenzie opened her umbrella, as did Nick. It was second nature to carry one in Washington. Daniel scowled at his drenched suit and coffee cup.

  She sprinted toward him. “A rookie mistake.”

  “What?” he asked.

  She raised her voice over the sound of the rain splashing against the car. “I said it’s a rookie mistake—not to carry an umbrella!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind!” he replied.

  She moved closer and offered him cover.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I made the very same mistake a few days ago. You didn’t come inside.”

  He pressed his lips in a thin line. The corners of his eyes crumpled as he idly stared at the church. “I don’t really believe in these things.”

  “Funerals?”

  “Churches. You believe in all this?”

  She fell silent. He watched her with a slight tilt to his head, as if he wouldn’t take her answer for granted.

  “I believe in being polite.”

  “So, no.”

  “Who did you lose?”

  “Too many. Why did you come back to Lakemore? I heard you were in NYC.”

  “It’s home.”

  Only someone foolish or someone twisted returns to the scene of the crime! Sully’s words from years ago repeated in her mind.

  “You don’t look like you belong here.” She followed his eyes to her expensive shoes, caked in wet mud.

  She suppressed her grimace to make a point. “I believe in good deeds.”

  “My tactical instructor at Quantico always said that the difference between a good officer and a brilliant officer isn’t righteousness. It’s penance. Everyone who decides to serve the public has some sense of righteousness. But it’s penance that gives some the obsession they need to be more.”

  “It sounds like they were atoning for something.”

  “He is.”

  “What for?”

  “That was never part of the lesson.” Daniel hopped off the hood of the car and straightened his tie. He looked past her to the crowd of people emerging from the church. With their black umbrellas matching their clothes, they looked like one giant organism snaking their way across the lawn.

  Mackenzie and Daniel approached Nick, who was shaking Gabriella Perez’s hand. Samuel stood stiffly, one rigid arm around his wife.

  “Mr. Perez, I am Special Agent Daniel St. Clair from the FBI.” Daniel offered him his hand.

  Perez’s pebble-like black eyes twinkled. “Ah, Agent St. Clair. Mayor Rathbone told me you had volunteered to consult on this case.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Gabriella dabbed her wet cheeks with a handkerchief. Mackenzie noticed a letter “E” embroidered in red on the white cloth.

  “I stitched it for her when she was a baby.” Gabriella’s voice cracked, noticing Mackenzie staring at it.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mackenzie replied, smiling gently.

  “Well, Agent St. Clair, my wife and I are grateful. Now we have hope that justice will be done. We have been nothing but disappointed until now.” Perez’s eyes shifted to Nick.

  Mackenzie knew Nick was unaffected. He was a straight arrow—he only cared about doing his job well and solving cases. He didn’t seek approval or praise. But she had known the sleepless nights he had dedicated to looking for Erica. She had seen the countless crumpled coffee cups in the garbage, his hands scrunching his hair as he tried to make sense of Bruce Stephens’s notes, his heated conversations with Bruce and Peck as he tried to access more information. No one could accuse him of not giving his most—all the while working on other cases too.

  “The case has been more complex than we had anticipated, and even a decorated detective like Nick needs a strong team,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “We’re very happy to have Agent St. Clair on board with us. It was a little difficult to set up this collaboration even with pressure from the mayor, but it certainly helps that Nick’s father is Senator Blackwood. It made things move quicker.”

  “Really?” Samuel raised his eyebrows. “You’re Alan’s son?”

  Nick nodded reluctantly.

  “We played golf one time about two years ago. He’s an inspiring man.”

  Just like she had predicted, Samuel’s regard for Nick mounted. Curiosity replaced his disapproval.

  “This is Detective Mackenzie Price. She’s working on the disappearance of Abigail Correia.”

  Gabriella shook her head. “I saw it on the news. I can imagine what her mother must be going through. You think the cases are linked?”

  “We have found evidence that suggests they could be,” Mackenzie said slowly. Samuel and Gabriella leaned closer. “Do you know if Erica saw Abby that day?”

  “It’s possible,” Gabriella shrugged. “They were best friends. They often met. But I d-don’t know really.”

  “We believe that the people involved in Abby’s disappearance are the ones who hurt Erica.”

