Because Of A Girl

CHAPTER TWO

THE DOORBELL PRODUCED a bong deep inside the house. Waiting on the wide front porch, Jack breathed in crisp air that tasted more of winter than spring as he checked out the front yard crowded with giant shrubs surrounding a lawn that really needed mowing. The lilacs he recognized, though they wouldn’t be blooming for a good while. March in eastern Washington could feel like spring one day and pound you with a snowstorm the next.

Then he focused on the handsome old door with an oval insert of beveled glass veiled with a lace curtain. He had to ask himself again why he was here. Yes, he had cleared his most urgent case Friday night, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still follow-up he hadn’t finished this weekend, not to mention the reports he had to write. Plus other investigations that had been put on the back burner.

But damned if he hadn’t raised a hand this morning, feeling like a good little boy in a third-grade classroom, and said, “I heard the beginning of this drama. I’ll handle it.”

Nobody argued, and why would they? They all had too much to do and not enough time to do it. The lieutenant had written his name on the whiteboard where they tracked who was working on what, and Jack started gathering details not so different from what the woman had claimed Friday and in her second attempt to file a report on Sunday, but more worrisome.

The sound of footsteps was followed by a lock disengaging. The door opened a cautious crack, letting him see the woman within, every bit as hot as he’d remembered. The snug, faded jeans she wore gave him a better look at long legs and curvaceous hips. She had a redhead’s skin with a scattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Cinnamon and cream.

And, damn it, he needed to quit looking.

“Mrs. Harper?”

“It’s Ms.”

Which meant...what? She was divorced? Had never been married?

Irrelevant.

He pushed back his shirt to expose the badge hooked on his belt. “I’m Detective Jack Moore with Frenchman Lake Police Department. I’d like to talk to you about Sabra Lee.”

Meg Harper’s face lit with relief. “But I’ve been told twice—oh, never mind. Come in. Please.” She stepped back.

As was his habit, he scanned entry, stairs, the hall that led to the back of the house and what he could see of a room to the left that should have been a dining room but appeared to be in use as...some kind of sewing room? The living room was visible through a wide opening to the right. No other people, and he heard only quiet. The place was warm and homey. It took a second look for him to see how shabby it was, too. Scratched and scuffed floors, missing balusters on the staircase railing making him think of the gaps in a five-year-old’s smile. The ceilings had to be ten feet high, which must make the place a bitch to heat.

The cushions on the sofa in the living room sagged, the wooden rocker she went to needed refinishing and the carved fireplace mantel might really be something if someone took the time to strip off the thick accumulation of paint. The house was clean enough, though, what he could see of it.

The brightest note in the living room was a large wool rug in ruby red with gamboling white sheep and—yeah, a sheepdog in one corner. He had to resist a smile at the humor of the design. Half a dozen pillows on the sofa were done with the same technique, too, he saw, each individual and interesting although he didn’t allow himself to look closely.

“Please, sit down,” Ms. Harper urged him, plunking down in the rocking chair.

As she clearly expected him to take the sofa, he chose one end. His ass settled into a sinkhole. Getting back up might be a problem.

“Oh!” She bounced back to her feet. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Not now, but thank you.”

Expression dimming, she sank back down and waited.

He removed a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “I heard some of what you told Sergeant Todd Friday, but I’d appreciate it if you’d start from the beginning for my benefit.”

She absorbed his words, suspicion appearing belatedly. He wondered if she had any idea how expressive that girl-next-door face was.

“Yes, but...he wouldn’t even take a report. And they still wouldn’t Sunday. I don’t understand why you’re here.”

“Mr. Rivera gave us a call this morning to express his concern.” Rivera was the high school principal, and some of the concern he’d expressed had to do with this woman.

“Oh, I’m glad. Well. Did he explain why Sabra is living here rather than with her own mother?”

“I gathered that they clashed over her pregnancy.”

“Clashed?” Ms. Harper gave a funny laugh. “I suppose the pregnancy is at the root of it, but I think they’d been going at it longer than that. Mrs. Lee threw her out of the house.”

