Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “What were you thinking?” Her voice sounded strained. Thin. Dry. Fragile.

  “For starters, how would you like to present the demo at the WebNOW conference?”

  A rush of air escaped her lungs in surprise.

  “That’s the week after next.”

  “True, but you know the technology inside and out.” Barry took a sip of his wine as he waited for her to process the request. “I could do it, if you’d rather.”

  “No. I’ll do it.” She knew that she’d be a fool to pass up this type of opportunity for visibility.

  “Excellent.” His smile underscored his approval.

  They both picked at their salads as the color trickled slowly back into Jill’s cheeks. Her appetite suddenly improved as the second course arrived.

  Barry swirled the red wine around in his glass, Jill’s eyes fixed on the dark, velvety teardrops sliding down the bowl, settling in a pool at the bottom. Dark red. Almost black. Almost like blood. Jill shook her head and shifted her eyes away from Barry’s glass. She looked up to find him watching her.

  “Jamie and I had a few conversations about you,” he said at last. Jill shifted in her chair, searching for the right thing to say.

  “You know what they say: ‘Only believe half of what you read and less of what you hear.’ Or something like that.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug.

  Barry’s laugh was a deep rumble that started in his chest.

  “Well, you know Jamie. He wasn’t generous with praise.”

  Jill forced a smile as she dropped her gaze to her wineglass. Boy, you don’t know the half of it. Some perks come with a hefty price tag.

  “But he did have good things to say about you. He trusted you with the biggest project on the team. That’s no small thing. It speaks to the level of confidence he placed in you.”

  Jill straightened and grew still as she wondered where this was going. A prickling sensation traveled along her spine as fear started to dissipate and was replaced by curiosity. Anticipation. Barry bent forward.

  “So I asked you here to see if you were interested in taking on a larger role within the organization.”

  “What kind of role?” she asked, though she could hardly breathe.

  “A director position. You’d keep responsibility for your current team, of course. But I would also want you to take on some direct reports in San Jose.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, not kidding, actually.” Barry chuckled. “I’ve seen how you perform under pressure.” His head angled to one side, as if he was weighing his words. “Normally, we’d do a search, interviews—you know the process. But given the circumstances, it didn’t seem appropriate. The job is yours if you want it.” He took a sip of his wine while he waited for her to respond.

  “How about it?” he prompted at length.

  Jill’s pulse raced, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled—a genuine smile, the kind that came from the heart. All the weeks of stress, all the feelings of anger and betrayal fell away. Her hard work over the past weeks and months had paid off. And all despite Jamie.

  She picked up her wineglass and held it aloft.

  “I’d love to,” she said without further hesitation.

  23

  Alex stood waiting outside the front door of a small house in the Greenwood neighborhood. Hands shoved in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders against the steady drizzle. Days had passed since he had delivered the shocking news of Natalie’s death, and he couldn’t get Abby out of his head. Hearing the footsteps in the hallway, he straightened.

  As the door swung open, Abby’s blue eyes rounded in surprise. An emotion he couldn’t name rippled across her face.

  “Alex. Come in,” she said quickly, moving back so he could enter.

  He followed her down the cluttered hallway. A small mountain of shoes was piled near the door, and Abby followed the trail of toys into the living room.

  “Sorry about the mess,” she said over her shoulder. “We weren’t expecting guests.”

  Clearing space off the couch, she gestured for Alex to sit. As he eased into the soft cushions, he saw a little girl playing with a dollhouse in the corner of the room. From the toddler’s round cheeks and sturdy hands, he gauged her to be around three years of age. He smiled at her, and she went back to arranging her dolls.

  Abby sat at the other end of the couch.

  “What brings you here this morning?” She sat very straight. The tension in her body was like a coiled spring ready to burst, and she looked as if she was bracing herself for more bad news.

  Standing on the front porch, he had asked himself the same question.

  “I just wanted to stop in to see how you were doing.”

  She sighed, her shoulders sagging ever so slightly. Red-rimmed eyes glistened in the pale morning light.

  “Oh, I’m managing.” She flashed a half smile as she looked away, directing her gaze toward her daughter.

  “How about your parents?” Alex’s fingers fiddled with the edge of a pillow, and he realized coming here was a mistake.

  Only the news of Honeywell’s arrest would bring Abby and her family comfort. Anything short of that was useless. So why was he here? Because he wanted to see her. The truth was as simple, and as unsettling, as that.

  “Mom’s a mess. Dad’s a rock. You know how they are. Any news on the case?”

  Alex paused, considering the question.

  When he finally tracked down Lisa Cullen’s family, her mother had been surprisingly tight-lipped. Eventually he learned that Lisa had died seven years ago, the victim of a hit-and-run. Mrs. Cullen claimed Lisa hadn’t heard from Jerry Honeywell after the family left Winthrop. While her tone was emphatic, Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story than she was letting on.

  Telling Abby about Lisa Cullen wouldn’t help. Abby needed something concrete, something actionable, something that he could not give her.

  “Unfortunately not. We’re looking for any sign of Honeywell to surface, but so far he’s flying under the radar.”

  She took in the status with a slow bobbing of her head.

