After spending the afternoon going door-to-door talking to Arlo’s neighbors, Jessie wasn’t any closer to finding his daughter. Arlo had been right. His neighbors didn’t like him. More than a few of his neighbors had talked about the Gatleys as if they were a disgrace to humanity and deserved to be carted off and locked behind bars. Their reasoning had boiled down to the simple fact that Arlo and Zee looked and acted different than most “normal” people did. Zee wore dark lipstick, dark nail polish, and apparently a long dark coat that one of the neighbors described as “Goth,” and the other called “witchy.” Others had refused to answer the door at all, peeking through their curtains or telling her through the door to go away.
Back at the office, Jessie sat at her desk, staring at a long list of things to get done. There were subpoenas to serve and a deadbeat dad who needed to be hunted down. It had taken her years to acquire the skills needed to find her niche in the investigative business. She preferred to focus on looking for people, which included missing person cases, skip traces (people who owed a debt), or finding the birth parents of adopted children. Finding a birth parent could be rewarding but also emotionally draining. Sometimes parents were found who didn’t want anything to do with the people looking for them.
Her business had been growing at a nice rate, but the Parker Koontz incident had thrown her off her game. For the first time since starting her investigative business, she realized she needed help. If she had time to train someone, she might consider hiring an assistant. Although staying out of jail was her number one priority, she still needed to pay the rent and keep food on the table. As she picked up a subpoena and looked at the address, her cell phone buzzed. Distracted, she hit the “Talk” button and said hello.
“Hello. It’s Ben Morrison. I was wondering if you could head over with me to the Wild West in Auburn later this afternoon?”
The Wild West was the last place Sophie had been seen. Jessie had been there many times. “I’m neck-deep in work right now. A young woman is missing, and her father is frantic. I—”
“This could be an important lead. I think you’ll want to be there when I talk to one of the employees. She remembers seeing your sister there that night.”
“What’s her name?”
“Leanne.”
Leanne Baxter. Jessie remembered her well. “You’re wasting your time. I’ve talked to her multiple times over the years. She told me she left early the night Sophie was there. I showed her Sophie’s picture, and she was adamant about never having seen her before.”
“How long ago was that?”
“At least three years ago.”
“You need to come,” he said. “Leanne told me she’s been haunted by your sister’s story for years and wants to come clean.”
Jessie thought about Olivia and what her niece had said about needing to know what happened to her mom. Her chest tightened. “Why would Leanne decide to talk now?”
“Because I offered her a bribe. After talking to her landlord, I discovered he was ready to kick her to the street. I told her I would pay for her next two months of rent.”
“Jesus,” Jessie said. “So this is how you get people to talk.”
“Not always,” he said, sounding unrepentant. “But when I’m desperate? Sure.”
“If you already met with her, why didn’t she tell you what she knew?”
“We haven’t met face-to-face, and she didn’t want to tell me anything over the phone.”
She sighed as she looked at the stack of unopened mail. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll pick you up at three forty-five.”
“No need. I can drive myself.”
“If we’re going to work together to find your sister, I think it’s best if we get to know each other. And it makes sense, especially with your busy schedule, that we use the driving time to do that.”
“You want to pick my brain—is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes. One more thing,” he said before she could hang up.
“What is it?”
“Do you have any of Sophie’s old high school yearbooks lying around?”
“I think so. Why?”
“I’d like to take a look at the people she went to school with. That sort of thing.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. See you soon.”
Jessie was in the kitchen when Olivia returned from taking Higgins for a walk. She was sweaty and red in the face. “Looks like Higgins gave you a workout,” Jessie said.
“Yeah. He’s getting faster.” Olivia hung the leash on the wall hook. “It’s hard to believe he has a broken leg.”
Higgins’s cast clicked against the wood floor as he made his way to his water bowl. The dog was starting to feel comfortable in his new home. Even Cecil was getting used to him.
“Oh,” Olivia said, gesturing toward the stairs, “that crime reporter guy is outside. He said he was early and didn’t mind waiting.” Olivia looked at Jessie with curious eyes. “Where are you guys going? Did he discover something new about Sophie?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Jessie went to the window overlooking the street, where she could see Ben Morrison leaning against the hood of a black Toyota Highlander, both hands stuffed in his pants pockets as he gazed straight ahead.
As she watched him, she tried to put herself in his shoes and imagine having no memories whatsoever of her childhood. Despite her dysfunctional upbringing, she would never want to part with all the good memories she still held so dear to her heart.
There was something mysterious about Ben Morrison. It was in his eyes, she decided. The first time they’d met, she’d felt as if he could see right through her. And although she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, she found herself wondering if his amnesia was merely an excuse, and that maybe he knew more about what happened to Sophie than he was letting on.
“Are you okay?”
Olivia’s voice pulled Jessie from her thoughts. She looked at her niece, feeling a little guilty about being less than enthusiastic about looking for Sophie. Ten years had passed since her sister’s disappearance, the event that had shaped her and Olivia’s lives. Not a day went by that Jessie didn’t think about her sister and wonder where she was. And yet once Ben had called her, she’d realized somewhere along the way she’d begun to move on with her life.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked again.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“So where are you going?”
“To the Wild West in Auburn.”
“Isn’t that where Sophie was seen last?”
“It is. Basically we’re starting over.”
“Can I go with you?”
“No. I need you to watch Higgins. You wanted a dog, and now you have one. I’ll help out while you’re in school, but he’s your responsibility. I expect you to do your homework, too. No television until it’s done.”
“Fine. I have a paper to write anyhow. I had to pick a fictional character to write about, so I picked Sherlock Holmes.”
Jessie grabbed the backpack she used for a purse and slid the straps over her shoulders. “Interesting choice. What made you pick Sherlock?”
“I thought it would be a good place to start since I’ve decided after I graduate I want to be a private eye like you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Jessie raised her arms. “Look around you. You want to live my glamorous life?”
“I thought you were happy.”
“I can barely pay the bills, let alone buy dog food for Higgins. You can be anything you desire. You have the freedom to choose any occupation at all.”
“Are you telling me that you didn’t have a choice?”
Jessie’s arms fell to her sides. “Never mind. This is way too soon to be talking about this. First you need to go to college.”
Olivia crossed her arms. “I’m planning on it. I’ve already decided that I want to get a degree in criminal justice.”
Jessie groaned. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this later.”
“Nice ride,” Jessie said when Ben Morrison opened the door for her, and she slid into the passenger seat.
“It’s the wife’s car. Mine isn’t so nice. No air-conditioning and an engine that hisses at stoplights.”
“Sounds a lot like my car,” Jessie said with a laugh.
He merged into traffic.
She unzipped her backpack, pulled out the yearbook, and placed it on the back seat.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She looked at his profile. “What’s really going on here?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
She exhaled. “Never mind. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Forget I said anything.”
“You still have doubts about me—don’t you?”
“I guess I do.”