Because of a Girl (14 page)

“When's your birthday?”

“July 2.”

He nodded and didn't say, “I'm a year older than you.” Emily wondered if he was bothered that his parents had held him back. Or why they had. He was obviously smart, or he wouldn't be in all the college prep classes.

He told her he had been listening but hadn't heard any talk among guys about Sabra's disappearance, not since the first couple of days. And then it had only been the same rumors Emily already knew about.

Balling up her sandwich wrapping, she asked whether he ever saw Sabra after school. “She tutors a guy two afternoons a week, but other than that I'm not sure what she did.” She bit her lip. “I mean, does. Because I'm usually busy. You know.”

“Me, too. So, no. During wrestling season, I had practice, and I'm doing debate besides. If I don't have either, I leave even before the buses do.”

“Do you have your phone with you?” Asher asked.

Silently, she dug in her pack and pulled it out.

“Put my number in.”

“Oh.” She was blushing.
Of course
she was blushing. “Do you want mine, too?”

“Sure. That way I can let you know if I hear anything.” He pulled his from a pocket and looked at her, waiting expectantly.

Oh, duh.
He must think she was a moron.

She told him the number, then took out her own phone and entered his name and number.

He nodded and said, “See you,” then left. Once again, without looking back.

This time, she felt a little tingle of excitement without ever knowing whether Dominic had come into the cafeteria.

* * *

T
HE
DOORBELL
IN
the middle of the afternoon caught Meg by surprise. The UPS man had already come and gone, taking several packages from her to be delivered to gift stores and galleries in other parts of the state.

Even after hearing the ring, she went ahead and started the washing machine she'd already loaded with recycled wool garments. This was the next step, after she had “deconstructed” them—her term for having cut off waistbands, ripped out seams, removed pockets. Hot water and then a cold rinse would begin the process of fulling, followed by a brief time in the dryer.

Before she reached the front of the house, the bell rang again, then again immediately. Alarmed, she opened the door.

Her stomach lurched at the sight of Andrea Lee. For one thing, it was always a shock seeing her resemblance to her daughter, even though Andrea's hair was no longer a natural color and her skin showed the effects of smoking.

Thrusting out her chin, she didn't bother with a hello. “Why does that cop keep coming to talk to
me
, when you're the one who lost Sabra? What did you tell him about me?”

The accusations gave Meg an excuse not to invite the other woman in, even though the air had a bite that almost felt like snow might be coming. “He hardly asked me about you at all. I didn't know he'd been back to see you again.”

“Twice more!” Sabra's mother stormed, face flushed. “He wanted to search her bedroom! He didn't believe she'd taken all her stuff.”

Puzzled, Meg said, “But all she brought with her was some clothes.”

Andrea glared at her. “Well, what else would she have had?”

Meg pictured Emily's room—the photo albums, posters and handbills plastering the walls, mementos pinned to a bulletin board. The books, CDs, the Breyer horses left from her childhood that still occupied a shelf.

“Maybe he was hoping for some pictures, or notes she'd exchanged with her baby's father,” she suggested.

“Why would he want pictures when he can go talk to that Wright boy? You know he has to be the father.”

“Sabra says he isn't. And I have the impression that Detective Moore doesn't believe he is, either.” Although why she was bothering to argue with this woman, Meg didn't know.

Andrea snorted. “Of course he is. Who else would it be?”

“That's what the detective would like to find out,” she said.

“Why is he so set on finding Sabra's father?” she fretted. “What does
he
have to do with anything?”

Possibly nothing; Emily's father certainly played no part in her life. But Sabra's father had at least been married to her mother at one point, which was different.

“Isn't he required to pay child support?” she blurted.

“He's a deadbeat, like all of 'em.” The bitter lines in Andrea's face seemed permanent. “You can't tell me Emily's father is any better.”

“No.” Meg had to swallow. “You're right. He isn't.”

“
I
don't know where to find Sabra's father!” Andrea cried. “But that policeman just won't give up. People are talking about me, and it's not
fair
. This is
your
fault.”

Meg felt her composure crack. She leaned forward. “
You
are Sabra's mother.
You
threw your pregnant fifteen-year-old daughter out in the middle of the winter. Do
not
try to blame me for
your
failures.” She stepped back and slammed the door in Andrea Lee's shocked face.

