Girl Lost
Page 1
Girl Lost
A Detective Kaitlyn Carr Mystery
Kate Gable
Byrd Books LLC
Contents
Copyright
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About Girl Lost
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
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Copyright
Copyright © 2021 by Byrd Books, LLC.
All rights reserved.
Proofreaders:
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Cover Design: Kate Gable
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a word of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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About Kate Gable
Kate Gable loves a good mystery that is full of suspense. She grew up devouring psychological thrillers and crime novels as well as movies, tv shows and true crime.
Her favorite stories are the ones that are centered on families with lots of secrets and lies as well as many twists and turns. Her novels have elements of psychological suspense, thriller, mystery and romance.
Kate Gable lives in Southern California with her husband, son, a dog and a cat. She has spent more than twenty years in this area and finds inspiration from its cities, canyons, deserts, and small mountain towns.
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Also by Kate Gable
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* * *
Girl Missing (Book 1)
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Girl Lost (Book 2)
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Girl Found (Book 3)
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Girl Hidden (FREE Novella)
About Girl Lost
Don’t save me…
A newlywed with a secret pregnancy goes missing after a business trip. Her husband isn’t very concerned.
Why didn’t he want to report her missing? Where is she? Why was she keeping her pregnancy a secret? Detective Kaitlyn Carr has to get to the truth.
But back home in Big Bear Lake, her thirteen-year-old sister is still missing and now her friend has disappeared as well under very similar circumstances. The FBI is called in and the agent assigned to the case is none other than Luke Galvinson. But the last thing Kaitlyn needs is a man from her past.
Kaitlyn must not only split her time between these cases but also go further down the rabbit hole of the place she once called home.
Nothing is what it seems.
No one is who they are.
Everyone has a secret.
Can Kaitlyn uncover the truth in time to prevent another death?
* * *
Girl Lost is a suspenseful thriller perfect for fans of A. J. Rivers, Mary Stone, Willow Rose, James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, Kendra Elliot, Ella Gray, and Karin Slaughter. It has mystery, angst, a bit of romance and family drama.
1
I don't want to be here, but I don't have a choice. This guy's wife is missing and no one else is available to do the initial interview. I need to go back home and help find my sister, but instead I find myself sitting in traffic in West Hollywood.
I grew up in these parts. Well, not really grew up, but this is where I became an adult. I attended the University of Southern California. My boyfriend at the time lived in Park La Brea Apartments on the other side of The Grove, a big open-air shopping district right off of Fairfax. It's a beautiful place with a farmers market, shops, Barnes & Noble, and an old-style multiplex and fountains. It's small enough to be quaint, no matter how many tourists show up looking for celebrity sightings.
Park La Brea Apartments are the fancy towers looking over LA, the tallest structures in either direction. I don't live too far away from here, but for some reason when an overzealous driver in a new Mercedes cuts me off and steals my parking spot my mind wanders.
I remember all of the hours that I have spent at that Barnes & Noble and The Grove and all the fun that we had walking back over to his apartment. We were juniors and we weren’t the type to go to parties or participate in Greek life.
We wore black and read books written by authors from other countries with long names.
We liked being outsiders.
The husband lives in a second-floor walk-up on Willoughby Avenue. He comes out of the apartment even before I knock. Inviting me inside, he swallows hard and nervously cracks his knuckles.
"Thank you for coming," he says a little bit too quickly.
I don't know what to make of him at first. He's wearing a slouchy hat and his jeans are a little too baggy. In general, he looks just like any other mildly-employed guy in his late twenties walking around LA.
"You said that you wanted to make a report about your wife being missing?" I ask, partly surprised by the fact that someone like him even has a wife.
"Yes."
"Your name is Robert Kaslar?" I as
k, pulling a small notebook out of my crossbody bag.
A few minutes later, a deputy with the face of a high school student comes in and introduces himself again.
“Gary Lenore, we’ve met,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Yes, of course,” Lenore mumbles. “I was just downstairs checking the parking lot.”
"I already told you that her car isn’t there," Mr. Kaslar barks.
“Detective Carr, can I speak with you for a moment?” Lenore asks, nudging me to speak to him in private.
He pulls me aside out on the landing and shows me his notes. I glance down his uniform and look straight into the camera on his vest, recording everything it sees and hears.
"So, what's going on?" I ask.
"I don't know. His wife's friend called it in.”
"Really?" I ask, surprised.
"Where is she?"
"She had to go. She had to pick up her kid from school. She said that they were on a business trip together and they came home late last night and they had... She was going to have an appointment today at the gynecologist to confirm whether or not she's pregnant."
"Oh, wow. Okay," I say, nodding and jotting down a few quick notes.
"Anyway, they were supposed to meet up for lunch and she never showed,” Lenore continues.
"Well, that's not that unusual, right?" I ask.
"I guess it is, for this girl."
"How old is she?" I ask.
“Twenty-seven."
"So how long has she been missing?"
"It's unclear. According to the husband, he hasn't seen her since this morning and her friend hasn't had contact with her since last night."
"Okay."
It's hard to tell what this all means.
I come back into the apartment and take a more careful look around. The place is very clean. Actually, it seems a little bit too spotless for the type of guy that Mr. Kaslar appears to be.
It's a one-bedroom with charcoal walls and white curtains, delicate and embroidered with little flowers. They sway lightly in the breeze from the open window. The walls are covered in photographs, pictures of them on their various trips together. There are photos from Maui, Key West, Cancun.
"You two travel a lot?" I ask.
“Yeah. Whenever we can, whenever time allows."
"What is it that you do, Mr. Kaslar?”
