Find Her Alive

by Regan, Lisa

“No,” Josie said, “She wasn’t the one renting it. It was Trinity Payne.”

  “You mean the reporter? The one who used to be on the morning show? The one who just went missing from—what the hell is going on here?”

  Josie asked, “Are you aware of any connection between your mother and Trinity Payne?”

  * * *

  “No,” Monica replied. “None. I don’t understand. What does Trinity Payne have to do with my mother?”

  Heather said, “Trinity Payne went missing a few days before your mother did in the same way that your mother vanished. Her vehicle and all her personal belongings, including her phone, were left behind. Your mother’s remains were found not far from where Ms. Payne went missing.”

  Monica’s face paled slightly. “You mean there’s a serial killer loose?”

  Josie said, “It’s far too early to make that assumption, Monica. We’re just looking at any possible connections between the two cases.”

  Monica pointed at Josie. “I recognize you now. You’re that cop. Trinity Payne’s twin sister. I saw you on Dateline.”

  Josie nodded. “That’s right. Are you absolutely sure that your mom didn’t know Trinity?”

  Monica swiped at another tear and laughed. “I’m positive. She didn’t know anyone famous. No offense, but she didn’t even watch that network.” Her gaze drifted to Annabelle who was still riveted to the television.

  Gretchen asked, “Had your mom ever had any contact with anyone from the press for any reason?”

  “No. Never. She lives—lived—a quiet life. We were—we were happy.” Her voice cracked and she stood up. Again, she looked at Annabelle, then back to the three women. “I—I—”

  Heather said, “Take a moment, Monica. We’ll keep an eye on Annabelle.”

  Monica fled toward the back of the house but not before they all heard a strangled sob escape from her throat. Heather got onto the floor and sat near Annabelle, who hadn’t yet realized that her mother was no longer in the room.

  “I hate this,” Gretchen muttered when they heard the back door slam.

  “Me too,” Josie said. “But we’re going to find the person who did this. No matter what we have to do.”

  When Paw Patrol finished, Heather picked up the remote control and streamed another episode. Josie stood and smoothed her pants with sweaty hands. Then she went in search of Monica.

  Eighteen

  Josie found her way to the kitchen. Like the living room, the furniture and appliances seemed old and well-used, but there were small homey touches that made it feel welcoming, like the cheery blue and white curtains on the windows, the brightly colored highchair at the head of the kitchen table, more houseplants, and a wooden sign on the wall that said, I love you even when you’re HANGRY. Josie pushed through the back door into the yard and gasped when she emerged onto the patio. Tall vinyl fencing encased the yard, but all along the inside of the fencing someone had affixed copper wire, twisting it into ornate designs which Josie quickly realized were in the shapes of trees. The branches of each tree reached upward and out from the fence, reaching toward the center of the yard. Dangling from each branch were faux jewels and polished stones.

  From a chair nearby, Monica said, “My mom made this.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Josie breathed, and it was. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

  She tore her eyes away to look at Monica who studied the copper trees, three horizontal lines creasing her forehead. “Yeah, it is,” she said. “I forget how… unique it is because I see it every day. She’s been working on it bit by bit most of my life. Adding stuff, subtracting stuff. My dad called it her garden, but he wasn’t being mean. He loved this. He wanted her to make things and sell them, but she hated that idea. This was just for her, she said.”

  Monica’s nose and eyes were red and swollen from crying. In her hand, she clutched a balled-up tissue. She rocked back and forth in her chair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”

  Josie said, “You’ll finish school. You’ll raise your daughter. You’ll live.”

  Monica met her eyes. “That sounds very much like something she would say.”

  Josie walked over, found another patio chair and pulled it closer to Monica, angling it so she was facing her. “I’m very sorry for your loss. There’s nothing anyone can say or do to make this hurt less, but I do promise you that I’ll do everything I possibly can to find the person who did this to your mother and put him away for life.”

  Monica nodded.

  Josie continued, “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

  “No,” Monica said. “No one. I mean, I have friends, but I’ll call them. My dad’s family lives in California. I hardly ever see them. Mom didn’t have anyone.”

  “No siblings? What happened to her parents?”

  “She never knew her father, she said. He was never in the picture. Her mother was largely absent, according to her. Then she died when Mom was fifteen.”

  Thinking of what Heather had said about Nicci’s occasional struggles with depression, Josie said, “That must have been difficult for her. What happened to her after her mom died?”

  “She ran away,” Monica said. “She didn’t want to go into foster care. She said she stayed in a shelter for homeless youth for a while, until she aged out.”

  “Was that around here? In Bellewood?”

  “No,” Monica answered. “I think in Philadelphia. She never talked about it other than to say it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible. Eventually, she got a job and a shitty apartment. Started taking college courses to get her teaching degree at Temple University. That’s where she met my dad. He got a job at the courthouse in Bellewood and they moved here. They were together until the day he died.”

  Josie said, “What was her maiden name?”

  “Cahill,” Monica answered.

  “Detective Loughlin mentioned that your mom would become depressed at times. Was that even before your dad passed away?”

