Chapter 12 #3
Emma pulled out her phone and called Nell’s number. The faint ringtones drifted down from the second floor. Emma once again climbed the steps, following the jingle, and found the phone on Nell’s bed.
“No,” Emma groaned. “Not again.”
Her feet barely touched the stair treads on her way down. She pulled on her sneakers and stepped outside. From the stoop, she scanned Eric’s neighborhood. To the left, a quintet of young teens played basketball in one of the driveways four houses down. To the right, the street and lawns were empty.
She circled the house to make sure Nell wasn’t in Eric’s yard. Returning to the front of the house, she again surveyed the street as far as she could see. No Nell.
Emma wasn’t sure whether she should be angry or terrified. With no one else around, she decided to ask the only people outside this morning. She strode toward the basketball game. As she drew near, one of the kids spotted her, said something to the others, and they all faced her.
“Excuse me. Did you happen to see a woman come out of that house a little while ago?” Emma pointed toward Eric’s home.
“No,” a fair-haired boy said.
“Just you,” said an older boy with jet-black hair, a snip of cockiness in his tone.
“Before I came out.” Emma gave him a forced smile, hoping he interpreted it as meaning she only wanted an answer, not his snark.
None of the others spoke, but all shook their heads.
Emma thanked them and headed back to Eric’s yard. Under her breath, she muttered, “Nell, where the hell have you gone?” After another loop around the house, she went back inside. From the foyer, she yelled, “Nell!”
Her voice echoed from the high ceiling.
Something Eric had said whispered to her. She pulled out her phone.
“What’s up?” he answered.
“You told us you moved your wine collection to your neighbor’s cellar. Which neighbor?”
“Why?” he asked sharply.
“Because while I took a shower, Nell disappeared.”
He swore.
“She can’t have gone far,” Emma said. “You’ve got your car, and Matthias has his. Wherever she went, she’s on foot.”
“It’s the house on the left as you’re facing mine. Jonathan and Macy Owens. Let me give you Macy’s number. She works from home.”
“Hang on a minute.” Emma put her phone on speaker and opened her contact list. “Okay.”
Eric read the number to Emma, and she typed it in. “They know about Nell’s problems,” he said.
Emma translated the comment to mean they wouldn’t question why she was calling. “Thanks.”
She again stepped outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her sister taking a leisurely walk around the neighborhood and save her the trouble of bothering a woman Emma had never met. Other than the basketball players, the street was empty.
She placed the call and explained who she was when a woman answered. “Eric said you know about my sister’s problems with alcohol.”
“Yes. Unfortunately, my husband’s father has similar issues.”
“Have you seen Nell this morning by any chance?”
“You mean, has she been over here trying to steal back Eric’s wine?”
“Kinda. Yeah.”
“No.”
Emma’s relief was dampened by the fact that she still didn’t know where Nell had gone.
“I did see a young woman walk past my house about ten minutes ago. I’ve not met your sister, so I can’t say for certain it was her.”
Emma had gone the other direction to speak with the basketball kids. “Strawberry blonde hair? Very thin?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see where she went?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
Emma thanked her for her time and ended the call.
Nell was on foot, and Emma knew which direction she was going. Her sister had a head start, but even with her concussion, Emma figured she could catch up. She started off at an easy jog. The throbbing in her head was bearable.
She scanned the neighborhood with each stride.
Her sneakers slapped the pavement. Her heart rate gradually increased.
She needed to pace herself. Marathon, not sprint.
Smooth, to keep from jarring her head. One block.
Two. Emma knew the community. Knew most of the streets circled back on themselves.
Knew which way led to the exit onto a well-traveled two-lane route.
Unfortunately, Nell was as familiar with the area as Emma.
Three blocks. A stop sign. A left turn to a last downhill stretch. That’s when Emma spotted her. Nell had reached the intersection with the main road and stood there with an arm and a thumb extended, still a good eighth of a mile ahead. Emma broke from a jog to a lope.
“Nell!”
If her sister heard, she didn’t react. The rumble of a diesel engine gearing down floated up the hill.
Emma pushed as hard as she could, ignoring the pulsing pain inside her skull.
She tried to yell again, but her lungs were maxed out, her pounding legs demanding every ounce of oxygen she could suck in.
A tractor-trailer rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill in front of Nell. As Emma watched, her sister opened the passenger door and climbed into the rig.
“No!” Emma squeaked out.
Nell showed no sign of hearing her, but Emma was certain Nell looked her way, saw her, and pulled the rig’s door closed anyway.
Long before Emma could reach it, the truck pulled out and away, taking Nell with it.