Jack frowned. “Literally?”

“I can’t tell you whether there was any physical contact. Mrs. Lee did lock Sabra out and then dumped her clothes and school bag on the front lawn. My daughter, Emily, helped her gather everything.”

“How long ago was this?”

She seemed to count. “Six weeks? More or less.”

“Have you communicated with Mrs. Lee?”

“Yes, repeatedly. She’s...fine with Sabra living here.”

“Fine?” he echoed. That was a word that covered a lot of territory.

“She didn’t understand why I’d want her, but she supposed Sabra was lucky to have found a place to roost.” Ms. Harper’s tone was understandably dry. “I...called a few times to keep her updated, but she is unwilling to consider counseling and seems to have no interest in Sabra returning home.”

“Do you have any kind of written contract? Or is DSHS involved?” He assumed she did know the Department of Social and Health Services oversaw the foster care system.

Now Ms. Harper looked wary. “No, so far it’s been informal. Honestly, I assumed at first that she’d only be with us for a week or two at the most. But since her mother hasn’t relented, I’ve let the school know the situation, and the teachers seem willing to talk to me when she has issues.”

“The administration must be in something of a bind, considering you don’t have legal custody,” he suggested.

“Is that what their problem is?” Temper kindled in her hazel eyes. “It’s been so frustrating. Bureaucracy in action. We’d have had a lot better chance of finding her if they’d let me know right away that she was noted as absent in her first class. But, no, what do they do but have that annoying robo-call go to Sabra’s mother, who told me the last time that she was just going to ignore them from now on. There isn’t a soul in the front office who doesn’t know Sabra lives here.”

“Mr. Rivera did indicate to me that he is uneasy with this type of placement. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t call DSHS this morning.”

Her mouth fell open. “He’s reporting me to Child Protective Services? Like I did something wrong? Is that what you’re saying?” She appeared genuinely bewildered.

“I can’t speak for what he will or won’t do.” Yeah, that was mealymouthed as hell, but Jack didn’t want to get diverted from the real issue here: a very pregnant fifteen-year-old girl was missing, and despite Ms. Harper’s claim to have dropped her off in front of the school, none of the staff in the office had seen Sabra, Ms. Harper or her gaudily painted Volkswagen van.

As one of the secretaries put it, “You can’t help but look up when that van pulls up to the curb! It makes me think of the 1960s. The Grateful Dead and all that.”

He had yet to see the van, likely parked in the detached garage.

“That’s unbelievably insulting.” Bewilderment had matured into temper. Steam was all but shooting out of Ms. Harper’s ears. “All I’ve done is offer a home and...and supervision to a girl whose own mother booted her out. What should I have done, let her start rooting in Dumpsters downtown for something to eat?”

“Is the mother paying you to take care of her daughter?”

“She hasn’t offered.” She bristled. “And I don’t need the help.”

Pride went only so far, but he didn’t say so.

“It might have been a good idea to give DSHS a call and explain that you’re willing to keep the girl but need to have some legal authority,” he said mildly.

“I didn’t think I’d need—” Her shoulders sagged. “I suppose I would have called when she went into labor.”

“Or even at her next prenatal doctor visit.”

“I took her to that, and nobody said anything.”

“Did they realize she was no longer living at home?”

Her lips tightened mutinously, which made her look even younger than she probably was.

What kind of flake was this woman? And why had he let himself get diverted again?

Physically, she pushed his buttons, but she was pushing other buttons, too, ones that flashed a warning red. Just as well, since he was investigating her.

“Let’s focus on Friday,” he suggested, and watched her turn wary.

* * *

TO THINK SHE’D been glad to see this guy on her doorstep. Meg had even, at first sight, found him...appealing. Sexy, a word that rarely to never crossed her mind.

And, yeah, he was tall, lean and broad-shouldered, with a bony face, light brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes. Which might have added up to sexy for a woman who was into the expressionless military/cop look: hair worn too short, face impassive, eyes watchful and a gun plastered to his hip. What was he going to do, shoot her if he wasn’t satisfied with her answers to his questions?

