Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
She studied the papers affixed to the fridge with magnets, searching for photos of mother and daughter.
Although, who printed photos anymore? On the way back from securing the search warrant, Gretchen confessed that she, too, had wondered if, somehow, Cassidy Schwarber was Turner’s daughter.
They’d debated calling or texting Turner to ask if his Cassidy lived at this address with her mother and used her mother’s last name but decided to wait until they had more information.
Dani’s driver’s license had come right up in their database.
She was forty-four. In her photo, brown eyes stared at the camera, emotionless.
Her sandy hair framed her face in a pixie cut.
Sixteen-year-old Cassidy Schwarber didn’t have a driver’s license or even a state ID, though she wasn’t required to have one at her age.
Out of curiosity, Josie had searched for Cassidy Turner, but nothing came up.
She hadn’t found anything on social media though usernames didn’t always match people’s actual names.
There were no photos on the fridge. Only a few takeout menus, a brochure for a nearby yoga place, a flyer about the Balloons and Tunes Festival and another for Denton East High’s annual art show that had taken place in June before school ended.
Was Cassidy in the art program there? Did Wren know her?
Was Wren’s work featured in the art show?
The thought that it had been, and Wren hadn’t told her and Noah chafed, but Josie had no time to consider it.
“This is at least two days old,” Gretchen said, peering into a pot on the stove. “Maybe longer.”
Josie peered over her shoulder to see what she assumed was some kind of soup.
The fat in the broth had risen to the top and congealed into a gelatinous blob.
A ladle was discarded on the counter nearby.
On the table, as Craig had said, were two empty ceramic soup bowls.
Pristine spoons lay on folded napkins next to each one.
In the middle of the table was a large salad bowl with wilted lettuce and other spoiled vegetables.
Several flies had made their way into the kitchen through the open door.
Josie was used to seeing them and other insects at crime scenes, but they were usually there to feast on the human remains.
These flies buzzed lazily over the salad, occasionally landing on a limp piece of lettuce or a slimy cucumber slice long enough to perform their vile little regurgitation ritual.
Near the edge of the countertop, two cell phones had been placed side by side. They were lined up too neatly. Who dropped their phones on the kitchen counter in perfect alignment?
“Let’s check out the living room,” Gretchen said, moving past her.
The next room was large, easily three times as big as the kitchen, almost as if the homeowner had combined two rooms into one.
Bookshelves lined every wall. A large couch, two puffy recliners and a beanbag chair surrounded the coffee table Earl Craig had mentioned.
It was a light birch, matching the hardwood floors that peeked out from beneath the cream-colored area rug.
One sharp corner had dried blood on it. It was a small amount, no more than a blotch.
A half-dozen drops had dried in the threads of the carpet where they’d faded to a rust color.
More evidence that Dani and Cassidy Schwarber had been gone for two or more days.
“Over here,” said Gretchen.
Josie joined her near the front door. Just as Conlen had told them, several black-red, white-edged camellias lay on the carpet to the right of the door. They were crumpled, the stems broken.
A mother and her teenage daughter.
The same type of mysterious flowers left behind.
It couldn’t be a coincidence, but what did it mean that Maxine and Haven Barnes had been smothered in their beds, and Dani and Cassidy Schwarber were missing?
Josie looked up to see that Gretchen had already moved on, walking slowly as she studied the crammed bookshelves. She stopped suddenly, putting on her reading glasses and leaning in until her chin almost touched the shelf.
“Well, this isn’t good,” said Gretchen, beckoning to Josie.
One glimpse of the framed photograph Gretchen was peering at and the tightness in her chest multiplied.
The photo was likely a year or two old but there was no mistaking that the teenage girl standing next to Dani Schwarber in front of Niagara Falls was the same girl who’d shown up at the stationhouse a month ago and demanded to know where to find her father.
Kyle Turner’s daughter.