“It's Dr. Kaslar, actually."
"Okay. Dr. Kaslar. What is it that you do?" I ask again, surprised by the formality.
He shifts his weight from one foot to another, crossing his arms and practically holding onto his elbows.
"I just got my PhD in engineering at USC," he says. "Electrical engineering."
"Oh, got it. Congratulations."
"Yeah, whatever,” he says, distracted.
He takes a step closer to me and, for a second, I think he’s going to touch me, but he doesn’t.
"Sorry. I don't know why I said that thing about calling me doctor,” he says. “You don't have to. Just call me Robert. I'm just really discombobulated about this whole thing."
“Of course, I can only imagine,” I say, with as much sympathy as I can muster. “Your wife’s name is Karen Moore Kaslar, right?"
He nods.
"What is it that she does for a living?"
"She's a writer. I mean, she wants to be a writer. I don't know," he mumbles.
"Does she work anywhere?" I ask, deciding to narrow my focus.
I realize, of course, that this is Los Angeles where ‘what you do for a living’ means different things to different people. Here, many people drive Uber or waitress in restaurants while trying to get a semblance of a career in the entertainment industry.
"Karen writes short stories. She's thinking about doing an MFA program. She's not really working anywhere."
"Okay. Got it. Yeah.” I look at my notes. “Her friend, Elin? She said that they went on a business trip together?"
He shifts his weight again and puts his hoodie up over his head and then down. He has short dark hair that looks like it hasn't been washed in days.
"Can you just help me find her? I'm lost without her," he says, looking straight into my eyes. His gaze is disarming and full of intensity.
“Yes, of course. That is why I’m here, but I really need some details first. What can you tell me about her friend Elin? She mentioned that they went on a business trip?” I ask, steering the conversation back to what I need him to answer.
“Yes, they did, but that has nothing to do with this,” he says, growing irate.
"Please, Robert, I need you to be patient. You never know what kind of details are going to be important."
"Elin is just this girl she met at Jamba Juice,” he says with exasperation. “I think they do yoga together. I don't know. Anyway, she got her all into this MLM."
"MLM?" I ask.
"Multilevel marketing. They also call it network marketing, but it's basically a pyramid scheme.”
I nod.
"She had to invest like four grand into this candle business and then she has to contact people on Facebook and all of her old friends and try to sell it to them. She's not a salesperson. Even if she were, this MLM thing makes no sense. You make more money getting people to become salespeople than actually selling products. The only people that make any money with it are the ones at the very top. Everyone else just ends up losing.”
I can hear the anger in his voice, so I just let him talk.
“I tried to explain this to her,” Robert continues. “I tried to show her all of these YouTube videos and all of these people talking about how much money they lost, but she just wouldn't listen."
The urgency in his voice is difficult to ignore. He's so angry and upset by this whole thing and he's not even trying to hide it.
“So, it's safe to say that you and Elin are not on the best terms?" I ask.
"No. Yeah, that's safe to say," he says.
"Is that what she was on the trip for?"
"She went on this trip for like three days, I think. Two days, maybe, to Phoenix. I have been working on this really big project that I just started and I've been staying at the office."
"Is that something that's common for you?"
"No. Well, I don't know. I always worked late. Doing a PhD isn't the easiest thing in the world, but I never had to stay overnight. With this new job, everything's different. They kind of took me on and there was so much work to do. So, since she was going to be away, I just decided to work and that's what I did."
"Okay. Got it."
Officer Lenore and I exchange a glance. It's hard for me to decide what I really think about Robert. He seems frantic and out of control, but that's not uncommon when a loved one is missing. Then there are certain things that feel a little bit off.
"Would you mind if I take a look around your apartment?" I ask.
"Sure. Yeah. Can I get you anything to drink?" he asks.
"No, I'm good." I walk around and Officer Lenore follows closely from behind.
"What are we looking for?" he whispers.
"I don't know. Just looking at things,” I say in a hushed tone. “You see the bed? It's unmade. I don't know what that means. It may mean that he's not someone who makes his bed, or it may mean that today is unusual."
I pull the sheets and look underneath. There is nothing visible to the eye, nothing that catches my attention.
I look up at the windows, same perfect white trim all around, also open. I wouldn't say that's particularly unusual.
“Robert, can I ask you a question?" I yell for him to come over.
"Sure."
"The curtains, what happened to this one over here?"
Instead of the usual four panels, there are actually only three. The window looks like someone has tried to cover this up without much success.
"Oh, that? Nothing."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"It was really stupid actually.” Robert laughs.
He hesitates and swallows
hard. When I try to focus my eyes on his, he avoids contact.
I wait for him to explain.
The moment of silence that forms seems to last forever, but I wait anyway. I want him to feel it. This is the type of moment when people crack, when people admit something that they shouldn't, at least, the things that they shouldn't say in their best interest.
"Nothing happened," he says.
Shifting his weight again, he pulls the hoodie over his head.
"It's just, it's stupid. I didn't buy enough panels. These were only available at Ikea. So, when we were decorating this house, I just bought two, but I needed to buy two more. I had to drive all the way back to Burbank to get them. I wasn't really happy about that. We had a fight, but she was insistent that the curtains out in the living room and the ones in this bedroom had to match. It was so stupid. Anyway, I went back out again, came back the third time, and I thought that we were all set."
"Why a third time?" I ask.
"Well, the first time was for the ones in the living room. The second time was for these, but this wasn't enough to block all the light and she didn't want to get darkening ones. She thought that we could just double up. Anyway, I went out to get them again and… The thing is that there was only one panel instead of two."