CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
C HAPTER T HIRTY -F OUR
Renata plucked another weed from the flower bed. Why had she let the yard fall into this state? Sweat trickled down her back, but she didn’t remove the loose shirt she wore over her tank. It concealed her gun, which Claire didn’t need to know she was carrying. Simon Osborne might be on a psych hold, but the sheriff wasn’t convinced he was the one who was after Claire. He didn’t have a single tattoo. While Claire might have been wrong about the details, Renata couldn’t see her imagining the existence of a tat.
So, she would keep her sidearm handy.
Across the patio, Claire knelt on a cushion, pulling weeds from the herb garden. “Is this an herb or a weed?” Claire pointed to a plant that looked like the branch from a miniature Christmas tree.
“That’s rosemary. It’s an herb. Pull off a little piece and smell it.”
Claire pinched a few needles and brought them to her face. She smiled. “Smells good.”
“We can use some of those herbs with dinner,” Renata suggested.
“Really?”
“Sure. There’s basil and oregano. We can make a nice pasta sauce.” Renata wasn’t the best cook, but she could manage the basics. “We used to have fresh vegetables too. Maybe next year we’ll do it again, when Mom’s feeling better. She had the green thumb—and she’s an amazing cook.”
“You said she’s gonna be OK, right?” Claire’s voice trembled.
“Her prognosis is very good.” Renata tried to sound certain. Claire needed the reassurance. They all did.
“I’ve never done much cooking,” Claire said. “My mom—I mean, Shelly Mason—preferred ordering instead of cooking. And Da—Josh—practically lived on smoothies. He was obsessed with his macros.”
“Macros?”
“The percentage of his diet that came from protein, carbs, and fats. He tracked every bite he ate.”
“That sounds ... hard.” Renata was going to say unhealthy , but who was she to judge? She was so addicted to Thin Mints, she bought two dozen boxes every February, froze them, and rationed them out the rest of the year.
Behind them, a door opened and closed. Her mom approached, carrying two tall plastic cups. “I brought you some iced tea.”
“Oh, great!” Renata tugged off her gardening gloves and tossed them onto the patio. She took the cup and chugged. The icy liquid cooled her parched throat. “Thanks! I needed this.”
“Me too.” Claire sipped her drink. Her cheeks were flushed with heat.
Her mom rocked back on her heels and looked over the garden. “You’ve done a great job.” She propped a fist on her hip and got that look on her face, the one that meant she was planning—and Renata had more days of gardening work ahead of her.
“I know that look,” Renata teased.
“I was thinking. We could still have some fall vegetables, not from seeds, of course. We’d have to buy actual plants. Maybe some kale and cabbage. It’s still warm enough for lettuce.”
A smile pulled at Renata’s mouth. “Whatever you want. We can run by the nursery tomorrow.”
“We’ll do it,” her mom decided. “Clip some of those herbs for dinner tonight.”
“Already planned on it.”
Her mom shielded her eyes from the evening sun, then stepped into the shadow of an oak tree. “I wish I could help.”
“You do the planning.” Renata gestured toward Claire. “We’ll do the grunt work.”
“I’m afraid I need a nap.” Her mom turned back toward the house. “But first, I’ll check the freezer and see if we have some of that good ravioli left.” Still talking to herself, she headed back into the house.
Renata said, “That’s the first she’s shown interest in anything in months. She likes you, and I think she’s enjoying having you here.”
Claire pointed to a plant. “Herb or weed?”
“Weed.”
Claire ripped it out by the roots with more violence than necessary. Dirt cascaded from the roots as she tossed it into a bucket. Her voice was barely audible. “I like her too.”
Renata’s heart ached for her. Claire had lost everything she loved. She must be afraid to allow herself to care about anyone.
A pinging sound startled Claire. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Glancing at the screen, she paled.
“Is something wrong?” Renata asked.
“Nothing. Just Denver trying to connect. I’m not sure I’m ready.” She lowered the phone to her lap.
