Before We Were Strangers

by Brenda Novak

  Adler lumbered back to his seat. “Which may or may not mean anything. We can’t ruin a man’s career off of a ‘we should’ve heard from her by now.’”

  “Have you ever talked to Sloane about her mother’s disappearance, sir?”

  “Look, I know you love this woman—or think you do.”

  Micah opened his mouth to argue but Adler didn’t give him the chance.

  “But she was five years old when her mother left. Do you really think I should open a police investigation of the mayor due to memories that are more than twenty years old and are from the perspective of a young child?”

  “You don’t know that she’s remembering wrong. She claims her parents were fighting about Judd that night.”

  “So what if they were? Maybe Clara was tired of all the fighting. Maybe that’s why she took off!”

  “Sloane has spoken to someone who saw Ed tow his boat out of the neighborhood that night.”

  “The boat?”

  “Yes, in the middle of the night. Why would he need to take the boat out if he’d just had a fight with his wife, and she’d left him?”

  “You need to stop,” Adler said. “I don’t want you going after this. I’m telling you, it’ll only ruin your career.”

  “I’ll be discreet. I swear it. I just want to learn more.”

  Adler’s double chins wagged as he tsked. “Micah, even if we dive into this, what’re the chances we’ll be able to prove anything beyond a reasonable doubt? We’ll make enemies for nothing.”

  Micah felt his muscles bunch. “For nothing?”

  “Yes! Because you’re thinking with the wrong head!”

  Micah was tempted to say, At least I’m thinking with one of them, but he knew that would be foolish. If he wanted to keep his job, he’d already pushed this as far as he could.

  “Ed likes you,” Adler said in a more conciliatory tone. “He has big plans for you. Don’t let Sloane derail all of that.” He was trying to come off as paternal, was pretending he cared about what might happen to Micah’s livelihood, but Micah guessed he was far more worried about what might happen to his own.

  “Clara didn’t even come back for her mother’s funeral,” Micah said, ignoring the more personal stuff Adler had dredged up.

  “Maybe she didn’t want to see Ed again, didn’t want to face her broken-hearted children and all the other people she’d let down.”

  That was a lame response, and he had to know it. This conversation was driving Micah crazy. He thought it should be going in a completely different direction. “I don’t believe that,” he said. “I don’t believe anything could’ve kept her away.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” his chief said. “If you’re still interested in finding out what happened to Clara McBride, we can look into it next year, after the election is over and Sloane is gone. Then at least I’ll know you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

  “The right reasons?” Micah echoed. “A woman has gone missing and might be dead. Isn’t that the right reason?”

  “She went missing twenty-three years ago, so quit acting like it’s some kind of emergency. It isn’t fair to sink Ed McBride’s chance at another term by bringing this up right now. Timing can be everything in an election. For all we know, that’s what Sloane is trying to do—get back at her father for some slight, either real or imagined. Why, after ten years, has she shown up now? We can’t let an embittered daughter cause us to lose our jobs just because you’re dying to get back in her pants.”

  Micah clenched his jaw. “That is so messed up, I don’t even know how to respond,” he said and walked out.

  “Micah!”

  He didn’t turn back. That exchange was bullshit, so anything else Adler had to say on the subject would be bullshit, too.

  The bottom line was this: Ed had stacked the deck in his favor. He even had the police department in his pocket. Which meant Sloane wasn’t going to be able to bring her father down even if he deserved it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Well, aren’t you the cat who swallowed the canary.”

  Ed pulled his attention away from the text he was composing on his phone to see Edith Wegman, his sixty-something-year-old receptionist, filling the doorway of his office at city hall. He should’ve closed his door when he returned from lunch. He’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t heard her coming and hated feeling as though she’d been watching him unawares.

  “What are you talking about?” He put his phone in his pocket as she came over.

  “The look on your face.” She handed him the mail when she reached the edge of his desk.

  “What look?” he asked as he glanced through the stack.

  She wiped the sweat beading on her upper lip. She was always complaining about hot flashes, which he found distasteful. He’d never liked old women. “Mayor McBride, I’ve worked for you long enough to know when you’re pretty darn proud of something. Did you just make a million dollars? Secure a key benefactor for the campaign? Hear that your opponent is dying of cancer?”

  “Aren’t you funny,” he said.

  She adjusted the necklace that had all of her grandkids’ birthstones on it. “Just trying to share your excitement.”

  “There’s nothing special going on.” He’d merely been trying to decide what to say to Paige to make her think last night had meant something to him. He’d never dreamed he’d be able to get Sloane’s best friend into bed, but it had been surprisingly easy. He’d neutralized Micah by meeting with the chief of police, and now he was sleeping with Sloane’s childhood friend, who’d already kicked her out of the house. She wouldn’t have the support of either of them while she was in Millcreek, and if they wouldn’t support her, who else was there for her to turn to?

  Edith smoothed her too-tight dress. “Come on. You weren’t smiling like the Cheshire cat for nothing.”

