CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the conference room, Bree waited for the last parent in tonight’s queue. Over the past few hours, she’d met with the families of five missing girls. So far, she had two additional names to send to the ME’s office, girls who had been missing for the right approximate time. In the next room, Matt was finishing up with another couple. At nearly nine o’clock, the lobby was finally empty.
A deputy ushered a man and woman in their forties to the open doorway. Bree’s belly knotted, her gaze riveted on the woman, small, slender, and blonde.
Just like Ally Swanson.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered with thick, jet-black hair. “I’m Ronald Bitten, and this is my wife, Miranda.” Mr. Bitten herded his wife with one hand on her back.
Bree stood and gestured toward the empty chairs facing her desk. “How can I help you?”
Mrs. Bitten eased into a chair as if her entire body hurt. She sat stiffly, clutching her purse on her lap like a life ring.
Her husband waited for her to be seated before taking the chair next to her. He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “Our daughter, Trish, went missing the first week of January after attending a special winter college class.”
“How old is Trish?” Bree asked.
“Eighteen.” Mrs. Bitten pulled a photo from her purse. With shaking hands, she held it across the desk.
Bree stood to retrieve it. She schooled her face to show nothing, even though her stomach went hollow as she took in the picture. The tiny blonde girl bore a startling resemblance to Ally Swanson.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Bree set the photo on her desk.
Mrs. Bitten’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
With a quick frown, her husband spoke for her. “Trish attended class from about eight in the morning until noon. No one has seen her since.”
“Have you reported her missing?” Bree asked.
Anger flashed in Mr. Bitten’s eyes. “Of course we did!” He stopped, raised a hand, then took a breath. “I’m sorry.” He composed himself. “We filled out a report with the Scarlet Falls police. They’ve found no sign of foul play, whatever that means, but they haven’t found our daughter either. They say they’re still investigating, but we haven’t had an update from them in weeks.”
Mrs. Bitten began to cry. Her husband’s face reddened. Was he embarrassed that his wife was breaking down?
“Calm down, Miranda,” her husband chastised.
His wife didn’t object, but Bree resented his commanding and condescending tone for her.
Mrs. Bitten’s breaths came faster until she was nearly wheezing. Bree left the office to grab a paper bag and a bottle of water from the break room. Returning, she opened the bag and handed it to Mrs. Bitten. “Breathe into this.”
Her husband held the bag for her. “I told you to stay home tonight,” he said in a sharp tone.
Bree bristled. He sounded angry his wife hadn’t obeyed.
Mrs. Bitten shot her husband a resentful look. She snatched the bag out of his hand and leaned back out of his reach. She breathed into the bag. After her breaths smoothed out, she lowered the bag to her lap. “Thank you,” she said to Bree.
“It’s been a long night.” Bree handed her the bottle of water. The woman twisted off the cap and took a small sip.
“Miranda isn’t strong.” Her husband crossed his arms over his chest. “She should be resting.”
“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Bitten hiccuped. “I’ll be all right in a moment. I can’t just sit home—and wait. I need to do something.”
“There’s no reason to be sorry.” Bree returned to her seat. “You’re not the only parent to break down this evening. It’s perfectly understandable.” She shifted her gaze to the husband. “And perfectly normal.”
Mr. Bitten’s mouth flattened into a solid, disapproving line. Had he caught the implication that his overly controlled manner was less than normal? Bree didn’t care. Her heart broke for his poor wife.
Mrs. Bitten lowered the water bottle. “The police never even found Trish’s car. How can a girl and a car just disappear?”
Bree could think of twenty ways, but she didn’t list them. “How was the weather the day Trish went missing?”
Mr. Bitten answered before his wife could speak. “Cold. It was January.”
Bree bit back a retort. For all she knew, Mr. Bitten’s overbearing behavior was his coping mechanism for a situation that was out of his control. She would reserve judgment, even if his manner was abrasive. In a controlled tone, she asked, “Was it icy? Raining? Snowing?”
He shook his head. “Cold and clear.”