It was bad enough that he clearly thought she’d done something wrong when she took in a teenager who needed someplace to stay. But once she figured out that he didn’t believe she’d ever driven Sabra to school, that he thought she had something to do with the girl’s disappearance, any belief that he was here to help evaporated. “You seriously think the school secretary notices every single vehicle that pulls up in front? Even when she’s on the phone or talking to a parent or student or, hey, making a copy or sticking her head into the principal’s office?”

No change registered on that face. “It would be good if we could find someone who saw you. Anyone at all. Another parent, a student...? You say you arrived approximately five minutes before the bell rang.”

How was it that she could hear his doubt even when his voice remained neutral?

“Yes.”

“Aren’t there usually other last-minute arrivals? Did you notice any students crossing the parking lot? Another car coming or going? A late bus unloading?”

“I didn’t, but I was preoccupied. I admit—I was a little annoyed I’d had to drive her. I wanted to get home. I’ve driven Emily to school often enough. It’s not like there’s anything new to see. I paid attention to traffic. That’s all.”

“And there wasn’t any.”

“I didn’t even look toward the parking lot. In the drop-off lane, no. I worried she’d be late, but, according to my watch, she should have had time to make it to class if she hustled.”

“I see.” He didn’t immediately say anything else. Instead, he watched her until she wanted to squirm. But no way would she give him the satisfaction.

She kept her hands folded on her lap and gazed back at him as if she didn’t have a reason in the world to be anxious or mad. Of course, now she probably looked as intelligent as a cow placidly chewing its cud.

Finally, he stirred. “Ms. Harper, how do you think she managed to vanish somewhere between the curb and the school entrance? That can’t be more than twenty, twenty-five yards. There are a couple of spindly little trees in planters, but I don’t see her hiding behind one of them.”

Guilt clogged her throat. “I think she had a plan.” And how she hated knowing she’d been played. “The minute I drove away, she must have gone to a car in the parking lot. Somebody was waiting for her.”

“What if you’d seen her and gone back?”

Meg hesitated. “I’d have been exasperated because she was risking being late, but I don’t know if I would have gone back even if I’d noticed her heading into the parking lot. I’d have assumed she’d spotted a friend arriving and was going to meet her.”

His eyebrows climbed. “Her?”

“Or him.” Fuming, she exclaimed, “What’s the point of this? I didn’t look back. I wish I had, but I didn’t. If I had the slightest idea what happened to her, I’d tell you. All I want is Sabra to be home, safe.” Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

His gaze seemed to drill a hole in her, as if he thought he could see beneath her lies to where she’d buried the body. But at last he nodded.

“I’m headed over to the school. I’d like to speak to your daughter. Do I have your consent?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what she can tell you. She’s helped me call every friend she can think of. Emily is really scared.”

“Scared?” Those damn eyebrows were the only expressive part of his face. “That’s an interesting choice of words. Why would she be scared? Does she have reason to think Sabra was taken against her will?”

Meg’s shoulders sagged. “No. Of course not. It’s just that they’re good friends. Emily can’t believe Sabra wouldn’t have told her if she’d intended to take off. She said...” She had to swallow. “She thought Sabra trusted her.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, appearing, for an instant, genuinely reflective. “Is it possible Sabra did? And that your daughter thinks she’s living up to that trust?”

“No.” Despite their recent conflict, she knew Emily. “I’d have been able to tell if she was lying about something that big. She’s...not that good at it. We’ve had a little more tension between us lately, but we’ve always been close. She really thought I’d let Sabra stay home.”

“I’d still like to talk to her.”

What could she do but consent? She dipped her head. Maybe she’d been kidding herself and he would succeed in worming something out of Emily with his Guantánamo Bay interrogation tactics.

“I understand a nine-one-one call was made this past week bringing an officer out to your home to investigate a loud altercation.”

