Austin opened her laptop, and I peered at the computer screen. Makayla had been writing an essay comparing and contrasting Calvinism and Arminianism and had left off in the middle of a sentence. A photo minimized in the lower righthand corner caught my attention.
“Open that.” I pointed at the icon.
Austin clicked, and a selfie of Makayla holding a piece of paper with typed words appeared. As I skimmed the message, my heart plunged to my feet.
Chapter Eighteen
I pressed my hand to my mouth and reread the message.
Makayla,
If you want to see your friend alive, put the broken file on Floyd Fillmore’s grave at Fillmore Cemetery and leave immediately. You have until 6:00 today. No police or nosy stepsister or Quincy dies.
I gripped the edge of my desk to steady myself, trying to sort through everything we’d learned. Austin sat frozen with clenched fists.
Quincy’s parents had been right all along. Sort of. Someone had kidnapped the girls—for a file? When Quincy hadn’t been able to produce it, the kidnapper had turned to Makayla? What would Makayla have access to that was so valuable? I glanced at the clock. “It’s 6:26. She should be home by now.”
“I’ll call her.” He dialed and waited. “No answer.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
The back door slammed, and Gus woofed. Austin and I lunged toward the hallway.
“It’s me,” Preston yelled. “Where are you guys?”
“Upstairs. We’ve got a major problem.” I sent the picture of the note to my phone.
Preston joined us, and we showed him the picture. He scowled. “Let’s get to the cemetery. It’s way past six so the bad guys should be long gone.”
“We should call Detective Hawk first.” I took my phone from my pocket.
“Hold on,” Preston said. “She’ll just tell you to stay here.”
“He’s right.” Austin curled and uncurled his fingers.
“Fine.” I tucked Makayla’s laptop under my arm and followed them out of the bedroom. I had to figure out what the broken file was.
We raced downstairs and out to Austin’s Jeep. Preston took shotgun, and my mind swirled as I slipped into the back seat.
“I’m really creeped out because somebody had to have hand delivered this letter after I went to get supper.” I buckled my seatbelt.
“What time did you leave?” Preston asked as Austin practically skidded out of the driveway on two wheels.
I grabbed Makayla’s laptop before it slid off the seat. “Around five-fifteen or so. I had to wait quite a while at the restaurant.” I opened the computer and found a timestamp on the picture—5:33. “The kidnappers were cutting it close if she had to have the file there by 6:00.”
“No kidding,” Preston muttered.
“Whoever left the message knew Makayla was here alone, that she had the file, and would have time to respond—which means they’ve been watching us.” Where had this person parked? I peered out the window. Down the road, Earl Smith’s house had been sitting empty for a while—and his driveway would’ve been the perfect place for keeping an eye on my house. Goosebumps rose on my arm.
“Mak took the selfie with the note and sent it to her computer hoping we’d find it if something went wrong and she didn’t come back.” Austin slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “What would someone want with a broken file? That’s so stupid!”
I tugged my braid. “Unless broken is the actual name of the file.” I perused her computer files, focusing on the most recent ones. There was nothing even close to the name broken. “I’m not seeing anything here.”
Preston faced me. “Try a search.”
I did, and over one hundred files appeared. I turned the screen so Preston could see. “That’s helpful.”
“Great,” he muttered.
I opened the most recent document that contained the word broken and discovered a poetry analysis essay, but the word was only mentioned once.
Austin pulled up to the cemetery, and Makayla’s Prius and a Camaro were parked next to the wrought iron gate. I set the laptop aside, and we hopped out.
Both vehicles were empty, and no one was milling around the cemetery. I shivered when I remembered Bobbi Sue’s statement about the place being haunted, and even though I was mostly certain it was a bunch of baloney, I kept one eye out for a phantom dog.
“Do you know where Floyd Fillmore’s grave is?” Preston asked.
“It’s the big one with the angel.” I pointed to the middle of the cemetery at the monument towering over the surrounding headstones. We entered the gate, passed the weeping willow, and surveyed the graveyard as we walked toward Floyd’s headstone.
“Makayla!” the twins yelled in unison.
“She’s not here.”
I whipped around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice.
Jonas appeared from behind the massive weeping willow.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where’s Makayla?” I glared at Jonas.
Preston and Austin took menacing steps toward him.
“I have no idea.” His eyes widened as he lingered next to the tree. “She left a message asking me to meet her a little before six. She said it was really important. When I got here, she was gone, and the place was deserted. But she left a note in her car.”
The twins and I raced back to Makayla’s Prius while Jonas trailed behind. The car was locked, so we peered through the driver’s side window. Her phone rested in a cupholder, and a note, handwritten on a small pad, had been placed on the seat facing the window.
Georgia, Preston, and Austin,
I know you guys will be worried about me, but I’m safe. There was something I had to do, and it’ll be over soon. Tell Dad and Jill not to worry. I love you all.
Makayla
My heart thudded as I took a step back from the car. “That’s almost exactly what Quincy said. How could Makayla do this?”
“Maybe someone forced her to write the note.” Fear shone in Preston’s eyes.