An accident was still possible. Even when the streets were relatively clear in town, rural roads could have icy patches. Snow melted, ran onto roadways, and refroze into black ice. Cars went off roads into ditches, down slopes, and into lakes. Sometimes they didn’t show up until spring. They could stay underwater or in ravines—undetected—for years.
Bree would get all the investigative details from the original police report. “I will pull the report and send it to the medical examiner. She has dental and medical records on file?”
“Yes.” Mr. Bitten nodded sharply.
Bree folded her hands on her desk. “Then the ME should be able to tell if Trish is one of the victims.”
Mr. Bitten gave her a cell phone number. “How long? How long do we have to wait?”
Bree couldn’t make promises, but these people had been waiting for months. “I’ll contact you tomorrow whether or not I have an answer.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Bitten’s tone softened. “We haven’t had many of those recently.” He rose to his feet and offered his wife his hand. After a brief pause, she took it, leaning into him. The tension between them eased.
Bree reminded herself that this couple had been under enormous stress for months. They were bound to have conflicts.
“I’m sorry this happened to you.” Bree stood.
“I know you are, but it doesn’t change anything.” He wrapped an arm around his wife and led her out.
They were going to have another long night and, Bree feared, an even worse tomorrow.
Weary, she gathered her files and stuffed them into her messenger bag. Matt met her at the exit, looking as troubled as she felt. He carried an accordion folder under his arm. In the SUV, he said, “Well, that was heart-crushing.”
“Completely.” She turned toward home. “I wanted to stay late, but I also really need to see the kids. And not on a screen.” She had missed Kayla’s bedtime for the second night in a row.
“Same.” He patted his folder. “We can work from home later.”
What would it be like to have a normal job and leave work at the office?
They arrived home to find Dana in the kitchen, making tea. “I saw you on TV and assumed neither of you ate dinner.”
“That would be correct.” Bree shed her jacket and boots at the back door. Brody greeted them politely. Ladybug slammed Bree in the knees. The rescue loved hard. After giving the dog some scratches, Bree stopped to rub the cat’s head. Purring, Vader watched with smug amusement as Matt carried his boots into the laundry room and set them on a high shelf.
“What’s up with your boots?” Dana retrieved leftovers from the fridge.
Bree turned on the faucet and lathered up her hands. “Vader left Matt a message in the form of a hairball.”
“Ah. Cats.” Dana took two bowls out of the cabinet and spooned pasta into them. She stopped and studied the cat for a few seconds. “Sorry, Matt, but the cat is projecting challenge accepted.”
Matt sighed. “Let’s hope not. My new boots won’t get here until tomorrow.”
“You should have ordered extras.” Dana nuked a bowl and gestured toward the laundry room with a wooden spoon. “Did you cover them?”
Matt’s brown knitted. “No.”
Dana pulled a chunk of fresh parmesan from the fridge. “You should.”
Matt gave the cat a look, then backtracked to the laundry room for a minute. When he returned, he washed his hands in the sink. “Anyone else want coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Bree dried her hands. “I’m going to go up to check in on the kids.” She took the steps two at a time, her sock-clad feet silent on the hardwood. Ladybug followed, practically Velcroed to Bree’s legs. Kayla’s room was dark, the door pulled almost closed. Bree touched the wood, opening it a few more inches.
Sheets rustled. “Aunt Bree?”
Bree stepped into the room. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t.” Kayla sat up and turned on the light on her nightstand. Ladybug jumped up and stretched out, her big head in the little girl’s lap.
Bree sat on the edge of the bed and hugged Kayla. Her hair smelled like detangling spray. “How was your day?”
“Good. I want to ride Pumpkin in the 4-H show. Can I?”
“Sure. When is it?”
“In two weeks.”
“I’ll mark the calendar, but you have some work to do. The pasture is muddy, and your pony loves to roll.”
Kayla giggled. “Not as much as Beast, but I still make a dust cloud when I pat him. Will you help?”
“Of course,” Bree said, but guilt nagged at her. Would she have time? The murder investigation would consume her days and nights until she caught the killer.