Meg’s cheeks flamed. He knew about that. Of course he knew. He’d have looked her up before he came here this morning. She’d been humiliated enough, but she hadn’t let herself realize how the “altercation” would look now.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. He really thinks I could have hurt or even killed Sabra.

“Emily and Sabra were caught at a party some officers broke up,” she said, voice thin. “I thought they were at a friend’s. I had to go pick them up. They were...not falling-down drunk but inebriated. I never yell, but... I guess I must have.” Oh, who was she kidding? Of course she had yelled. And the witch next door had called the cops.

“I see.” Still with that poker face, he studied her. “Have you looked at Sabra’s room to get an idea what she actually took with her Friday morning?”

Meg blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “She only had a small backpack. How much could she have packed?”

“Are you sure it held books?”

She hesitated, trying to picture it, but she couldn’t. Sabra had clutched it rather than slinging it over her shoulder when she got out of the car, and Meg hadn’t noticed the shape when it sat on the van floor by Sabra’s feet. Galvanized, she jumped to her feet. “No. The girls share, and I think Emily would have said if it was obvious stuff was missing, but...”

He nodded and rose to his feet, too. “Do you mind if I take a look at her room?”

“No.” She hurried to the stairs, aware of him mounting them right behind her.

The girls’ bedroom door was shut. Meg usually allowed them their privacy, but now she walked in without hesitation.

Bedcovers were flung aside. Clothes were strewn everywhere: on the floor, over chairs, wadded on the single dresser, hanging out of the wicker hamper. Meg didn’t allow herself to look at the detective for fear she’d see disdain. For a moment, she scanned the room helplessly. Amid this mess, how could she tell what Sabra might have taken?

“If she packed clothes, then her schoolbooks have to be here somewhere,” she said, thinking aloud.

Meg didn’t see either Sabra’s iPod or phone, but she always had those with her. She didn’t see a charger, either, but the girls might have both been using Emily’s.

Detective Moore went to the closet. Meg dropped down on her hands and knees to peer under the bed, wincing at the dust bunnies sharing space with a couple of stray socks, a CD case, a dirty plate, candy wrappings and a bra that looked like it might have crawled under there. No books or binder.

When she pushed herself to her feet, she saw that he’d been watching her, something different about his face. Had he been checking her out? Right this minute, she was too stirred up to care.

He turned back to the closet, and she began yanking open dresser drawers. The contents of the top one seemed skimpy, but given the quantity of clothes that were dirty or had never been put away after being laundered, that was hardly a surprise. The second drawer was full, but when she picked up a couple of garments, she saw that they were things Sabra wasn’t able to wear right now. Her maternity wardrobe was limited.

Third drawer...was heavy. Too heavy. Heart sinking, Meg crouched to tug it open. Then she stared, aghast, at the pile of textbooks and a binder. And, oh no, there was her calculator.

Meg didn’t move.

Her very stillness must have caught the detective’s attention. He crossed the room and looked over her shoulder. “Well, we know what she didn’t take with her.”

“She ran away.”

“Appears that way,” he agreed but with an odd note in his voice.

When Meg turned to look at him, she found he was back to watching her...and she had a very bad feeling she knew what he was thinking.

CHAPTER THREE

HOW IN HELL could he be attracted to a woman who reminded him in any way at all of his mother? Driving toward the high school, Jack grappled with atypical bafflement.

Unfortunately, his mother had been at the forefront of his mind since she’d decided to reconnect with the son she had ditched.

He had barely given her a thought in fifteen years or more, until he’d answered his phone three weeks ago to a big surprise. The number wasn’t one he recognized. Given his job, a lot of people had his cell phone number. He hadn’t recognized the area code, either, but these days so many people kept their same phone numbers when they moved across the country, he hadn’t given that a thought.

Until he heard her voice, feminine and yet...rich. Huskier than it had been when he was a boy. “Jack?” She sounded astonished, even awed. “It’s really you?”

The fine hairs on his body had risen.

He’d heard himself say, “Mom?” even as his belly began to churn.

She had probably practiced the speech she delivered then, about how terribly she’d missed him all these years—all twenty-five of them, he hadn’t been able to help thinking—and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and talk to him. To see him.

