Because of a Girl (2 page)

“Oh, honey.” Meg covered the short distance and gathered her daughter into her arms. Emily grabbed hold and sobbed. She would hardly ever consent to a hug anymore. Even hating to see her grieve, Meg was relieved that she would turn to her.

She pressed her cheek to wavy, bobbed hair the same color as hers. They looked so much alike, people sometimes stared. In the past year, Emily had inched up enough that they were now close to the same height, too, which still disconcerted Meg. Emily had her father's brown eyes, though, and was slimmer.

Instinct had Meg rocking slightly on her feet as she said softly, “We'll find her. She's impulsive. She probably went off with someone today and will be back tomorrow. Or one of her other friends will hear from her.”

Sniffling and wiping her wet face with her shirtsleeve, Emily backed away. “It's just...doesn't she know we'll be scared?”

“You'd think.” Meg hesitated, unsure how Emily would react to anything that edged toward criticism of her friend, but decided to say this anyway. “Sabra is pretty self-centered these days.” Meg held up a hand when she saw the outrage forming on her daughter's face. “It's normal, to some extent, for a pregnant woman to be that way. She turns inward. In Sabra's case, well, she must have a lot of fears.”

“She doesn't act like she does,” Emily mumbled.

Now there was a surprise: an honest observation.

“No, I've noticed that,” Meg admitted. “It's been worrying me. She doesn't seem to realize what a tough road she has ahead.”

“The truth comes out.” In an abrupt reversion to war, Emily sneered. “You just say all that stuff about how glad you are you had me because you think you have to.”

The ground between truth and lies was tricky.
Were there times I
did
wish I hadn't gotten pregnant?
Of course there were. The first few years had been terrifying, lonely and dangerous. But overall, the joy of having this perfect, formerly sunny child more than compensated for every challenge she had faced.

“It's hard to take care of a baby when you're only sixteen,” she said, refusing to let herself feel hurt by the attack. “Especially if you don't have the support of parents.” She'd kept the uglier details about those first few years from Emily, who did know Meg had been on her own from the instant she'd admitted to her pregnancy. Emily had never met either set of grandparents. “But I have loved you every minute since you were born, and you know it.”

A flush spread on Emily's cheeks, and she ducked her head.

“Why don't you get ready for bed?” Meg suggested.

“How can I sleep?” Emily wailed, lifting her head again to expose a blotchy face.

“Staying awake won't do any good.” Meg dared another swift hug. “And we both know the chances are that Sabra is with the father of her baby, safe and sound.”

“Do you think they got married today?”

“I don't see how they could have,” she said honestly. “Sabra is too young.”

“She says her mom would probably give legal consent, because she doesn't want her anyway.”

Meg winced. What sounded like typical teenage melodrama might, unfortunately, be true. Meg could imagine Sabra's mother doing just that. Which, she reminded herself, might be for the best, depending on the age and maturity of the baby's father.

Would I have married Carson if he'd asked?
As scared as she'd been, the answer was probably yes, but it would have been a disaster. And...she'd survived and somehow protected Emily through everything.

“I'm pretty sure Mrs. Lee would have told me if she'd done something like that.” Until Meg had called her this evening, Sabra's mom hadn't even known Sabra was missing. All she knew about was the phone call from the school. Which she had ignored, having dramatically washed her hands of her child. Meg was seriously angry at the school administration, from the secretaries on up to the principal. They had all been amply informed about the change in Sabra's home situation yet hadn't set in place a mechanism to keep her informed.

Emily gave a forlorn snuffle. “Will you wake me up if you hear anything?”

Meg managed to smile. “Promise.”

“Do I have to go to school Monday?”

She hesitated, at war between her desire to somehow regain their closeness and her hard-won knowledge that she had to be a parent first, friend second to her daughter. “Yes, you do,” she said, sounding firmer than she felt.

“But—”

Meg raised her eyebrows.

“Fine,” her kid snapped. “I'm going to bed.” She rushed out of the living room and thundered up the stairs.

A moment later, Meg heard water running.