“That seems more likely.” My stomach churned as I swept my gaze over the cemetery. “And why do people keep meeting here, of all places?”
Preston looked around. “It’s private and in the middle of nowhere.”
“And no security cameras,” Austin added.
“It’s a brilliant choice,” Jonas said. “Even if it is creepy.”
I drilled Jonas with my glare. “For someone with coimetrophobia, you seem pretty comfortable wandering around.” I folded my arms.
“I’m not afraid.” He hung his head. “I made it up because I didn’t want people to think I’d snuck out to meet Quincy.”
Austin glared at Jonas. “Who are you, by the way?”
“Jonas Dawes. I go to Brenneman with Quincy and Makayla.” His shifty eyes glanced back and forth at the twins.
“Did Makayla tell you why she was coming here?” I asked.
“No.”
Austin and Preston eyed Jonas as if they didn’t believe him. Yeah, me either.
“Here.” Jonas reached into his back pocket. “I’ll play the message.” He did, and Makayla said exactly what Jonas had told us.
My heart squeezed when I heard the tremor in her voice, but I had to stay focused. I showed Jonas the picture of the ransom. “What do you know about the broken file?”
Jonas scrunched up his face. “Is the file out of commission, or is that the actual name?”
“We’re not sure,” I said. “But for now, let’s assume it’s the name of the file.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it. I’m sorry.” Distress lingered in his expression.
What was going on? “Let’s check Floyd Fillmore’s grave.” We hurried to the middle of the cemetery where we inspected the angel monument for the file, but there was nothing there.
“Can you think of any reason why Makayla would have access to a file that had something to do with Quincy?” Preston asked.
That was a grea
t question.
Jonas blew out a breath. “No. Unless they were both involved in something shady that finally caught up with them.”
As if they’d choreographed the move, Austin and Preston clenched their fists and stepped toward Jonas. I didn’t want to think the worst of Makayla, but had she gotten in over her head? Had she insisted on leaving the tour early because she’d known Quincy was in danger? What if she’d been lying all along?
“Easy guys.” Jonas edged closer to the monument. “I didn’t mean to insult your sister.”
I held up a restraining hand, and they edged back. I had another question for Jonas and wasn’t ready to scare him off. “Why do you have a burner phone?”
He flinched and then shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not a criminal. Back when I was in high school, I met this girl at church camp. When camp was over, I gave her my number. Big mistake. That chick became a total stalker—texting me all the time. Calling every night. I blocked her number, but she used new ones to harass me. Finally, I had to dump my number and get a new one. From that point on, my dad told me I had to use a burner for strange girls. So, that’s what I’ve done ever since. I meant to give Quincy my real number, but I missed the window before it got too weird to tell her, you know?”
“Totally, dude,” Austin said.
“It’s brilliant.” Preston held out his fist for Jonas to pound. “I’m so getting a burner.”
With a sigh, I took out my phone and called Detective Hawk.
As soon as Preston, Austin, and I had spoken with Detective Hawk at the cemetery and surrendered Makayla’s laptop, we returned to my house. The boys had decided that since I was the eldest sibling, the task of informing Dan and Mom of Makayla’s disappearance should fall to me. I couldn’t really argue. The call was not pleasant.
They vowed to take the next available flight out of Guatemala.
I went to my dining room and stood in front of the chalkboard. After I erased what I had written about Tune Nutritional Supplements, I wrote the broken file. I printed pictures of Makayla’s and Quincy’s notes and tacked them up along with a picture of the ransom demand.
Preston entered and flopped down at the table. “Do you think Mak has a secret life we don’t know about?” He rested his head against his fist.
I hadn’t wanted to believe Yvonne when she’d implied that Makayla could somehow be involved, but maybe Yvonne wasn’t just cynical, and her instincts had been spot on. Makayla had withheld the truth on more than one occasion during this investigation.
“You know her better than I do. Does she have a history of hiding things?” I dropped the chalk in the basket, brushed my hands against my jeans, and joined him at the table.
“Yes.” Austin hovered in the opening between my dining room and foyer. “Remember when she was dating that guy her freshman year of college, and she didn’t want any of us to know?” He sat next to his brother.
“Right,” Preston said. “She never told us who he was, and they eventually broke up.”
“I don’t think they went out that long.” Austin looked back and forth between us.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“She didn’t tell Dad when she changed her major from pre-law to professional writing because she was afraid he’d have a stroke,” Austin said.
I raised my eyebrows. That didn’t seem likely for mild-mannered Dan—even if he was overprotective. “Was he upset?”
“No way. He was cool. Our mom was a journalist, so I don’t know why Mak thought Dad would be shocked. He never pressured any of us into being lawyers,” Preston said.
Austin chuckled. “Good thing, because I don’t have the patience for that much school.”
“Same here.” Preston raised a hand.
“It would be cool to be a trial lawyer, though.” Austin slapped his palm against the table. “Objection!”
Just when they were showing signs of maturity. But I couldn’t be too hard on them since they obviously used humor to cope. “Guys, let’s stay focused.”