Hopefully, she’d solve the case before two weeks was up. If not, she’d make time.
You cannot work 24/7.
Kayla yawned.
Bree glanced at the bedside clock. “You’d better get to sleep. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Kayla snuggled into her covers. “I’m glad you came home in time to say good night. I don’t like going to bed without seeing you.”
“Me neither.” Bree tucked the comforter around the little girl. “Good night.”
When Bree left the room, the dog stayed behind. She went to Luke’s room next. His door was open. He sprawled on the bed, dozing over a book.
Bree knocked on his door. “Hey.”
His head jerked up. Rubbing his eyes, he said, “Hey.”
Bree leaned on the doorframe. “Whatcha reading?”
He lifted the book. “Hamlet.”
Bree grimaced. “That’s tough reading when you’re tired.”
“Yeah.” He blinked hard, as if to clear his vision. “Glad you stopped by. I was almost asleep.”
“I’ll let you finish.” She straightened. “Want hot chocolate or something?”
“Nah. I’m almost done.” Luke yawned. “I still have to do barn check.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Thanks.”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. The horses settle me.”
“I get that.” Luke met her gaze.
Bree wondered if their connection to the animals was genetic, or because they both felt close to Erin in the barn. Whatever it was, they shared it. “Good night.”
“Night.” Luke stretched his long arms and broad shoulders. He’d grown several inches in the past year. He’d matured too. His mother’s death had thrust him into adulthood. He was more man now than boy.
And her sister was missing it all. Just like she’d miss taking him to his first play. Sadness flooded Bree, but it didn’t last. Erin would be happy that Bree was stepping into her boots. Before Erin’s death, Bree had never imagined a domestic life. She’d assumed she’d investigate murders until she retired. Like Dana, Bree had never had a plan for afterward.
“Night. Love you.” Bree had made it a habit to say she loved them every single day, and the kids had picked it up. They all knew that tomorrow was not guaranteed.
“Love you too.” Luke turned his attention back to his book.
She changed into sweats and returned to the kitchen. Matt was already digging into a bowl of pasta. Bree sat next to him. Dana carried a cup of tea to the table. Bree wasn’t hungry but ate anyway. Afterward, she and Matt went down to the barn. Large bodies shifted. Big heads popped over half doors. The biggest horse in the barn—the biggest horse Bree had ever seen—Beast—nickered. Steam plumbed from his nostrils.
“I’m coming, you big baby. Move over.” Giving the horse a nudge, Matt slipped into the stall.
After she’d finished checking hay and water, Bree ducked into her paint gelding’s stall. Cowboy had been Erin’s horse, and being with him gave Bree peace. She absorbed his calm for ten minutes before returning to the house and the murder investigation.
Matt carried mugs of coffee into the home office, where they typed and compared the statements from the evening’s parental interviews. An hour later, Matt scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve worked on missing kid cases in the past. I always felt horrible for the parents, but now just the thought of either Luke or Kayla not coming home from work or school ...” He paused, staring out the window. “Makes me feel physically sick.”
“Me too.” Bree didn’t think she could survive it—and she was the ultimate survivor. “Raising them has made me a different person.”
“Living with them has changed me too, for the better. I have more ...” He snapped his fingers. “I want to say sympathy, but that isn’t the right word.”
Bree knew exactly what he meant. “Empathy.”
“That’s it. I could always feel awful for people who suffered violence and tragedy, but now I understand how they feel so much more deeply. The kids have made me a better person.”
“Enough to endure having a cat puke in your boots?”
“Even that.” He laughed. “Though I intend to find a safer place for my footwear until Vader works through his issues.”
Bree didn’t tell him cats didn’t work through the issues. Humans did. She tucked her reports and laptop back into her bag. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be rough.”
They’d sent four names to the medical examiner’s office. Would any of them match the remains?
Matt packed up his paperwork. “It’s ironic. We don’t want any of those girls to be dead. We don’t want to have to notify any of the parents. But we still need the names of the victims to go after their killer.”
Each of the victims was someone’s child, wife, daughter, and every notification would shatter hearts.