After fumbling with the lock, Meg slumped back against the door, straining her ears and hearing only silence. Oh, God, was she still standing there? What if she was crying? She had to be terrified. Maybe she was desperate to blame someone else because her sense of guilt was tearing her apart.

With a whimper, Meg made her shaking hand turn the dead bolt again and she opened the door, but Andrea was gone. Her car was just making the turn at the corner. Meg prayed she wasn't crying and driving at the same time.

Why wasn't I nicer?
she mourned. Andrea was a difficult woman, but there was no denying that Sabra was a challenging kid, too. Maybe because of her mother—but who knew? Sabra's little sister seemed like a sweet, gentle girl. So maybe it
was
Sabra and not Andrea at all.

“Crap.” She shut the door again, then stood indecisively. She could take a break, have a cup of tea.

Leave an apologetic message on Andrea's voice mail
, she decided with a sigh.

The one positive note was that Jack was still looking for Sabra. No matter her hurt, anger and worries, he was proving to be a man of his word.

Feeling more tired than she had in years, Meg went to the kitchen. Somehow, she doubted caffeine would help.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

M
S
. G
UZMAN
WAS
COOL
, but Emily wished an art class wasn't one of the requirements for graduation. Or that the school offered art history as an alternative for students who really, really were never going to create a piece of art even a parent would want to display.

Sighing, she went to her seat to dump her stuff and talk to Madison and Destiny until the bell rang.

The minute it did, Ms. Guzman clapped her hands and beamed at them. “As promised, I fired your ceramic pieces this weekend.”

At least she hadn't said your “sculptures” or your “art.” Ms. Guzman lectured them about glazing. Each table already held a selection of colors in small cups, and enough brushes for everyone. Emily listened carefully, but she knew she'd do it wrong anyway. Too much glaze or not enough. Or it would all run together. Although what did it matter if her “piece” didn't look like a cat anyway? Or maybe hers had broken. Ms. Guzman said a couple of them had. Only she called those people up, and told the rest of them to get started.

The art room had bunches of small cubbies along one wall, where students left unfinished projects. They'd all written their name in marker on pieces of masking tape stuck to the front of the cubbies. There was a crush as everyone tried to go at the same time. Some of the kids were excited to see how their sculptures had come out. Emily hung back until there was an opening.

Wow.
Her cat didn't actually look that bad. It was almost graceful, with the tail curled just right. Now if she didn't mess up the glazing.

There was something behind her piece. It looked like a note—maybe from Ms. Guzman? Emily reached for it. There was a
snap
, and something pinched the tip of her finger before she snatched her hand away and jumped back.

“What was that?” Diego asked, trying to see past her.

Her heart racing so hard she could
hear
it pound, Emily somehow knew to grab the piece of paper and shove it in her jean pocket. Just in time, because Ms. Guzman was there, too.

“Emily?”

She couldn't look away from the mousetrap that sat behind her curled cat. “It almost got me.”

There were all kinds of exclamations. Ms. Guzman was horrified that someone would pull a “prank” that could have left her injured. She appropriated the mousetrap and declared her intention of taking it to Mrs. Percy, the vice principal in charge of discipline. By that time, everyone was quiet. She looked from face to face, her expression fierce.

“Whoever did this
will
be punished. If you know anything, or hear anything, I expect you to come to me immediately.” Every word dropped like a rock. “Do you understand?”

Everyone nodded or murmured, “Yes, Ms. Guzman.”

“Then please get to work.” She gave Emily a quick hug. “You're sure you're all right?”

She nodded and managed to smile. “Sure.”

“Your cat is darling.”

“At least you can tell it
is
a cat.”

Chuckling, the teacher left her to lift her sculpture—maybe it actually was one—and take it to the table. Emily stole a look around. With nobody paying attention, she pulled the small, crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. Holding it below the table edge, she smoothed it out.

Too many questions can get a little girl in trouble.

Hand shaking, she wadded it up again and pushed it back in her pocket.

“What was that?” Destiny asked beside her.

“Nothing.” She sucked in a deep breath, then another. “Nothing important.”

* * *

J
ACK
STOOD
ON
Meg's porch for what had to be a minute before he could make himself ring her doorbell. He felt no older than fifteen himself, daring to try to talk to the prettiest girl in school, one with every reason to detest him.

