Chapter 14
Penny Arnold parked in the driveway and just sat.
Exhaustion clawed at her. She couldn’t remember ever being this tired.
Through the arched window adorning the front wall of her living room she could see her sweet boys on the couch. Her husband would be hidden away in their bedroom frantically wrapping the last of the Christmas presents. A job that was to have been Penny’s.
He was angry with her.
And rightly so.
She’d been gone four whole days and three nights.
It was past six o’clock on Christmas Eve and she was only just now getting home.
Once the kids were in bed the arguing would start in earnest. She didn’t have the energy to fight tonight. But her husband wouldn’t let that stop him.
Her work took up too much of her time. Every argument began with that theme.
What kind of mother allowed her boss to send her to a real estate conference so close to Christmas?
The truth was Penny had volunteered to cover the Phoenix conference. Even more damning, the conference had ended yesterday. Penny had chosen to stay an extra night and day to get in a few career-boosting brownie points with the conference leader.
And to avoid this.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a heavy breath.
Her husband didn’t understand her need to succeed as a Realtor.
Why wasn’t selling a house now and then enough for her?
he would demand. Getting her own agency shouldn’t be her goal.
She had two boys in elementary school. A husband who worked hard and made a sufficient living.
Why couldn’t she be satisfied with her life?
He didn’t understand that she wanted to succeed in her own right. Why was that such a difficult concept to grasp? Penny didn’t want to be like her mother or her younger sister, both of whom relied solely on their husbands.
Penny wanted her financial independence.
She wanted to be her own boss.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her husband to provide for the family—he would throw that in her face, too. Certainly it wasn’t that she didn’t love him and her children. But what in the world was wrong with being successful in addition to being a mother and a wife?
Nothing. There was absolutely nothing wrong with what she wanted. This was the twenty-first century. These days, more women worked than stayed home.
Most families needed dual incomes to survive.
No use putting it off any longer.
Dread welling to a fever pitch, Penny opened the car door and got out. She reached back in for her briefcase and purse, then closed the door. Her luggage would have to wait.
The dread she felt at walking into her own home heaped more guilt onto her already burdened shoulders. Why couldn’t she just be glad to be home and go inside and enjoy a joyous welcome home?
Because she knew what was coming.
“Just get it over with, Penny.” She trudged up the walk, then climbed the four steps.
At the front door she hesitated. An envelope had been tucked into the storm door. She pulled it free, read the name printed on the front. Penny Arnold.
Not handwritten, she realized. The letters spelling her name had been cut from printed material, then pasted onto the envelope.
The dread and guilt morphed into fear. Her pulse started to race. Her hand shook.
Penny dropped her briefcase on the porch and quickly tore open the envelope. She removed the sheet of white paper and unfolded it. Her heart thumped harder and harder with each movement. A piece of folded-up newspaper slipped out, fluttered down to her feet.
She told herself to bend down and pick it up but the words on the page held her frozen.
Pretty, pretty princess. See her smile . . . see her die.
This was . . . like the last one, only the message was different.
Who would send such a statement? Why to her?
She’d thought the last creepy letter was some kind of sick joke someone had misaddressed.
Or the nasty work of her cutthroat competition.
That bitch who owned the Property Shop didn’t think Wiggins was big enough for yet another real estate agency.
Penny wouldn’t put this sort of thing past her.
What did this mean?
Grappling for composure, Penny bent down and picked up the newspaper clipping. She unfolded it and read the headline that had been highlighted.
Cherry Prescott Still Missing
The blood hurtling through her veins turned to ice. Penny couldn’t read the words fast enough . . . a voice in her head kept screaming. No! No! This can’t be real!
The Prescott woman had come to Penny’s office.
Penny had been too busy getting ready for Phoenix to deal with the ridiculous story the woman had been insisting she believed to be the truth.
The encounter had been unnerving. Particularly when Prescott had thrown all those questions at Penny—none of which had made any kind of sense.
Did Penny have dreams about drowning? Did she have a daughter? Had anyone ever called Penny or her daughter a princess?
Penny had been certain the woman was nuts. Not only did she not have a daughter, she hadn’t ever been called anything even remotely close to princess.
. . . until now.
She blinked. Read the headline again. Now Prescott was missing.
Her attention turned to the bizarre letter once more.
What was this all about?
The door suddenly opened. “Mom!” her youngest shouted. “Mom’s home!”
Penny dropped to her knees and hugged her precious children.
The guilt surged once more, diminishing the other emotions.
It was Christmas Eve, she didn’t have time to deal with this now.
She shoved the envelope and its contents into the purse hanging at her side.
Monday she would look into the Prescott thing.
Maybe even talk to the police. If Prescott’s disappearance had anything to do with Penny someone would have called or . . . something.
A couple more days wouldn’t hurt.
It was Christmas, after all.