“Makayla’s always had a complex about not measuring up in Dad’s eyes,” Preston said. “It’s like she doesn’t realize he’s hard on us because he loves us and wants us to be the best we can be—at whatever we do.”
“But what about the lip ring she got a while back? Dan definitely didn’t approve,” I said.
“She went through a rebellious phase.” Austin unbuttoned his dress shirt.
“Whoa. Easy there!” I looked away.
“Relax. I’m showing off my rebellious phase.” He yanked his shirt open and pointed to the dragon tattoo on his pec. “Dad hates it, but it’s awesome, right?”
“Nice.” I turned to Preston. “Do you have any ink?”
“Not where I can show you.”
“Eww.”
“You should see the look on your face.” He snickered and pointed. “I’m kidding. I hate needles.”
We all smiled but sobered quickly and studied the chalkboard in silence. I despised feeling so helpless. But what was there for us to do? I pressed my fingertips to my forehead.
Please help us, God.
About twenty minutes later, my doorbell rang, and when Gus and I answered, Cal stood on my porch. He wore a fitted gray T-shirt and jeans, and my heart skittered.
What had I been thinking, letting him go? “Hey.” The doorknob became my lifeline.
“Vanessa told me what happened tonight. Are you going to let me in?”
“Right.” I stepped aside and realized the twins were hovering behind me. “I thought you were taking time off.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t check on my neighbor.” He closed the door behind him and eyed Preston and Austin.
Neighbor. As kind as his gesture was, knowing I was just the person next door knifed my heart, and I dragged my focus to what was most important—finding my stepsister.
“Thanks. We’re fine, and we’ve been trying to figure out how Makayla’s involved in all of this. You might as well have a look at my chalkboard.” I pointed to my dining room, and we gathered around the table. “We still don’t know what the broken file is or why someone wants it.”
Cal ran his hand over his mouth and chin as he took a moment to study my scribbles. “Based on how similar the girls’ notes sound, I think they’re involved in the same thing.”
“Our sister wouldn’t do anything illegal,” Preston said.
Cal raised his eyebrows. “I never said she would. For all we know, she wrote that note under duress. If you don’t want my help, I can go.” He motioned toward the door. “I’m taking time off work, so I’m not even here officially.”
“We want your help.” I shot my stepbrothers a dirty look.
“Have you talked to the other girl who was here the night Quincy took off?” Cal asked.
“No.” Why hadn’t I thought of her sooner? “Sammi’s cousin is married to Quincy’s sister, so she might know something.”
“Do you have her number?”
“No.” I sighed.
“I do.” Austin took his phone from his pocket and scrolled.
Of course he did.
“They met when she came home with Makayla one weekend,” Preston said.
Funny how he thought he needed to defend his brother. Cal and I grinned at each other. Oh, how I missed that dimple.
“Let Georgia make the call,” Cal said.
“No prob.” Austin read the number to me.
Preston elbowed him. “Dude, did you ever follow up with Sammi?”
“No, but I totally should’ve. She’s cute.”
I stepped toward my living room as the phone rang. I anticipated having to leave a message since she wouldn’t recognize my number.
“Hello. This is Buffy Sanders. How can I make your night . . . special?” a breathy voice said. Giggles erupted in the background.
Apparently, Sammi and her friends were bored. “Sammi, this is Georgia Winston. Do you mind if I ask a few questions about Makayla?”
&
nbsp; “Ohmygoodness. I’m sooo sorry. My friends and I have this thing about messing with unknown callers. We’re in the airport waiting for our flight to Florida.”
She and Austin would get along well. I returned to the dining room. “I get it.” I explained who was with me and got her permission to video chat before filling her in on the events leading to Makayla’s disappearance.
“Do you have any idea what the kidnappers could’ve meant by the broken file or why Makayla would’ve had it?” Cal asked.
“No. I wish I did, but that doesn’t sound familiar. Give me a second, and I’ll ask around.”
The screen went dark, and she had a muffled conversation before returning to our view. “Nobody knows. I’m sorry.”
My stepbrothers’ shoulders slumped, and Cal turned toward the chalkboard.
Given that my stepsister hadn’t always been forthcoming, I had another question I needed to ask Sammi. “Makayla mentioned she and Quincy weren’t getting along lately, but she made it sound like it had something to do with Quincy coming in late all the time. Can you think of anything else that might’ve caused problems between them?”
“They really didn’t have much to do with each other.” She chewed her lip for a moment and then sat up straighter. “You know . . . a while back—like last semester—Makayla said something about writing a song with Quincy.”
“Really. Why?”
“I think it had something to do with entering a songwriting competition. I don’t know how far they got, or if they gave up on the idea. Makayla didn’t mention it again or give me any more details.” She paused as a boarding call sounded in the background. “That’s our flight. I think I’ve told you everything I know, but I’ll text or call if I remember something else.”
“Thanks for your help, Sammi. Have fun in Florida.” I disconnected and stared at the guys.
“I didn’t know Mak was into song writing,” Preston said.
Austin shook his head. “Same here. She doesn’t even play an instrument.”
Deadly Harmony Page 15