  Monica nodded. “Yeah, my whole life. It wasn’t often. Sometimes she’d just get into these funks. She would stay in bed for a few days, cry a lot, not eat. My dad used to take care of her, and he’d always tell me just to let her be, that she was ‘going through something’ although he never said what.”

  “Did you ever ask her?”

  “Once, right after I moved back in here when Anabelle was first born. I asked her why she had those episodes and she wouldn’t tell me. She said it was none of my business.”

  “What do you think they were from?” Josie asked.

  Monica shrugged. “I don’t know, but one time when I was a teenager and my dad was still alive, I heard him trying to comfort her, you know? He had left their bedroom door cracked and I could hear them. She kept saying, ‘I could have done more,’ and my dad said, ‘You did everything you could.’ I was too scared to ask about it. Even when I was an adult. I mean, that one time I brought it up with her; I told her I’d overheard that whole thing. That’s when she said it was none of my business. I just thought it must have something to do with before she met my dad or when she was a kid or something.”

  Josie thought about Trinity and the week before she went missing, when she was still staying with Josie and Noah. “Monica,” she asked. “Did your mom seem out of sorts or anything before she vanished?”

  “In what way?

  “More stressed than normal? Anxious? Did she act unusual in any way?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Did she receive any unusual items before she disappeared? Anything in the mail?”

  “No, why?” Monica asked, one brow kinking with suspicion.

  “My sister—Trinity—received a white hair comb in the mailbox a few days before she was abducted. It could be nothing. Maybe it has nothing at all to do with her abduction but I’m just—”

  “Grasping at straws?” Monica said with a dry laugh. “I’ve been doing that for the last seventeen days. Going over every tiny detail of my mom�
�s life, trying to figure out if there was any clue as to what happened to her, no matter how obscure. When you don’t know what’s important, everything is important.”

  Josie smiled and nodded, thinking that Monica should go into law enforcement. “Exactly,” she said.

  “My mom didn’t receive any unusual packages before she was taken, and she never wore hair combs.”

  “Thank you,” Josie said. “Is there anything else you think I should know about your mom?”

  “She was a good mom,” Monica said, a fierceness to her tone. “A great mom. I know we talked about her being down sometimes, but she was happy, especially after Annabelle came and we moved back in. She took my dad’s death so hard. When Annabelle was born, things got so much better. Good lord, how am I going to do this?” She looked toward the back door. “Annabelle keeps asking where Nanny went. I don’t know what to tell her. Shit.”

  More tears streaked her face and her rocking increased. Josie knew there was nothing she could say. There were no answers, no comfort she could give. The road ahead of Monica and her little girl was thorny and fraught with grief. Josie sat with her until she composed herself, and stood up, ready to go back inside. Before they went in, Josie handed her a business card. “My cell number is on there. Call anytime. Day or night.”

  Monica studied it before putting it into her back jeans pocket. “Thank you.”

  Josie said, “Now I’ve got to get to work.”

  Nineteen

  They arrived back at Denton PD headquarters after seven in the evening to find the press crowding both the front and back entrances of the building. Two WYEP vans sat out in front of the building. Several reporters milled around on the sidewalk, converging on any police officer who entered or exited. There was no chance of them sneaking in unnoticed. Gretchen kept one hand firmly wrapped around Josie’s arm as they waded through a sea of shouting people and into the back entrance. They took the stairs to the second floor, where the desk phones were ringing off the hook. Noah and Mettner were seated at their desks, receivers pressed to their ears. Josie’s phone buzzed with a text. It was her friend Misty.

  I just heard. Let me know if I can do anything. I’m here for you.

  Josie ultimately settled on a simple reply:

  Thank you. I’ll keep you posted.

  Misty immediately responded with a heart emoji.

  Noah hung up his desk phone and gave her a quizzical look. She held out her phone so he could read the text exchange. “The press has gone insane over this,” he said. “We’ve been fielding calls almost since you left.”

  “What are we telling them?” Josie asked.

  Mettner hung up as well and said, “That Trinity is missing, and that foul play is suspected given the fact that although her phone and purse were found inside the car, other personal items were taken. We’re keeping Nicci Webb’s remains under wraps for now.” He looked around at all of them. “That means no one mentions them or Webb to anyone who is not on the Denton PD staff—everyone got that?”

  They nodded. Noah said, “You’d better spread the word. Don’t want any of these patrol guys going home telling their wives and their wives telling their… you get the idea.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Mettner assured him. “This is delicate, but I want to try to use the press coverage to our advantage since there’s no avoiding it. WYEP already ran a few spots as breaking news. They’ve got it up on their social media pages. I’m going to have to do a press conference at some point, but for now, let’s just keep working the case. What did you guys get from Detective Loughlin?”

  Gretchen and Josie sat down at their desks. Gretchen gave him and Noah a rundown of everything they’d learned about Nicci Webb and her disappearance. She also recapped their meeting with Monica Webb, concluding with, “Heather’s going to send over a copy of her investigative file, although she says she doesn’t think there’s anything in there that will be helpful to us.”

  Mettner furiously typed notes into his phone as Gretchen spoke. “We’ll have to see if we can find a connection between Trinity and Nicci Webb on Trinity’s end,” he muttered.