  The old battle-ax never let anything go. She reminded him of the nuns who’d been in charge of the private school he’d attended as a child. He’d hated one so much he’d put a bunch of earwigs in her desk before school one morning. When she reached into her drawer, she’d screamed, jumped to her feet and fallen, twisting an ankle, which had taken her out of school for three days. The memory of that moment—his revenge for calling his parents to tell them he’d been picking on another student—made him chuckle. Although she’d suspected it was him, she couldn’t prove it, so she’d had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Still, as much as Edith behaved like Sister Kathryn, she had her place in his life. Her reputation as an upstanding, God-fearing, no-nonsense woman was part of the reason he kept her around. Her presence in his office helped to create an honest image, which was important in this day and age, when almost all politicians were assumed to be corrupt.

  “If you must know, I was trying to text the woman I had over for dinner last night,” he said. He’d actually sent her a brief message when he got up, but she hadn’t responded yet, and he wanted to engage her again.

  “Miss Gentry?” Edith guessed.

  “No, Simone and I are no longer seeing each other.”

  “I thought you liked her. I mean...you’ve been seeing her for months. Isn’t that some kind of record?”

  Simone had been convenient; that was all. “Record or no, it’s over. I like this woman better.”

  He handed several of the letters he’d glanced through back to her while stacking the rest neatly on his desk. “Send out our standard response on the park issue. The city doesn’t have the money to do what these people are asking right now.”

  “If we waited to repave Brazos Boulevard, we could fund the park and do the repaving later,” she pointed out.

  “Keeping the main drag looking top-notch is more important,” he said, but what she didn’t know was that the contractor rebuilding the road could always be counted on for a nice kickback.


  She sighed. “Okay. If you say so.”

  “I say so,” he said but stopped her as she was leaving. “Actually, before you do anything else, could you send a dozen roses to the Little Bae Bae Boutique here in town? Have the card read, ‘I had a nice time last night. Hope to see you again soon.’ Then I won’t have to decide what to text.”

  She gaped at him. “You’re kidding me.”

  He stood. She had such a strict sense of right and wrong, he didn’t like her looking down that narrow nose at him. “About...”

  “You’re sending flowers to Paige Evans? That’s who you had dinner with last night?”

  “That’s right. Is there a problem?”

  “Isn’t she a friend of your daughter’s?”

  “Sloane left everyone behind without a backward glance ten years ago. I don’t think she has any friends left. Do you?”

  “But what about the age difference? What is she...twenty-seven?”

  “She’s at least twenty-eight, old enough to know if she wants to have dinner with me. And she’s divorced, which makes us both available. That’s all that matters. Age is just a number.”

  Her lip curled in disapproval. “People are going to talk about this.”

  “People will talk about anything.” Besides, he wanted the news to get out. The fact that Paige was nearly half his age wouldn’t be the best thing to carry into the next election. His opponent would definitely have something to say about it. But it’d been years since he’d dated anyone else in Millcreek, so he was fairly confident his reputation could withstand the blow. It wasn’t as if he could be painted as a womanizer. With the possible exception of Edith, most people had no idea how many women he’d been with over the years.

  Sloane was the real enemy, the only one who could possibly destroy him, and linking his name with Paige’s would help to discredit Sloane. After all, Paige wouldn’t be dating him if she believed he was dangerous, and if Sloane’s best friend didn’t believe he was dangerous, why should anyone else?

  “Why are you still standing there?” he asked Edith. “The boutique closes at five.”

  With a huff, she lumbered out of his office and slammed the door.

  * * *

  Sloane rolled down her window, hoping the air would blow the steam off the anger boiling up inside her. For most of her life, she’d been reluctant to contest her father’s version of the past. She didn’t want to falsely accuse an innocent man. But those texts she’d read proved how readily he lied. And it wasn’t just the untruths that enraged her. He didn’t care about all the pain and angst he’d caused her.

  Tell her that we didn’t get involved until after Clara left, that you were merely trying to comfort me and things got a little out of control.

  She wished she’d taken him on sooner. He deserved for someone to stand up to him! Poor Clara. Her life could’ve been so different if she’d married someone else.

  Sloane glanced over at her phone, which she’d put in the holder on her console before leaving the restaurant parking lot. She wanted to call Micah and tell him everything she was thinking and feeling. Without Clyde she had no one to turn to, no one with whom she could share her worries and fears. But the memory of Paige crying in her motel room last night made her hesitate. Not him. And not just for Paige’s sake. If Sloane really cared about Micah, she’d let him live his life. What Ed did—whether he killed Clara or not—didn’t have to affect Micah, not if she made sure it didn’t.

  She just hoped she was strong enough. She kept imagining him leaning forward to kiss her, what it would feel like to have him slide his hands up under her blouse or take her to bed again. It didn’t help that she was so damn starved for love. She felt as though she’d been in hibernation for the past ten years and was only now coming out of it, hungrier for a man—for him—than she’d ever been before.