  “I know you’re doing everything you can to find him. I know you probably have a mountain of other work on your plate. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve been working the case, Alex.”

  Her blue eyes were bright with tears. As she blinked them away, he was reminded of her gentleness. Abby was good. She didn’t deserve this kind of pain. Alex stretched his hand out toward her when he felt a tap on his knee.

  “Tea?” the little girl asked, holding out a plastic princess cup on a pink saucer. She had the voice of a baby bird, sweet and clear.

  “Hannah, not now,” Abby said softly to her daughter.

  “I’d love some tea,” Alex said, taking the cup away from the girl and making loud, slurping sounds as he pretended to drink the liquid.

  “Hot?” she asked, eyes solemn as she looked at him.

  “Very, but I’m being careful so I don’t spill. What’s your name?”

  “Mamma said no talk to strangers.” Her tone was so serious he had to smile.

  “Well, that’s good advice, but you see, I’m a policeman. I’m here to help.” Setting the teacup down on the corner of the coffee table, he pulled out his badge to show her. “See?”

  Her mouth formed a silent, reverent ‘Oh’ as she looked at it. “Police.”

  “My name is Alex. What’s yours?”

  “Hannah,” she said and looked over at her mother. Slipping his badge back in his coat, he handed her the cup.

  “Could I have some more tea please, Hannah?”

  With a bright smile, she gripped the teacup in her chubby fingers and hurried across the room to where her dolls sat encircled around a small table. Empty teacups were placed in front of each.

  “She’s lovely,” Alex said, glancing over at Abby, who was staring at the floor.

  “Yes, she’s a real comfo
rt.”

  “When do you go back to work?”

  “In a few days. Routine is probably good right now.”

  “How’s Darren?” Alex was pleased that he recalled her husband’s name. They had only met in passing a few times. He had the vague recollection of a big guy, short blond hair, and stern face.

  Abby grimaced, and Alex instantly regretted the question.

  “Well, we’ve hit a rough patch. He’s moved out for a while.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. The line slid from her lips with the ease of a memorized verse. Alex cringed and wondered how many well-meaning relatives had asked the same question.

  Then Hannah was back, bearing more tea. Grateful for the distraction, he took the cup and started to sip. Looking over at Abby, he caught her eyes.

  “Sorry.”

  Abby’s dry laugh came out as a short bark.

  “How could you know? I barely told my mother before this whole nightmare began. I didn’t want to hear the I-told-you-so. She never liked Darren much. I think she always hoped I’d marry someone more like—”

  She stopped short, as if realizing how the revelation would sound. An awkward silence fell between them. A deep pink flush stained Abby’s cheeks.

  “Want more?” the girl asked, offering the princess cup to Alex.

  “No thanks, Hannah. It’s very good tea, but I have to get going.”

  “Mommy sad,” the little girl said, her small, star-shaped hand resting on his knee.

  “Yes, but I know you’re taking good care of her.” Alex brushed his hand lightly over the child’s soft hair. He admired her perfect beauty. Pixie face. Blond hair in wispy curls. Hannah looked a lot like Natalie had at her age. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

  “I help.”

  “I’m sure you do.” The smile he gave Hannah was soft, but his eyes fixed on Abby. Her head was lowered, and he couldn’t see her face through her soft curtain of blond hair. But he didn’t need to see her expression to know that she was crying. Her hands balled into tight fists as she tried to pull herself together.

  Hannah caught sight of the cat walking across the room and took after it at a run. Alex stood up.

  “I need to get going,” he said softly.

  “Sorry. I just don’t seem to be able to stop crying.” Abby nodded and rose to her feet, roughly wiping the tears from her eyes.

  He wanted to say something, but the endless platitudes that came to mind sounded trivial. Instead, he held out an arm. She closed the distance between them, burying her face in the front of his coat. Alex could feel her shudder with silent sobs, and he flattened his palm against her back, wishing there was something he could do to ease her pain.

  The smell of her hair filled his senses. Warm peaches. The welcome feel of Abby in his arms felt achingly familiar. She was the first girl he’d kissed, and a flurry of memories flooded back in a rush. He could remember the first time he’d kissed her, at a friend’s house. His hand buried in her hair, he realized he didn’t want to let her go. He also realized that was probably reason enough to get the hell out of here.

  The appropriate length of time to hug a friend had long since passed, and he tried to step back, but her arms remained closed tightly around him. She tipped her head back, and he stared into her blue eyes. She looked so lost. So vulnerable.

  His hand cupped her cheek. Stroking a thumb across her soft skin, he brushed away her tears. He wanted to kiss her, like he’d done a thousand times before. He could almost taste the salty sweetness of her lips.

  He knew it wasn’t right.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said quietly as he gently disentangled himself from the circle of her arms. Abby stepped back. Her lips formed a pursed white line.

  “If you hear anything …” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’ll call.”

  He waved good-bye to Hannah before turning to leave.

  The feel of Abby in his arms stayed with Alex long after the door to the small house in Greenwood closed.