  “Why do you think that?” Samuel asked.

  “Abby was in possession of Erica’s cell phone. We have the phone now and are trying to extract data from it,” Nick said.

  Samuel’s eyes flitted in quick movements, reminding Mackenzie of a butterfly flapping its wings.

  A flu-like shiver rippled through Gabriella’s body. “I-I don’t understand what those girls could possibly have been involved in that could lead to this. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “Let’s talk, Mr. and Mrs. Perez.” Daniel led them away from the crowd. “I have to take your statements again anyway, and I can fill you in on our latest discovery.”

  Mackenzie handed Daniel her umbrella and watched the three walk down the pebbled path. Rain obscured Mackenzie’s vision, blurring their outlines and painting the scene in hues of black and green. The handkerchief in Gabriella’s fist stood out like a lightbulb. She held it tight between her fingers.

  What would Gabriella do with it now? Would she sleep with it every night? Would she want to be buried with it?

  She recalled how Hannah had held on to nothing of Abby’s. She’d held on to her cigarettes, sucking on them desperately while they slowly sucked the life out of her, instead.

  “What the hell was that?” Nick’s sharp voice came from behind her.

  “What?”

  “Why did you mention my father?”

  “I heard that the FBI director agreed to the request when he found out that a senator’s son was on the case.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Troy?”

  “Duh.”

  “That gossip shithead. There was no need for that. We’re at their daughter’s funeral.”

  “I wasn’t rude. If he treats you with decency, it means he’ll cooperate more, and it will help the investigation. Plus, he was being an ass.”

  “He’s allowed to be an ass, Mack. Parents aren’t reasonable, especially when their child dies.”

  Mackenzie looked away, her tongue tied and heavy in her dry mouth.

  The rain softened, now falling sparse and infrequent. But the swirling gray clouds augured a storm later that night.

  Nick’s phone rang. “One sec.”

  As he turned away, she wandered off around the church.

  The crowd had thinned. Almost everyone had rushed into the cars to avoid the rain. A few lingered, waiting for cabs or talking.

  “You should have treated her better!” a voice barked over the hush, coming from the other side of the building.

  “You know nothing! Stay out of it!”

  “You never deserved her. You p
iece of shit!”

  Mackenzie jogged around the church. She rounded the corner and discovered Quinn hunching over a boy lying on the ground. His black hair covered his face, but his roar was loud as he kicked the boy in the gut.

  The boy grunted in pain, clutched his stomach and curled in a ball. Quinn ran his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. Mackenzie saw the fury in his eyes.

  “If I hear you talking shit like this again, I will end you!” Quinn hissed through his teeth. His eyes lifted and fixated on Mackenzie watching them. He clenched his jaw and glowered at the boy before stalking away. Mackenzie saw him climb into a nearby Bentley.

  Slowly, the other boy stood up with his arms wrapped around his torso. He was significantly shorter and skinnier than Quinn, a black suit engulfing his skeletal frame. Thick glasses sat haphazardly on his thin nose.

  “You okay, kid?” Mackenzie called out.

  He nodded and raised a hand before limping away. What just happened? Who was this boy? As she watched him go toward his beat-up car, she knew that he didn’t belong in the same social strata as Erica and Quinn. Not rich, not a football player. So where did he fit?

  Fingers grasped Mackenzie’s shoulders. She spun around, her hand automatically going to the gun in her waistband.

  Nick raised his eyebrows at her hand, hovering over her weapon.

  “Churches keep me on edge,” she blurted.

  “Why? Is it the godlike presence that stands for all good?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What is it?”

  “Need a ride to Tacoma?”

  “Sure.”

  “So, I’m a decorated detective?”

  Twenty-Seven

  The shop was nestled in a corner and easy to miss. Devoid of any flashy signs or striking color, it was inconspicuous from afar, but up close had an intimate quality to it – even with the cloying smell of the Subway next door hanging in the doorway. A bell jingled when they entered, but the old lady sitting behind the desk, frizzy white hair spilling out of her ponytail, continued frowning at an iPad. Next to her were a utility press and a moving train of dry-cleaned clothes. The grating sound of the tunnel washer tickled the air—a warning of its old age.