He heard only silence after the tolling inside until the door suddenly opened, and she was there, her gaze somehow dull.

Disturbed, Jack couldn't help thinking she didn't look good. Bruises beneath her eyes contrasted with her pallor. Had she been sleeping at all?

“Are you all right?” he asked sharply. “Has something happened?”

“What?” She blinked a couple of times. “Oh. No, not really.”

“May I come in?”

He half expected her to say no, but it appeared she was too polite for that. Or she was intimidated by his badge and assumed he was here about Sabra. After a discernible pause, Meg stepped back. He followed her inside and closed the door behind him.

A shriek from somewhere in the house had his hand dropping to the butt of his gun.

“That's the teakettle.” She turned and walked away.

At least she hadn't told him to get lost.

After the briefest of hesitations, Jack followed her, unable to keep himself from hungrily eyeing the heavy bundle of hair at the back of her head, the long, slim line of her back, the way her jeans hugged her ass.

In the kitchen, Meg went straight to the stove and poured boiling water into a mug. She set the kettle aside, then turned. “I suppose I should offer you a cup of coffee.”

He'd have smiled at her lack of enthusiasm if he hadn't been so tense. “Tea is fine,” he said mildly, although he wasn't so sure she had been offering that, either. “Unless it's herbal.”

“No, I wanted the caffeine.”

She didn't sound any happier when she invited him to have a seat, but he took one anyway. A moment later, they faced each other across the table, a mug in front of each.

A thought struck him. “You didn't say no—you said ‘not really.' So something did happen.”

Her mouth twisted. “Andrea came by. She was mad because you've been badgering her. She seemed sure that's my fault.”

“Why would she think that?” he asked, incredulous.

Meg made a face. “Who knows?”

“I'm just trying to rule out Sabra's father.”

“She called him a deadbeat.” Crinkles formed on her forehead. “But there was something in her expression...”

“Yeah, I kind of doubt there ever was a Mr. Lee. I think she made up his name on the fly.” He probably shouldn't be telling her this, but damned if he cared. “She's refusing to tell me where she was married, where she lived when she filed for divorce. I think she's afraid it'll get out she's been lying.”

Meg nodded, appearing unsurprised. She added a teaspoon of sugar from the jar on the table and stirred her tea. Then she raised a far more clear-eyed gaze to his. “Why are you here?”

To grovel?

No, no, to do his job.

“Someone came forward to say he saw you drop Sabra off at the high school. I thought you should know that.”

For a moment, she stared at him without reacting. Then she gave her head a small shake. “Who?”

“UPS driver. Doesn't have kids—says he doesn't really follow the news. But his girlfriend got her hair cut at the salon where Ms. Lee works, and she came home talking about Sabra and how maybe you never drove her to school at all.”

Meg flinched.

It took everything he had not to reach for her. “This guy remembered your VW. I guess it was the first time he'd seen it. He described it as ‘awesome,' by the way.”

She didn't smile.

“I checked his log, and, yes, he did make a delivery to the office minutes before you would have arrived.”

“I saw the truck,” Meg said suddenly. “It was at the curb. Oh, why didn't I remember that? I didn't pay attention to whether the driver was in it, but I did notice the truck because I use UPS myself. It started me thinking about how I should package some pieces up and call for a pickup. Which had me circling back to the half hour I'd lost driving Sabra.”

Jack shifted in his chair. “Well, it would have been nice if he'd come forward right away, but unfortunately he was so awed by your VW, he didn't notice her—‘the kid' was what he called Sabra—after he saw her get out. So we're no further ahead than we were.”

“Except now maybe you believe me.”

Jack shook his head. “Meg, I already believed you. I had to ask you initially, but I had no doubt. You were the one advocating for us to start an investigation right away. I never doubted that you cared.”

“Then why did you...?” Her gaze shied from his. “Never mind. It doesn't matter.”

It mattered to him. “I don't know why I said what I did.” His voice sounded raw. “That's what you're talking about, isn't it? All I can tell you is it had nothing to do with you. I think I was embarrassed because I'd bared some things I don't like to share. I needed to push you away.”

She listened, her eyes wide and searching. Wondering what she saw made him twitchy. Finally she nodded.

He wasn't much of a tea drinker, but he took a sip to give himself something to do.