She should go to bed, too. The mantel clock had bonged the hour not long ago. With it after ten, she couldn't imagine she'd hear anything about Sabra unless it was the police to let her know there had been an accident or—no, she wouldn't let herself think about any other possibilities. And if there'd been a car accident, why wouldn't she already have been informed?

Because they'd gone to her home of record?

If something awful had happened, Meg wanted to believe Andrea Lee would have let her know.

No, she had no doubt her foster daughter had rushed off joyously to be with the man who had promised her the moon. Somehow, Meg doubted she'd given a thought to the people who would be worrying about her.

And...why the secret in the first place? Why hadn't the baby's father come forward by now? Why would he sweep Sabra away without letting anyone know what they were doing?

Chilled, Meg nonetheless made herself begin her usual evening routine of checking door and window locks and turning out lights before she, too, headed upstairs to try to sleep.

 

CHAPTER TWO

T
HE
DOORBELL
PRODUCED
a
bong
deep inside the house. Waiting on the wide front porch, Jack breathed in crisp air that tasted more of winter than spring as he checked out the front yard crowded with giant shrubs surrounding a lawn that really needed mowing. The lilacs he recognized, though they wouldn't be blooming for a good while. March in eastern Washington could feel like spring one day and pound you with a snowstorm the next.

Then he focused on the handsome old door with an oval insert of beveled glass veiled with a lace curtain. He had to ask himself again why he was here. Yes, he had cleared his most urgent case Friday night, but that didn't mean there wasn't still follow-up he hadn't finished this weekend, not to mention the reports he had to write. Plus other investigations that had been put on the back burner.

But damned if he hadn't raised a hand this morning, feeling like a good little boy in a third-grade classroom, and said, “I heard the beginning of this drama. I'll handle it.”

Nobody argued, and why would they? They all had too much to do and not enough time to do it. The lieutenant had written his name on the whiteboard where they tracked who was working on what, and Jack started gathering details not so different from what the woman had claimed Friday and in her second attempt to file a report on Sunday, but more worrisome.

The sound of footsteps was followed by a lock disengaging. The door opened a cautious crack, letting him see the woman within, every bit as hot as he'd remembered. The snug, faded jeans she wore gave him a better look at long legs and curvaceous hips. She had a redhead's skin with a scattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Cinnamon and cream.

And, damn it, he needed to quit looking.

“Mrs. Harper?”

“It's Ms.”

Which meant...what? She was divorced? Had never been married?

Irrelevant.

He pushed back his shirt to expose the badge hooked on his belt. “I'm Detective Jack Moore with Frenchman Lake Police Department. I'd like to talk to you about Sabra Lee.”

Meg Harper's face lit with relief. “But I've been told twice—oh, never mind. Come in. Please.” She stepped back.

As was his habit, he scanned entry, stairs, the hall that led to the back of the house and what he could see of a room to the left that should have been a dining room but appeared to be in use as...some kind of sewing room? The living room was visible through a wide opening to the right. No other people, and he heard only quiet. The place was warm and homey. It took a second look for him to see how shabby it was, too. Scratched and scuffed floors, missing balusters on the staircase railing making him think of the gaps in a five-year-old's smile. The ceilings had to be ten feet high, which must make the place a bitch to heat.

The cushions on the sofa in the living room sagged, the wooden rocker she went to needed refinishing and the carved fireplace mantel might really be something if someone took the time to strip off the thick accumulation of paint. The house was clean enough, though, what he could see of it.

The brightest note in the living room was a large wool rug in ruby red with gamboling white sheep and—yeah, a sheepdog in one corner. He had to resist a smile at the humor of the design. Half a dozen pillows on the sofa were done with the same technique, too, he saw, each individual and interesting although he didn't allow himself to look closely.

“Please, sit down,” Ms. Harper urged him, plunking down in the rocking chair.

As she clearly expected him to take the sofa, he chose one end. His ass settled into a sinkhole. Getting back up might be a problem.

“Oh!” She bounced back to her feet. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Not now, but thank you.”

Expression dimming, she sank back down and waited.

He removed a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “I heard some of what you told Sergeant Todd Friday, but I'd appreciate it if you'd start from the beginning for my benefit.”

