Matt went down the hall to his bedroom and packed a small suitcase of clothing before shucking his jeans and taking a long, hot shower. With his hair still wet, he padded in bare feet and jeans to the living room. Caitlin’s baby book used to be in a drawer in the coffee table. He sat Indian-style on the carpet and pulled everything out of the drawer but didn’t find it. His gaze studied the bookcases behind the sofa. No sign of it.
Caitlin liked to look at pictures of her mother. Maybe she’d taken it. He got up and went to her room. They’d left in such a hurry he hadn’t made her bed. He straightened the pink ruffled spread and put her shoes in the closet. He glanced around the room but saw only dolls and toys until he got on his hands and knees and looked under the bed.
He pulled out the slim volume that chronicled the advent of his daughter into his life. Sitting with his legs straight out in front of him on the floor and his back against the bed, he began to flip through the pages. Ajax flopped down beside him and put his head in his lap.
“I miss Caitlin too, boy,” Matt said. “Look, here’s her first picture with you.” The photo showed Caitlin two days after they got her. Her tiny face was screwed up as Ajax licked her cheek. His muzzle had been pure black then instead of laced with gray like now. “She loved you right from the start.”
He turned the page. Ah, here was what he was looking for. The baby shower. Seeing the photo of Analise holding Caitlin made him pause. She looked so happy. Two years of bliss as a complete family followed Caitlin’s arrival. “You big ham, you’re in this picture too,” he told Ajax. The dog woofed as though he understood. Most of their church family was there, standing in for the lack of grandparents. Analise’s parents lived in Florida and rarely came to town.
There was a picture of the quilt with Caitlin lying on it. Ajax sprawled beside her. The next page held a list of the gifts, but there were several holes regarding who gave what. At least half of the items were not attached to a name, and he remembered why. Analise had given the job of making this list to two little girls from church who wanted to be included. Their childish scrawl showed their age. They’d been about ten.
If only he could remember. Maybe Gina would know. He’d ask her about it. He glanced at his watch and realized he’d better get moving. His heart thumped against his ribs.
AT THE COFFEE shop, he had trouble finding a place to park. For just a moment as he stepped onto the walk, he became that frightened eight-year-old boy. He shook off the sensation and strode with all the confidence he could muster to the door. The aroma of coffee and cinnamon rolls lingered in the air when he stepped inside.
He made a quick perusal of the room. Two women sipped frappés at a table in the back. Too young to be his mother. A man and a woman old enough to be his grandparents were standing at the counter arguing over how many shots the man usually took in his latte. Two men occupied a table by the door, no help there.
His stomach plunged. She wasn’t here. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was barely nine. Maybe she was just a little late. And maybe he was just a sap.
He ordered a black coffee and took it and the newspaper to a table by the window at some distance from the other coffee drinkers. Opening the paper, he noticed his hands were shaking a little. For half an hour he sat pretending to read the paper and jerking to alert status anytime the bell on the door jingled. He checked in with Blake, then settled in to wait.
At nine thirty he folded the paper and laid it on the table. He’d wasted half an hour he could have spent with his daughter. As he stood, a woman stepped into the room. He appraised her appearance. About sixty, so the age might be close. Her hair looked dyed. Her height seemed about right.
Ajax whined at his feet, and he put his hand on the dog’s head to calm him. Or maybe to calm himself. He wasn’t aware of standing. She looked around and caught his gaze. With an uncertain smile, she approached and looked up at him. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Seeing her nervousness gave him courage.
“Are—are you Frannie Beitler?”
“Yes. Are you Matt?”
Her low, modulated voice struck him wrong. He’d remembered a higher pitch. But that was a long time ago. Age roughed up vocal cords. “Sit down. Can I get you some coffee?”
“I’d love a mocha.” She fussed with her bag, opening and closing the latch.
He ordered the coffee and stood watching her from the corner of his eye. Had her hair been so straight? He used to wrap her curls around his boyish fingers. But maybe she’d had it straightened. The barista handed him the mocha, and he carried it back to their table.
His head on his paws, Ajax lay watching her. Matt wished the dog could tell him his impression. Matt handed her the drink, then picked up his own coffee. The strong, hot liquid fortified him.
“How did you find me?”
“Through the Web site,” she said. “I was surprised to find you still looking.”
“Why did you leave, Mom?” The words burst out of him. “You just walked out on us and never looked back.”
She stared down at her hands, tightly clenched in her lap. “I wasn’t cut out for motherhood.”
“Don’t give me that. You were a great mother until the day I came home and found you gone.” His voice vibrated with passion.
“Let’s not talk about the past, Mattie.”
She’d never called him Mattie. Not ever. He studied her face. The nose wasn’t right. His gaze dropped to her chin. He looked for the scar she’d received from falling on ice when he was seven. Her chin was smooth. “You’re not my mother.”
Her gaze shot up and collided with his. She grabbed her purse and started to rise, but he caught her wrist. “Let me go,” she said.
“Why did you come here and try to impersonate my mother?”
“I—I—please, you’re hurting my wrist.” She twisted to try to break free, but his grip was too tight.
“I’m a detective. You didn’t contact me through the Web site. You used my personal e-mail at the sheriff’s department. I’m going to arrest you unless you tell me why you did this.” He got no joy from the terror in her face, but she’d come here with an agenda, and he meant to find out what it was.
“He—he paid me.”
“Who paid you?”
“The guy. Older than you. Going a little bald. We started talking at a bar in Broad Ripple. He said he wanted to help a friend and he’d pay good money for it. It seemed harmless enough. Make you think your mom wanted to see you so you weren’t so obsessed with finding her.”
Harmless. The disappointment devouring him was anything but harmless. She obviously had no idea what it was like to long for someone the way he longed to find his mother. “Was his name Reece?”
“He never told me his name.”
It had to be Reece from the description. What kind of sick puppy would do this to him? He shook his head. The same kind who would beat a defenseless woman.
He let go of her wrist. “Get out of here. Count yourself lucky that I don’t arrest you.”
She scurried out the door without a backward glance while he sat back down and wondered what Reece’s motive had been. If he just wanted to inflict pain, he’d managed that. The region around his heart still ached. But what if Reece had something bigger in mind? Was he trying to divert Matt’s attention from the murders? If that was his goal, he’d only made Matt more determined to find evidence that implicated him.
He needed Caitlin’s arms around his neck. He drove out to the covered bridge and across it to Blake and Gina’s house. As his SUV rolled up the driveway, he watched for the sight of Caitlin’s bright head.
There she was. Pigtails flying, she came bounding down the steps with her smile brighter than the sun overhead. She was small for her age of five, but the doctor had said not to worry. He pushed the guilt away. Caitlin belonged to him, not Hannah.
He flung open his door and opened his arms. Caitlin leaped into them and wrapped herself around him like a monkey. She smelled of soap and Cheerios. He buried his face in her neck and nuzzled it until she giggled.