“To hug you,” she had finished softly.

Rage had roared through him like a forest fire. But blasting her—that would imply he cared.

He didn’t anymore.

So he’d simply ended the call, and declined to answer the other half-dozen times he’d seen her number on the screen of his phone. If she showed up in person... Jack still didn’t know what he’d do. He hoped she’d get the idea that he didn’t want to see her. He surely didn’t want the heartfelt reconciliation she seemed to imagine. He’d rather not even think about the woman who had abandoned him as a kid to “find herself.” Specifically, to become a singer, a career that, as far as he knew, hadn’t made it off the launchpad.

Despite telling himself he didn’t care, Jack harbored a hell of a lot of anger at his mother.

Truth was, she had always been impulsive, fanciful, a brightly colored butterfly. Irresponsible. The polar opposite of his stolid, hardworking father.

And that brought him full circle, back to Meg Harper.

They didn’t look anything alike. He wasn’t twisted enough to be physically drawn to a woman who bore the slightest resemblance to his mother.

In other ways... He had no idea what Meg did for a living, but he was willing to bet it was unconventional. But the qualities that had him on edge were more intangible than a profession. The VW bus he had yet to see that was painted in psychedelic designs. Her clothes, not outrageous but subtly standing out. The bright, playful rugs and pillows nobody could call practical. In the snapshots of his mother he could easily summon, she was wearing colorful, swirly clothes, her blond curls unrestrained. He’d never had trouble tracking her down in the house because she was always singing, whatever else she was doing.

Solid, suspicious, conservative in his thinking, he was more like his father than he could ever be like his mother. So he didn’t get why he had responded the way he had to Meg Harper’s comfortable, casual home, or why that silly rug had struck a chord with him. It had to be the small part of him that was his mother’s son, who remembered a time when his own home hadn’t been so sterile.

He swore under his breath.

So, okay, Meg had stuck around to raise her child, more than his mother had done. Because of that, he’d give her the benefit of the doubt—but his fantasies of getting her into bed weren’t happening. Not my type. He’d continue telling himself that. Fortunately, the anger his mother’s repeated phone calls kept simmering was a good reminder to maintain his distance from Ms. Harper.

Thank God he was at the high school, where he could refocus on doing his job.

* * *

THE GANGLY KID glared at Jack. “We used to have a thing. It’s been a long time. Since school started.”

“That would be...about six months.”

Asher Wright got his point, no problem. “It’s not my kid.”

The principal had allowed Jack to borrow a small conference room to meet with students. Sabra’s former boyfriend was the first sent in to talk to him. He had been able to reach the boy’s mother, who had given permission for this interview. Jack sat on one side of the table, Asher on the other.

“And how do you know that?” Jack asked. “Because she told you it wasn’t yours? You sure you want to take her word for it?”

The boy’s eyes darted this way and that. A flush crept up his neck and mantled his cheeks. “Because we never did it,” he mumbled at last. “So it can’t be, okay?”

“You never had sex with Sabra Lee.”

“No! I mean, people thought we were, because, you know, I never said.” The poor kid was fire-engine red now. “But I didn’t. She was my first girlfriend, and...” He trailed off.

How well Jack remembered that painful stage. The guys swaggered when no girls were present, some claiming they got it all the time, most of them at least implying sex was no longer a mystery to them. Even though kids seemed to be having sex earlier than they used to, he bet the majority of freshmen and even sophomores were still lying through their teeth, especially in a town like Frenchman Lake surrounded by a rural county.

Inclined to believe the boy, he crossed his arms and studied Asher. “Do you know when Sabra started seeing someone else?”

“When school started. We hung out all summer, but the minute we were back, she started making excuses. I said what’s going on, and she said nothing, but I could tell. I got mad, and she said what she did wasn’t any of my business.” Indignation rang in his voice. “So that was it,” he concluded with a shrug, but his face twisted at the memory. Either because he really had liked her or because he’d been humiliated. Maybe both.