CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lianne and her new husband were staying at a condo on the bluffs overlooking Neptune, nestled among the pines and palms on the hillside. Any cheaper accommodations were booked—the vacancies left by balking spring breakers were being snatched up by incoming reporters, cameramen, and producers as quick as they opened up. Petra Landros had put the Scotts in the modern marble and glass temple of the Apollo Heights Townhomes, courtesy of the Neptune Chamber of Commerce.
Veronica’s mind was a staticky blank as she rang the doorbell to their unit. Sunlight wove through the trees, leaving dappled patterns across the beds of river stones and succulents lining the front walk. The birds chattered cacophonously overhead. Veronica noticed everything as if the information came from far away as she waited for her mom—or her new husband—to come to the door.
Landros had given her a quick spiel over the phone. Lianne and her husband, Tanner, lived in Tucson, Arizona. Tanner worked at the Home Depot. Lianne was a part-time receptionist in a dentist’s office. They’d flown out that morning, as soon as they’d gotten the news. They were, of course, devastated.
Veronica didn’t mention her connection to Lianne. She probably should have; she now officially had a conflict of interest. Or, at least, she would if she had any intention of letting her feelings get in the way of solving the case. But she didn’t. And given how she and Lianne had left things all those years ago, it all seemed too awkward, too personal to try to explain to Petra Landros. So the client is my mother, but at this point it’s more an honorary title than anything, as I haven’t seen her in more than a decade. No big deal.
Veronica gave a small start as the door latch scraped open. In the entryway stood a small boy with sandy blond hair. He was about six years old, in a Batman T-shirt and short pants. He had child-size bongos strapped across his chest.
He squinted up at her. “You don’t look like the police.”
She knelt down to his level. All at once the distant feeling disappeared, and she was terribly, intensely present. She looked into the boy’s eyes. They were light brown, big in his small, serious face.
“Neither do you,” she said, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. He didn’t smile.
“The police are stupid. I’m Batman.” With that he beat a little tattoo on his drums and ran back into the condo. “Mom! Someone’s here!”
Mom. She watched the back of his head, getting slowly to her feet. Her skin prickled with adrenaline. He called her Mom.
For a moment she lingered on the threshold. Then she stepped through the door. A moment later, Lianne Mars—Lianne Scott—came in from the other room.
It’d been eleven years since she’d seen her mother. Eleven years since Veronica had looked Lianne in the face and told her to leave. Veronica had been seventeen years old, and it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. But Lianne couldn’t be trusted. All her best intentions—her love, her kindness, her good humor—had long since been drowned in the bottom of a bottle.
Now Lianne stood in the doorway, staring at her daughter. Her mouth was open, as if she’d been about to speak but had forgotten what to say.
The idea of saying anything at all was absurd. After such a long silence, after all that had happened in the long years between them—it was unthinkable. But they couldn’t stand in the entryway forever. Veronica gave her mother an awkward smile.
“Hi, Mom.”
Lianne shut her mouth. She took a few steps forward. Veronica realized that she was moving for a hug and took an instinctive step back. Lianne stopped in her tracks, her arms suddenly limp at her sides.
From the other room came a syncopated drumbeat, tapped haphazardly on the bongos.
Veronica cleared her throat. “Petra Landros sent me. I’m here to help you find Aurora.”
Lianne laughed. It was a strange, shrill sound, like something breaking in her throat. “Of course. Of course you are. Of course it’d be you.” She turned away. “Come in.”
Veronica followed her mother into a plush, high-ceilinged room, where a sleek Danish living room set was arranged around a fireplace. Most of one wall was taken up by windows; outside, a wide balcony looked out over the Neptune skyline. The little boy sat on a thick-napped rug, still pounding on his bongo.
“Can I … can I get you anything?” Lianne’s eyes kept darting toward her and then away just as quickly. “Water? Coffee?”
“No, thank you.” She’s just another client, Veronica told herself. Just another scared parent who’s lost a child. That thought made her want to laugh out loud, even as a humorless and hollow feeling opened like a chasm inside her.
Veronica stood awkwardly near a chair, waiting for the invitation to sit. Lianne squeezed her hands together like she was hoping to wring some comfort from them. She stared down at the little boy.
“Hunter, sweetheart. Can you go to your room and play alone for a little while? I need to talk to … to this lady.”
Hunter stood up, picking up the bongos. He gave Veronica a long, inscrutable look. “Are you going to find Rory?”
“Rory?” She realized a beat too late that that must be Aurora’s nickname. She sat down on the long edge of an L-shaped couch, just in front of him. “I’ll do my very best.”
A small crease formed between his eyes. He glanced up at Lianne, who watched fretfully from a few feet away.
“Mom, can’t I stay?”
Lianne closed her eyes for a moment. “Please, sweetheart, do what I’ve asked. We just need a little privacy.”