Renata didn’t want to pry, but she also sensed Claire needed someone to talk to. “Can you tell him you need more time?”
Claire lifted the phone and typed with both thumbs. “I’ll try. But he’s worried about his mom.” She glanced back at the house, at the door Renata’s mom had entered. “The same way you’re worried about yours.”
Clearly Claire wasn’t ready to see Pam Sawyer as her own mother yet. Would she ever? There was no way to go back and undo the damage done twelve years ago, and Pam’s substance abuse wouldn’t help. Not that Renata blamed Pam. How did one cope with losing a husband and having a child go missing? The thought was unfathomable. Renata wasn’t going to condemn the woman. But the fact remained that her addition was going to be one more obstacle for the family to overcome in a situation that was already unthinkable.
A twig snapped in the vacant lot, and Renata froze, listening. The tawny bodies of three deer wandered through the trees.
“Claire,” she whispered and pointed.
Claire’s eyes opened wide, and she mouthed, “They’re beautiful.”
They watched in silence until the deer moved on. The back of Renata’s neck itched. Sweat or nerves? Whatever. The deer had put Renata on high alert. “It’s late, and I’m getting hungry, you?”
Claire stood and peeled off her gloves. “Yes. Which herbs do you want?”
Renata reached for a small pair of scissors in her mom’s gardening tote on the patio next to her. She handed them to Claire and pointed out the basil, oregano, and rosemary. “Snip some thyme too. That’s the one with the tiny leaves.”
They took the herbs into the kitchen.
“How can I help?” Claire asked. “I need to keep busy.”
“I’m going to grab a quick shower. Would you wash the herbs and lay them out on a towel to dry?” Renata pointed to the freezer. “One of the neighbors gave us a loaf of french bread last week. We froze half. Would you see if you can find it in the freezer?”
“OK.” Claire turned toward the sink.
While the girl was occupied, Renata took a tour around the house, checking locks and looking out all the windows. The street was clear. She cleaned up and dressed in clean shorts, a tank, and a loose short-sleeve shirt over her weapon.
When she returned to the kitchen, the bread was thawing on the counter next to the drying herbs laid out on a towel. Claire sat on the floor, petting her cat. Chunk purred and rolled onto his back for a belly rub.
Renata laughed. “He looks ridiculous with his feet in the air.”
“He doesn’t care.” Claire looked up. “Are you done in the bathroom?”
“All yours,” Renata said.
“Would it be OK if I took a bath?”
“Sure. Take your time. My mom is still napping. I’m going to chop the herbs and attempt to make my mom’s pound cake.” Renata reached for the box on the counter. No recipe app for her mom. She had a box of recipes handwritten on index cards. “No promises. I am not the baker that she is, and I’m not sure we have all the ingredients. I’ve never made this before, but it’s always been one of my favorites.”
“I don’t need cake,” Claire said. Then she smiled. “But it would be nice.”
“Then wish me luck.”
Claire retreated down the hallway. Renata heard footsteps, then the bathroom door closed and the fan turned on. She imagined Claire soaking in the tub, getting some alone time, maybe crying. She’d been talking about the people she still thought of as her parents. Then the bio brother had texted. All that had to elicit some devastating emotions. The girl needed to decompress.
Renata opened the box and flipped through the well-organized cards. Under the D ESSERTS tab, she found alphabetized recipes and quickly located the pound cake recipe card. Didn’t look too hard. Wow. That’s a lot of butter.
Normally, she’d play music when she cooked or cleaned, but she wanted to be able to hear if her mom or Claire needed her, so she opted for silence. The faint sound of water rushing into the bathtub floated down the hall. The cat watched as she assembled the ingredients and broke out the mixer. She poured the mixture into a loaf pan and checked the preheating oven to see it wasn’t to temperature yet.