  “Yes,” Josie agreed. “Did you talk to Hummel?”

  Mettner nodded. “He told us about the message in the car and the comb, yeah. He uploaded photos to the file. Also, I got in touch with Trinity’s co-anchor, Hayden Keating, as well as one of her producers.”

  “That’s great,” Josie said. “Did they say anything? Have they heard from her recently? Did they know what she was working on?”

  Mettner stopped typing into his phone and shook his head. “No. They haven’t heard from her in over a month. They didn’t have anything to offer. But they’re sending out a crew with Keating. They’ll be here in a few hours. We can talk more with them then.”

  “What about the canvassing?” Josie asked. “Of the other occupied cabins?”

  “I’m sorry, boss, but it didn’t turn anything up. Only four of the other cabins were occupied. No one heard or saw anything. None of those people even knew that number six was occupied.”

  “What about the tenants?” Josie asked. “Did they all check out?”

  Mettner said, “Well, two of them are families and they all alibied each other. The other two cabins are occupied by single men here for fishing season. They don’t have alibis, but they let our officers look around inside and out of the cabins and nothing turned up.”

  “Let’s do background checks on all of them,” Josie said. “Even the families.”

  “You got it, boss.” Mettner said, making another note in his app.

  Gretchen asked, “Did someone canvass Josie and Noah’s neighborhood to see if anyone remembers seeing someone putting something in their mailbox last month or lingering in the area?”

  Mettner nodded. “I had a couple of guys out to do that. No one remembers seeing anyone or anything suspicious or out of place.”

  Josie frowned. “I’m not surprised. That was a month ago.”

  “We’ve still got a lot of leads to run down,” Mettner reminded her. “I want to have a look at the contents of Trinity’s laptop. You think you could figure out the password to her phone?”

  “I can try,” Josie said. “But our mom might have a better idea.”

  Mettner asked, “You think your family could shed some light on why she wrote Vanessa inside the car?”

  “Maybe,” Josie said.

  Noah stood and came around the desk, gently touching Josie’s arm. “They’re here. Your parents and brother. They’ve been downstairs waiting a long time. Sergeant Lamay put them in the conference room. I sat with them for as long as I could, until Mett needed me. They’ll want to see you.”

  Twenty

  She let Noah lead her toward the stairwell. She had questions for Shannon, but the thought of seeing her family filled her with dread. They still didn’t feel like her family. Not exactly. Josie knew the Paynes loved her, and like her, they longed to have back the thirty years they’d lost. They had tried very hard to become a part of Josie’s life over the last three years, and Josie had tried to be as open to them as she possibly could. They’d spent a great deal of time together. Shannon made weekly trips to see Josie, driving the two hours back and forth to accommodate Josie’s busy work schedule. Still, when Josie heard the words “your family” there was only one person she instantly thought of.

  “Noah,” Josie said quietly. “I need my grandmother.”

  She was grateful he didn’t ask questions. Instead, as they emerged from the stairwell onto the first floor and walked toward the conference room, he said, “I’ll call her and ask her to be ready in fifteen minutes. Then I’ll run over to Rockview and pick her up.”

  She gave his arm a squeeze before stepping through the conference room door. Her brother, Patrick, who was now college-age and attending nearby Denton University, slouched in a chair, scrolling on his phone. His shaggy brown hair fell across his face, obscuring his eyes as his head bent to the screen. Christian, tall and thin w
ith salt-and-pepper hair, paced back and forth along one wall. Shannon sat in a chair at the center of the long table, her elbows resting on its glass top, her head resting in her palms. She looked up when Josie entered, then sprang from her seat and raced over, pulling Josie into a hard embrace. Josie hugged her back, trying to push down the emotions that rose to the surface while in Shannon’s arms.

  Pulling back, Shannon studied Josie’s face. It still gave Josie a shock sometimes to see her mother. The resemblance between them was strongest with Shannon. They had the same porcelain skin, blue eyes beneath long lashes, and long black hair that sometimes looked brown after a summer spent in the sun, only Shannon’s was now streaked with gray. Josie and Trinity were twins, but Trinity had always looked different from Josie. As a television news reporter, Trinity always radiated glamour with her heavy make-up and her shiny, perfect hair that never seemed to suffer no matter the weather. The resemblance had always been there, of course, but Josie had just thought it was a coincidence. Meeting Shannon for the first time, however, had been extremely jarring. Just like Josie, Shannon looked like a stripped-down version of Trinity.

  Christian walked over and gave Josie a brief hug. Patrick watched intently from the other end of the room. Shannon said, “Have you heard anything?”

  Josie swallowed over the lump in her throat. “No, I’m sorry. Nothing. It seems that you were the last one to hear from her and that was three weeks ago. There’s something I need to ask you.”

  She took out her phone and pulled up the photo of Nicci Webb she had taken from the woman’s Facebook profile. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Shannon and Christian studied it. Patrick walked over and peered at the photo as well. One by one, they shook their heads and answered no.

  “Who is she?” Shannon asked.

  Josie pocketed her phone. “Her name is Nicci Webb. Her remains were found near Trinity’s cabin.”