She absorbed his words, suspicion appearing belatedly. He wondered if she had any idea how expressive that girl-next-door face was.

“Yes, but...he wouldn't even take a report. And they still wouldn't Sunday. I don't understand why you're here.”

“Mr. Rivera gave us a call this morning to express his concern.” Rivera was the high school principal, and some of the concern he'd expressed had to do with this woman.

“Oh, I'm glad. Well. Did he explain why Sabra is living here rather than with her own mother?”

“I gathered that they clashed over her pregnancy.”

“Clashed?” Ms. Harper gave a funny laugh. “I suppose the pregnancy is at the root of it, but I think they'd been going at it longer than that. Mrs. Lee threw her out of the house.”

Jack frowned. “Literally?”

“I can't tell you whether there was any physical contact. Mrs. Lee did lock Sabra out and then dumped her clothes and school bag on the front lawn. My daughter, Emily, helped her gather everything.”

“How long ago was this?”

She seemed to count. “Six weeks? More or less.”

“Have you communicated with Mrs. Lee?”

“Yes, repeatedly. She's...fine with Sabra living here.”

“Fine?” he echoed. That was a word that covered a lot of territory.

“She didn't understand why I'd want her, but she supposed Sabra was lucky to have found a place to roost.” Ms. Harper's tone was understandably dry. “I...called a few times to keep her updated, but she is unwilling to consider counseling and seems to have no interest in Sabra returning home.”

“Do you have any kind of written contract? Or is DSHS involved?” He assumed she did know the Department of Social and Health Services oversaw the foster care system.

Now Ms. Harper looked wary. “No, so far it's been informal. Honestly, I assumed at first that she'd only be with us for a week or two at the most. But since her mother hasn't relented, I've let the school know the situation, and the teachers seem willing to talk to me when she has issues.”

“The administration must be in something of a bind, considering you don't have legal custody,” he suggested.

“Is that what their problem is?” Temper kindled in her hazel eyes. “It's been so frustrating. Bureaucracy in action. We'd have had a lot better chance of finding her if they'd let me know right away that she was noted as absent in her first class. But, no, what do they do but have that annoying robo-call go to Sabra's mother, who told me the last time that she was just going to ignore them from now on. There isn't a soul in the front office who doesn't know Sabra lives here.”

“Mr. Rivera did indicate to me that he is uneasy with this type of placement. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't call DSHS this morning.”

Her mouth fell open. “He's reporting me to Child Protective Services? Like I did something wrong? Is that what you're saying?” She appeared genuinely bewildered.

“I can't speak for what he will or won't do.” Yeah, that was mealymouthed as hell, but Jack didn't want to get diverted from the real issue here: a very pregnant fifteen-year-old girl was missing, and despite Ms. Harper's claim to have dropped her off in front of the school, none of the staff in the office had seen Sabra, Ms. Harper or her gaudily painted Volkswagen van.

As one of the secretaries put it, “You can't help but look up when that van pulls up to the curb! It makes me think of the 1960s. The Grateful Dead and all that.”

He had yet to see the van, likely parked in the detached garage.

“That's unbelievably insulting.” Bewilderment had matured into temper. Steam was all but shooting out of Ms. Harper's ears. “All I've done is offer a home and...and supervision to a girl whose own mother booted her out. What should I have done, let her start rooting in Dumpsters downtown for something to eat?”

“Is the mother paying you to take care of her daughter?”

“She hasn't offered.” She bristled. “And I don't need the help.”

Pride went only so far, but he didn't say so.

“It might have been a good idea to give DSHS a call and explain that you're willing to keep the girl but need to have some legal authority,” he said mildly.

“I didn't think I'd need—” Her shoulders sagged. “I suppose I would have called when she went into labor.”

“Or even at her next prenatal doctor visit.”

“I took her to that, and nobody said anything.”

“Did they realize she was no longer living at home?”

Her lips tightened mutinously, which made her look even younger than she probably was.

What kind of flake was this woman? And why had he let himself get diverted again?

Physically, she pushed his buttons, but she was pushing other buttons, too, ones that flashed a warning red
.
Just as well, since he was investigating her.