Just when the silence had stretched to the point of being unbearable, Meg said, “I thought you might quit looking, but you didn't.”

“I'm not giving up.” He hesitated. “I'm having to focus on other cases, but I'll keep putting some time in. I've got to tell you, I'm running out of ideas, though.”

“Did you ever talk to the boy she tutored?”

He told her about Alejandro, then the hours he'd put in at the community college flashing Sabra's photo around, in more detail than he usually shared. Because he was trying to prove to her how diligent he was?

“A few students vaguely recognized her from the high school, even though she'd been a freshman last year when they were seniors. One girl had heard she'd run away, and another guy who remembered her being in a play said she was hot.”

“She is exceptionally pretty. I think Emily feels cast in the shade by her a little. Not enough to get in the way of their friendship, fortunately.”

Jack shook his head in genuine bewilderment. “I don't get that. Sabra is cute enough, but Emily is a striking girl.” Who happened to look like her mother. “I'm betting she ends up a beauty.” He found himself smiling, despite everything. “She has some of your fire, too.”

Meg relaxed enough to laugh. “That's a low blow.”

He smirked, liking the absence of hostility. Would she forgive him? Or, maybe more to the point, trust him again? Knowing how much it mattered left him unsettled, but he couldn't deny that this woman had gotten to him, big time.

“How's Emily doing?” he asked, cradling his cup in his hands.

“We're getting along better, but I think she's still a hundred percent focused on Sabra. I can't help wondering—” Eyes widening, she stopped so fast, she almost tripped over herself.

He finished what she hadn't wanted to say, his voice gentle. “Whether there's more to it than a natural worry for a friend? I've thought of that, Meg.”

She gazed at him with what looked like desperation. “But...what could it be?”

“I keep thinking she knows more than she's telling us. And if what she knows scares her, if, say, she helped Sabra without realizing what her friend was getting into...” He could see how much Meg hated that possibility, but he kept going nonetheless. “Maybe it's just guilt because she was so busy with her own stuff, she wasn't paying attention when she thinks now she should have been.”

Meg moaned.

“Could be something else. What if they had a fight the evening before and hadn't made up? Not being able to reconcile could be hanging over her. It would be especially bad if she accused Sabra of trespassing on her territory. A guy, maybe? Does Emily have a boyfriend?”

In her anxiety, Meg looked almost plain, her eyes shadowed by more than the dark circles beneath them. “No. She hasn't yet, not really. Well, she did in eighth grade, but the relationship was more in name than substance. They didn't spend any time outside of school together.”

Jack nodded his understanding. Middle-school romances had been torturous for him and most of his buddies. They were painfully aware of girls, wanted to act on it, but felt foolish when they tried. Through it all, they had to maintain the illusion of being cool, confident, even though he suspected he wasn't the only one humiliatingly aware of how far he trailed behind the girls in maturity. In retrospect, he thought it might have been even harder for him, having been ditched by his mother. Some boys could probably talk to their fathers, too. His, always a quiet man, had become even more silent and withdrawn after his mother went.

“She has a crush on a boy now.” Meg had bowed her head. “A senior. I think he's noticed her, but nothing has come of it.” She looked up, rueful. “I confess to being glad.”

She was talking to him. Jack would have happily sat here for hours listening to her tell him her worries. “A popular kid?”

“Very. He's student body president and plays both football and baseball. I understand he's a very talented pitcher, maybe enough to be scouted by a major league team or two.”

“I know who you mean.” He'd spent too much time at the high school lately. “Dominic somebody.”

“Kjargaard.”

“Yeah. I didn't talk to him, but I've seen him.”

“With Emily?” she asked with quick worry.

“No. Strolling the halls as if he expects the crowd to part for him like the Red Sea.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered.

He laughed. “Not the end of the world, Meg. Emily's dedication to finding Sabra says something important about her. You should be proud of her.”

Her eyes acquired a suspicious sheen. “I am,” she said so quietly, he had to bend forward to hear her. “I just...”

This time he didn't stop himself from reaching across the table and taking one of her hands in his. “You get scared, too. I understand.”

With something like astonishment, she looked at him. Tears that hadn't quite fallen clung to her lashes. And, God, her hand felt good in his, fine-boned but strong. He felt some calluses, something he didn't come across with women much. From her rug hooking?