“Very well.” Myrna sniffed, then turned around. “Come this way.”
She led us inside, and my eyes narrowed as I studied the interior. The granite countertop separating the kitchen to my left from the rest of the living room looked fairly new – it was blemish-free and sparkling, as were the refrigerator, stove and cabinets. Of course that could possibly be attributed to Myrna’s cleaning skills; she could just be really good at maintaining her house.
But the living room beyond boasted fairly expensive looking furniture – stuffed couches, gleaming oak side tables, a thick Garaian rug… and the hardwood floor that creaked beneath my feet looked new.
“Can I get you anything?” Myrna asked Lakin with a tired sigh as she set her daughter down in a playpen set up alongside the wall. The little girl instantly plopped down onto her butt and reached for a stuffed wolf to play with.
“No, we’re fine,” Lakin assured her. He allowed his eyes to play across the furniture as we sat down on a dark green love seat, as if he hadn’t already taken in the surroundings. “You have a very nice home, Mrs. Laniren.”
“Thank you.” A brief smile lightened Myrna’s face, taking off a few years. Since shifters normally lived to around three hundred, we aged much more slowly than humans, but stress could still take a toll on our looks. “We had everything redone a few months ago and I’ve worked hard to maintain it. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds when you have a toddler around.” She glanced fondly at her child, and pity stirred in my chest. It was clear she loved her son as much as she did her daughter – it was probably killing her that he was gone.
“That must have been quite expensive.”
Myrna sighed again. “It was.” Lines tightened around her pale blue eyes as she, too, looked around the room. “We never really intended to fix up the entire house, but the pipes were rusting and the roof badly needed repair, and when rats started chewing through our electrical wiring… oh, it was just horrible.” She dragged her hands through her curly hair. “If Tyron hadn’t gotten us that loan, I don’t know what we would have done with the house.”
“Loan?” I asked, my heart leaping as Myrna confirmed my suspicions. “Where did you get the loan from?”
“Sandin Federal Bank.” Myrna narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do you ask?”
“Have you been keeping up with your loan payments, Mrs. Laniren?” Lakin asked.
“Of course!’ Myrna’s face flushed. “We’re responsible people. We wouldn’t take on a debt that we couldn’t pay.” But Lakin and I could both smell the lie, and she knew it.
“Mrs. Laniren, nobody is trying to judge you,” Lakin said soothingly. “We’re just trying to get more information. Are you sure that you were keeping up with your payments? You never missed any, not even one?”
Myrna sighed. “Well, we did miss a few of them, but never two in a row, and we always tried to pay extra the following month to keep up. It happens to everyone, doesn’t it?”
“Of course,” Lakin said smoothly. “Did you ever receive any threatening communication from the bank when you missed the payments? Phone calls, letters?”
“I don’t understand. Why are you asking all this?”
“Some information has recently come to light,” I butted in, impatient to cut to the chase. “Information suggesting that all of the families of the recent kidnapping victims may have been struggling with debt payments. We’re trying to see if there might be some connection, something that could lead us to the kidnapper, and aside from the fact that you’re all shifters, the debt problems are the only common theme we’re finding.”
The blood drained from Myrna’s face. “Are you saying that Tylin was taken from us because we weren’t making our payments?”
“We can’t be sure,” Lakin said gently. “But we’re not ruling it out, either.”
The color abruptly rushed back into Myrna’s face, turning her skin bright red. “I knew we never should have taken on that loan!” she growled, jumping to her feet. She bared her fangs as she began pacing back and forth across the rug, her expression livid. “I’m going to kill Tyron when he gets home!”
The toddler let out a distressed wail at the sound of her mother’s voice, and Myrna’s expression softened as she dropped down to her knees in front of the playpen to scoop up her daughter.
“Don’t worry, Liv,” she cooed, rocking the small child. “Mommy’s okay. You don’t need to be upset.” She dropped a kiss on the top of her daughter’s curly head and I heard her whisper, “I’m just so glad I still have you here.”
My heart ached at the pain in her voice, and for once I was glad to be unattached – I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if I had a child and he was taken from me. I may not have been a mother, but the maternal instinct stirred inside me at the sight of this woman’s pain, and for a moment I wanted to comfort her.