Her phone pinged, and she glanced at the screen, surprised to see a text from Adam Taggert. love 2 meet 4 a coffee
She stared at the message. Adam Taggert wanted to have coffee. Was that because he couldn’t afford to buy food? Don’t be a bitch. He was nice with Claire, more than nice. He was empathetic, considerate, and helpful. She remembered what Juarez had said: google him.
A few links took her to a gallery in New York that showcased his paintings. Her eyes popped at the price tags. She nearly dropped her phone. He’d sold one painting for more than she made in five years.
Holy. Shit.
Her mom appeared in the doorway. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Renata shook her head. She explained about Adam. “The thing is, I liked him, but I completely judged him based on him being an artist.”
“You’ve had bad experiences with those.”
“Now I’m thinking of meeting him for coffee. What does that make me? A gold digger? I wasn’t interested when I thought he was broke. Now that I know he’s not, suddenly he’s fine to date. Does that make me shallow?”
“Would you have dated him if he was a gainfully employed electrician?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re not shallow.” Her mom chuckled. “You don’t want to date unemployed men who are using you for free room and board.”
Renata winced. That was exactly what had happened to her in the past.
Her mom continued. “That makes you mature and responsible. There is nothing wrong with wanting the same in a potential partner. Maybe you were a little judgy, but you’ve been burned. It’s understandable.”
Renata frowned.
“Meet the man for coffee,” her mom said.
“Maybe I will.”
“Where’s Claire?” her mom asked.
“Taking a bath.” Renata glanced at the preheating oven. Not to temperature yet.
“I just passed the bathroom. It’s awfully quiet in there.”
Worry bloomed in Renata’s gut. “It hasn’t been that long, but I’ll check on her.”
She wiped her hands and headed down the hall. She pressed an ear to the bathroom door. Nothing. No splashing. No crying.
Renata knocked on the door. “Claire? How much longer are you going to be. I’m about to start dinner.”
No answer sounded from the other side of the door. Stomach knotting, she rapped again. “Claire, are you OK?”
When no one answered, she tried the doorknob. Locked.
Her mom stood at the end of the hallway. “The key’s on the top of the doorframe.”
Rising onto her tiptoes, Renata stretched and swept her fingertips over the top of the doorjamb. She pulled down the interior door key and used it to unlock the door. “Claire, I’m coming in.”
She pushed open the door. Fresh sweat broke out on her lower back, and her heart kicked up a gear. The tub was full of water. A breeze blew through the open window over the toilet, and the room was empty.
“What is it?” her mom asked.
“Claire’s gone.” Renata crossed to the toilet. The organizer tray from the top of the tank that held spare TP and a spray bottle of air freshener had been moved to the vanity. So Claire could climb out. Renata looked out the window. The sun had dropped below the trees, casting the street in long, reaching shadows. She saw no sign of Claire.
Renata backed out of the room and headed for the front door. “I was focused on keeping the people out. I didn’t realize I needed to keep Claire in.”
“She seemed content here.” Her mom trailed along behind her. “How long has she been gone?”
Renata checked the time on her phone. “No more than twenty-five minutes.”
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know. I’m calling the sheriff.” Renata reached for her phone in her pocket and went into her bedroom to change into a pair of cargo pants and sneakers. “We’ll probably put out a BOLO. I’ll drive around. See if I spot her.”
“I’ll check with the neighbors. Maybe someone saw her.” But her mom headed toward her own room. She emerged a minute later, looping a belt around her waist. The belt held a holster and her own handgun. “Just in case.”
“I’m not arguing. I want you armed.”
They separated at the front door.
“Please stay close to home,” Renata said. “I know you want to help, but you’re physically not up to a foot search. I can’t worry about both of you.”
Her mom gave her a reluctant nod and lifted her phone. “I’ll call the neighbors instead. Go find her. If she’s on foot, she can’t have gotten far.”
Renata wasn’t sure about Claire being on foot. She had a phone, maybe an Uber or Lyft account. She could have called a friend to pick her up. Claire had been gone for thirty minutes now, and darkness would fall fast. If she got a ride, she could be miles away.