  She pulled off the freeway to get gas, but once she filled up, she found herself once again fighting the impulse to call Micah. She sat there, arguing with herself for over fifteen minutes. Paige and Micah were divorced. She could call him if she wanted. He was with her long before he was with Paige. But she wasn’t planning to stay in Millcreek, and there was no way she’d ever drag him away from his son even if he’d be willing to leave, which he wouldn’t. So why start anything?

  Soon, she was just frustrated and mad enough to call the dealership that now belonged to her brother instead.

  “McBride Auto.”

  Sloane slid her seat back, so she wouldn’t feel confined by the steering column. “Is Randy McBride there?”

  “Can I tell him who’s calling?”

  “His sister, Sloane.”

  Elevator music came on as the operator put her on hold. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the seat as she listened, wondering if he’d take her call, and what he’d say if he did.

  Finally, the girl she’d spoken to before came back on the line. “He’s with someone. Can I have him get back to you?”

  “No, I’d rather wait.”

  “It might be a few minutes.”

  Would he ever answer? Sloane decided to find out. “I don’t mind.”

  “Okay,” the woman said in a “suit yourself” voice and the elevator music began to play again.

  Sloane watched the clock for ten minutes. She’d just decided that he wasn’t going to speak to her and was about to hang up when she heard him say hello.

  “Randy?”

  “Sloane?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “What do you want?”

  He didn’t sound the least repentant for having shoved her into the door. Suddenly, that made her as mad as her encounter with the lying Katrina. She’d always tried to see the situation from Randy’s perspective, to feel some empathy for what he might be going through—his fear of losing his beloved father—but he never seemed to cut her any slack in return. “I wanted to tell you that I finally understand where you’re coming from.”

  She could tell he wasn’t quite certain how to respond. “You do?”

  “Yes. It isn’t that you don’t believe me about Dad. It’s that you do.”

  “You need to stop all this bullshit, Sloane,” he responded, his voice almost a growl. “I don’t know how many more ways I can tell you. Nothing good can come from digging up the past.”

  “Not for Dad—and maybe not for you. But I don’t give a shit. Not anymore. I’ve had it, Randy. I won’t stop until I have the truth, no matter who it destroys.”

  “You think you can take us both on?” he asked.

  “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” She was shaking when she hung up. She shouldn’t have provoked him. She guessed Micah would freak out if he knew. But she was tired of letting Randy push her around—literally and figuratively. She’d needed to speak up for herself, needed to take charge.

  The phone rang before she could fully recover. Assuming it was Randy, calling back to let her have it, she checked the caller ID. But it wasn’t the dealership; it was Micah.

  She battled with the desire to hear his voice, to tell him everything that’d happened, to drive straight to his house and walk into his arms. The song “Bring It on Home to Me” by Little Big Town had been playing on the radio before she stopped for gas, and that was exactly what she wanted to do. Unburden herself. Melt into his strength.

  But she didn’t. She turned off the ringer and slipped her phone in her purse so she wouldn’t be tempted to answer if he called back. Then she adjusted her seat so she could drive and headed to Millcreek.

  Micah got Sloane’s voice mail yet again. Why wouldn’t she pick up? He had something important to tell her, something that changed everything.

  He texted her: Call me. I need to talk to you. And still she didn’t respond.

  He was really beginning to worry when he went to the motel at nine, a time when he thought she’d be
back and getting ready for bed, and she wasn’t there. What the hell? She’d been gone all day. He knew because he’d been down Brazos Boulevard several times earlier while he was on duty and couldn’t help checking the lot with every pass.

  “Damn it, where are you?” he muttered and flipped his truck around so he could drive by Paige’s. That was the only other place he figured she could be, but her car wasn’t out front, so he didn’t bother to go in. He didn’t want Paige to know he was looking for Sloane. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t any of his ex-wife’s business.

  Could Sloane have gone to her father’s? Or Randy’s?

  He hoped not, but he was on his way to check both houses when he spotted a white Jaguar at the Royal Flush, a fairly new bar popular with the younger crowd, and immediately turned in.

  Sure enough, he recognized the New York license plate on the Jag. Thank God he’d found her.

  Tuesday night was ladies’ night, where well drinks for women were only a dollar, so it was crowded. He parked as close as he could, pocketed his keys and strode to the entrance.

  BJ, the owner, waved as soon as Micah passed the bar. Micah had provided security for BJ last summer, whenever he featured a popular band. Since his divorce, Micah had been taking on almost any side job he could line up. He needed the money, and staying busy helped keep him from dwelling on the guilt and worry he felt for what his divorce might do to his son.

  He scanned the crowd for Sloane and found her dancing with some guy he didn’t recognize. They were dancing too close, which bothered him, but not as much as the fact that she was drunk. He could tell by the way she was moving, the way her head lolled as she stared up at the lights.

  After weaving through the tables to reach the dance floor on the far side, he tapped her partner on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt, but I need a moment with this woman.”

  The guy tried to shrug him off. “Not now,” he responded and pulled Sloane even closer.

  Sloane had her eyes closed and was resting her head on the guy’s shoulder as if she was too dizzy to do anything else, but she looked up at the sound of his voice and squinted to bring him into focus. “Micah?”