Taking my sweet time, I buttered my toast to the very edges before smearing it with Mom’s apple cinnamon jelly. I didn’t bother cutting it in half, just turned with the full piece of bread in my hand.
Uncle Alex was watching me as he spoke to my parents, eyeing up my reaction to his presence. I didn’t give him one. Eventually the conversation ebbed and he pointed at me.
“Let’s go, little bro. I’m taking you out for coffee.”
“Oh well that’s nice.” Mom squeezed his shoulder looking more than relieved.
I reluctantly followed him to the door and shoved on my shoes. I wasn’t in the mood to talk and so we stayed silent as he drove me to a diner just outside of town.
“Not this one.” I pointed at it.
“It’s perfect. There’s hardly anyone here.” Uncle Alex opened the door and got out before I could protest. I gazed at the glass windows, picturing myself inside, writing notes as I tried to figure out who Dani was. I still didn’t know. Not really.
With a sigh, I pushed the door with my shoulder and got out, scuffing my way over the parking lot and up the stairs.
Uncle Alex ordered two coffees and an apricot danish.
“Want anything?” He pointed his thumb at me.
I shook my head and walked to the corner booth.
“Nice choice.” Uncle Alex slid in opposite me and glanced out the window. We were practically the only ones here, but it was Saturday morning. It would likely fill up soon.
“So.” He slapped the folder down on the table. “It’s been two weeks. Any word from her?”
“Nope.” I accentuated the P, which just made me sound pissy, but I didn’t care. I was fluctuating between anger and despair. It was like being in one of those pirate ships at an amusement park, swinging up then down, up then down. My stomach was in constant knots that I couldn’t seem to loosen.
Uncle Alex waited for our coffee and his danish to be served before blowing out a slow breath. “I know you told me to leave it alone, but I couldn’t.” He flicked open the folder. “I did some subtle digging and when I mean subtle, I’ve done this on my own. Haven’t spoken to anyone about it.”
His intense gaze made me nod.
“You wanna hear this?”
“Nope.”
Uncle Alex tipped his head with a droll glare. “Well, tough shit.”
He pulled out three bundles of paper, all stapled at the top left corner.
“So I looked up every murder article that I could find taking place in L.A. during 2009 with a few months on either side of the year as well. There were plenty, but I scoured every local paper, looking specifically for murdered couples. I then went through those searching for all the unsolved crimes. I then looked at family history. About ten of them had daughters around Dani’s age, but only three of them had daughters with blonde hair and blue eyes who have not been seen since.” He spread the three bundles out. “Look, this is no guarantee. I’ve probably missed some, but these three looked the most like Dani’s picture. Do you think any of them could be her?”
He pushed them towards me.
I didn’t want to look, but my fingers snaffled up the pages anyway.
First I flicked to the back pages to look at the photos. They were all in black and white and quite grainy and all three girls could have been Dani. One of them was kind of chubby, in the other picture, the nose seemed a little wrong, but the last picture could definitely be her.
I turned back to the front page and read the article. “Harriet Marshall. This could be her. Parents stabbed to death.” I winced, hoping that’s not what Dani had witnessed. The three articles about the murder all assumed Harriet had been abducted by the killer, one of her shoes was found lying near the curb as if it’d been kicked off in a struggle.
“Do you think—” Uncle Alex pursed his lips. “I mean, the story she told you, she wouldn’t have been making it up, right? I mean, what if her abductor was the one forcing her to pull the cons?”
I shook my head. “She was telling me the truth. I know she was.”
I had to believe it.
Sipping at my coffee, I went through the last two. Michelle Carlson and Lucy Tate.
The one on Lucy said she was a possible murder suspect. I pushed that aside immediately. As if. Dani wasn’t capable of murder.
After an hour of shuffling back and forth through the articles, I gazed at the pictures again. Lucy Tate’s photo was pretty cute. She was kind of chubby, but her nose was right. Her eyes were beaming, carefree and happy. It was sad that her life had been torn apart by these murders. Whether she committed the crime or not, she certainly wouldn’t be this grinning girl in the photo anymore. I flicked the pages back and skimmed the article again. Lucy’s father was an analyst for the FBI. I squinted as I looked at the grainy picture of a blond man with pale eyes.
“William Tenner,” I read the caption aloud.
“Yeah, he was the lead investigator on that case. Seemed pretty determined to find out who killed one of his guys.”