“Let's focus on Friday,” he suggested, and watched her turn wary.

* * *

T
O
THINK
SHE
'
D
been glad to see this guy on her doorstep. Meg had even, at first sight, found him...appealing. Sexy, a word that rarely to never crossed her mind.

And, yeah, he was tall, lean and broad-shouldered, with a bony face, light brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes. Which might have added up to sexy for a woman who was into the expressionless military/cop look: hair worn too short, face impassive, eyes watchful and a gun plastered to his hip. What was he going to do, shoot her if he wasn't satisfied with her answers to his questions?

It was bad enough that he clearly thought she'd done something wrong when she took in a teenager who needed someplace to stay. But once she figured out that he didn't believe she'd ever driven Sabra to school, that he thought
she
had something to do with the girl's disappearance, any belief that he was here to help evaporated. “You seriously think the school secretary notices every single vehicle that pulls up in front? Even when she's on the phone or talking to a parent or student or, hey, making a copy or sticking her head into the principal's office?”

No change registered on that face. “It would be good if we could find someone who saw you. Anyone at all. Another parent, a student...? You say you arrived approximately five minutes before the bell rang.”

How was it that she could hear his doubt even when his voice remained neutral?

“Yes.”

“Aren't there usually other last-minute arrivals? Did you notice any students crossing the parking lot? Another car coming or going? A late bus unloading?”

“I didn't, but I was preoccupied. I admit—I was a little annoyed I'd had to drive her. I wanted to get home. I've driven Emily to school often enough. It's not like there's anything new to see. I paid attention to traffic. That's all.”

“And there wasn't any.”

“I didn't even look toward the parking lot. In the drop-off lane, no. I worried she'd be late, but, according to my watch, she should have had time to make it to class if she hustled.”

“I see.” He didn't immediately say anything else. Instead, he watched her until she wanted to squirm. But no way would she give him the satisfaction.

She kept her hands folded on her lap and gazed back at him as if she didn't have a reason in the world to be anxious or mad. Of course, now she probably looked as intelligent as a cow placidly chewing its cud.

Finally, he stirred. “Ms. Harper, how do you think she managed to vanish somewhere between the curb and the school entrance? That can't be more than twenty, twenty-five yards. There are a couple of spindly little trees in planters, but I don't see her hiding behind one of them.”

Guilt clogged her throat. “I think she had a plan.” And how she hated knowing she'd been played. “The minute I drove away, she must have gone to a car in the parking lot. Somebody was waiting for her.”

“What if you'd seen her and gone back?”

Meg hesitated. “I'd have been exasperated because she was risking being late, but I don't know if I would have gone back even if I'd noticed her heading into the parking lot. I'd have assumed she'd spotted a friend arriving and was going to meet her.”

His eyebrows climbed. “Her?”

“Or him.” Fuming, she exclaimed, “What's the point of this? I didn't look back. I wish I had, but I didn't. If I had the slightest idea what happened to her, I'd tell you. All I want is Sabra to be home, safe.” Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

His gaze seemed to drill a hole in her, as if he thought he could see beneath her lies to where she'd buried the body. But at last he nodded.

“I'm headed over to the school. I'd like to speak to your daughter. Do I have your consent?”

“Yes, but I don't know what she can tell you. She's helped me call every friend she can think of. Emily is really scared.”

“Scared?” Those damn eyebrows were the only expressive part of his face. “That's an interesting choice of words. Why would she be scared? Does she have reason to think Sabra was taken against her will?”

Meg's shoulders sagged. “No. Of course not. It's just that they're good friends. Emily can't believe Sabra wouldn't have told her if she'd intended to take off. She said...” She had to swallow. “She thought Sabra trusted her.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, appearing, for an instant, genuinely reflective. “Is it possible Sabra did? And that your daughter thinks she's living up to that trust?”

“No.” Despite their recent conflict, she knew Emily. “I'd have been able to tell if she was lying about something that big. She's...not that good at it. We've had a little more tension between us lately, but we've always been close. She really thought I'd let Sabra stay home.”