  24

  Thanksgiving feast at the Shannon household was something Alex always looked forward to. Football on the television, beer in the fridge, great food. What could be better? Today, though, as he stood outside his parents’ brick Tudor house, Alex tried to get into the spirit of the holiday. Family. There was one family who had little to be thankful for. He tried to push the image of Natalie Watson’s dead body out of his head. The desire to find Jerry Honeywell consumed his every waking thought.

  Squaring his shoulders, he took the concrete steps two at a time. The house smelled like turkey and sage, and his stomach rumbled in appreciation. An afternoon with his family promised a welcome distraction from the case.

  “Alex,” his mother said, a smile on her lined face as she greeted him. Crossing the room quickly, she enveloped him in a warm hug. After spending thirty years as a nurse, his mother had turned her passion for caring for people into a love of everything green. She took pride in tending her garden, which was now the showpiece of the block.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Rebecca Shannon looked behind him.

  “Where’s Jill?”

  “She’ll be along in a little while.” He ignored the frown on his mother’s face and stepped through the curved entry into the living room. Bending over to kiss Emma’s cheek, he held out a hand to Mike, who shook it warmly.

  “Where’s Dad?” Alex asked.

  “In the kitchen pretending not to watch football,” his mother said, casting a sly look over her shoulder.

  Alex followed the delicious scents down the hall and into the kitchen. Michael Shannon Sr.’s large frame was bent over the oven door, one hand gloved with an oven mitt while the other held the turkey baster, poised over the perfectly browned bird.

  “Another fifteen minutes and this baby will be ready to come out.” Michael eased the turkey back into the oven and swung the door closed.

  “Good news. I’m starving.”

  “Can I get you a beer, son?” His father’s ensuing smile was wide.

  “Absolutely.”

  Michael grabbed a bottle from the fridge. Then he froze in midstride, staring at the television as the Detroit Lions completed a long pass downfield. The crowd cheered silently, the volume turned all of the way down in a vain attempt to avoid detection. His fingers still gripped the bottle cap he had not yet twisted off.

  “Need help with that?” Alex asked, gesturing toward the beer.

  “Huh? Oh, this?” He grinned at his son. With a quick twist of his hand, he removed the cap and handed the bottle to Alex. “You know your mother doesn’t like it when I watch football before dinner on Thanksgiving.”

  “Hate to burst your bubble, Dad, but I think she already knows.” Alex’s smile was wry.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you doing?”

  “Busy. You know how it is.”

  Michael nodded slowly as his eyes studied Alex’s face. He took a sip of his beer. “I heard about the Watson girl. Tough break. How is Abby?”

  Alex averted his gaze, directing his stare out the window toward the garden. His hand gripped the bottle as he took a long sip. The last thing he wanted to do was to talk about the case. As hard as he tried, he hadn’t been able to get Abby out of his head.

  “Sometimes things don’t work out the way you plan.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  Alex inclined his head to one side and shrugged. The concern in his father’s voice was apparent.

  “We’re still looking for the son of a bitch that killed her.”

  “Any leads?”

  “Hunches. Nothing solid yet.” Alex took a long pull from his beer bottle.

  “Hell of a thing.” Michael shook his head slowly and paused, measuring his words. “You know, sometimes I wish you’d gone to art school, taught school—done anything but join the force.”

  His father’s look was serious, and Alex knew if anyone understood the indelible images that you carried around in your he
ad, it was his father. Alex was certain that, after spending a career as a firefighter, his father had memories he wished he could erase.

  “Art school?” Alex’s smile was wan. “And do what? Paint houses, maybe business signs? Seems kind of trivial.”

  “Sometimes that’s not such a bad thing. One thing’s for damn sure: you wouldn’t be digging dead girls out of the snow.”

  Alex did not respond. What was there to say? There was no arguing with his father, particularly when faced with such a crushing blow. The Watson family would never be the same, and the sadistic bastard who had killed their youngest daughter remained at large. But this certainly wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now. There would be plenty of time to obsess about Jerry Honeywell’s whereabouts in the days to come.

  “So what have you been up to?” he asked his father at length. Michael’s grin was lopsided.

  “Your mother has me busy digging up the backyard.” He gestured over his shoulder with a shrug.

  “Again? What’s she doing now?” Alex peered out the window toward the garden.

  “She’s decided she wants a fountain over in the corner near the cherry tree.”

  “Of course she does.” Alex smiled, and Michael rolled his eyes.

  “It’s always something.”

  “What are you complaining about?” Becky asked as she breezed into the kitchen.

  “Nothing, dear.” Michael tipped Alex a furtive wink.

  “What’s the score?”

  Alex grinned at the sheepish expression on his father’s face.

  “The Lions are up by seven.”

  “Hope they can hold on. They’ve been dying in the fourth quarter,” Becky said as she opened the refrigerator. Michael’s face looked stricken.

  “Why do you have to go and say things like that? They could go all the way this year.”

  “Uh-huh.” she met Alex’s warm gaze, her eyes twinkling. “Honey, Jill’s here. She looks like she could use a glass of wine.” Pouring some Chardonnay into a glass, she handed it to Alex.

  Jill stood in the living room by the fireplace. A smile parted her lips as he entered the room. Her eyes broadcast silent thanks as she took the glass from his hands.