by Ragan, T. R.
Sawyer typed the name into the search engine on her laptop. Two links popped up on her screen. She clicked on the first one, confirming that Katy Steiner had been abducted near the school she attended in North Highlands, twelve miles outside Sacramento.
Sawyer added Katy Steiner’s name to her growing list. Not counting Paige Owens, that made five missing girls in the past five years. All within a fifteen-mile radius.
Chills raced down her spine.
Sawyer continued her search for more information, but every article she found gave the basics. She put her laptop to the side and reached for the notebook that Aria had left on the couch.
On the first page in neat handwriting, Aria had written RILEY ADDISON. Beneath Riley’s name was a lot of information crammed onto one page. Apparently Riley Addison’s father knew the importance of media attention because according to Aria’s notes, Riley’s abduction was on every media outlet possible.
The more eyes on his daughter’s picture, the better, Sawyer figured. Intense early media coverage meant that people would be looking out for Riley.
At the bottom of the page Aria had jotted down her sources, including the Washington Post, the New York Times, CNN, MSN, and dozens of other outlets.
The page after that read MARK BRENNAN—PIANO TEACHER.
Beneath his name Aria had noted that Riley was last seen outside Mark Brennan’s home in Sacramento. She then continued on with information about the music teacher. Mark Brennan was forty-five years old and single. Never married. His parents still lived in North Highlands where Mark was born and raised—
The tiny hairs at her nape lifted.
Mark Brennan grew up in North Highlands?
Sawyer grabbed a pen and made an asterisk next to North Highlands. Then scribbled in the margins:
Katy Steiner disappeared in North Highlands.
Sawyer read through the rest of Aria’s notes, stopping to use her iPhone to take a picture of Mark Brennan’s address in Sacramento.
Aria was turning out to be a big help, and Sawyer was eager to get going. The minute Aria walked through the door, Sawyer jumped up from the couch and said, “Let’s hurry and eat. I want to drive across town and see if we can talk to Mark Brennan.”
“The piano teacher?”
Sawyer nodded as she grabbed the bag of food from her sister, found the grilled portabella and avocado sandwich on sourdough, and took it to the kitchen where she unwrapped it and took a bite.
“Hungry?” Aria asked.
“Starved.”
“Why the hurry to talk to the music teacher?”
Between bites, Sawyer said, “I read your notes. He’s from North Highlands. His parents still live there.”
“So?”
Sawyer swallowed. “Three years ago, another girl, Katy Steiner, disappeared near the school she was attending in North Highlands.” She took another bite, chewed, swallowed, then gulped down some water. “It’s a stretch, I know. But it’s something. If Mark Brennan is home, and if he doesn’t mind talking to us, we need to find a way to mention Katy Steiner’s name without being too obvious. See if he has any sort of reaction to her name.”
“I did wonder why he wasn’t already a suspect.”
“I’m sure he is, but police can’t make an arrest without reasonable grounds to prove that it is warranted.”
“Interesting,” Aria said. “Let’s do this.”
“Aren’t you going to eat first?”
“I ate some tasty olives stuffed with sausage while I was waiting. I’ll save my sandwich for later.” She headed for the door, then turned back around and said, “If he’s been abducting young girls, do you think Riley could be locked away in his house somewhere?”
“If he gives piano lessons to students at his home, I highly doubt it. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We just want to ask him some questions, feel him out, see what he has to say.”
“Okay,” Aria said. “I’ll play it cool.”
Sawyer wrapped the other half of her sandwich, grabbed her purse, and followed Aria out the door.
When Mark Brennan opened the door, his friendly smile drew Sawyer’s full attention. Five foot ten. Short hair with bangs that slid effortlessly to one side—a Mr. Rogers look-alike.
“What can I do for you gals?” he asked.
Sawyer thought maybe he was kidding. Nobody opened their door to a pair of strangers with a smile that wide and big and asked what they could do for you. “I’m Sawyer Brooks, and this is my intern, Aria. We work for the Sacramento Independent.”
“Oh, I see.” His eyelid twitched. “You want to talk to me about Riley?”
“That’s right. We hate to bother you—”
“No bother at all. I hope media coverage will help in the search for Riley. Come in,” he said, ushering them into his home before she could finish her spiel.
The inside of his house was semidark. The curtains were pulled shut so that only tiny slices of sunlight managed to squeeze through. The room he brought them to looked like a consignment store with furniture crammed in every available space. It was large enough to accommodate two pianos, an upright and a baby grand, and an eclectic assortment of other furniture.
Every bit of wall space was covered with artwork. Oil paintings, wood art, and framed photography. There were two coffee tables and an endless number of fabric-covered chairs, none of them matching.
Sawyer and Aria took a seat on a wood settee carved with a leaf pattern.
“How about some iced tea and a blueberry scone? They’re fresh from the bakery.”
“That would be amazing,” Aria said before Sawyer could stop her.
After Mark Brennan left the room, Aria squeezed Sawyer’s arm. “I just wanted to get him out of the room for a minute. Look at this place. What have you gotten us into? I feel like I’m inside some sort of weird art museum. What if he’s dangerous? Nobody knows we’re here. He’s probably off to find his sharpest knife with a three-inch blade right now.”
“Calm down. And lower your voice. We’ll be fine.”
“That’s what all the victims of serial killers think before they’re bopped over the head with a shovel.”
“Quiet,” Sawyer said with a nudge of her elbow. “He’s coming back.”
Mark Brennan set a silver tray on the rectangular wood table in front of them. On the tray were three glasses of iced tea and a plate piled with blueberry scones.
Sawyer smiled at him. “Thank you.”
He took a seat in an upholstered red velvet chair across from them, then leaned forward and helped himself to a tall glass of iced tea. “It’s hot out there. I keep the curtains closed in hopes of keeping the house cool.”
“Good idea,” Sawyer said as she pulled a notebook and pen from her purse. Not wanting to be rude, she reached for a glass of iced tea and ignored the little particles of what she hoped were fresh squeezed lemon as she took a swallow.
“Riley Addison has been taking lessons from me for about a year now,” Mark Brennan said without prompting. “She’s a smart young girl and a quick learner. I hope they find her soon.” His eyes glistened. “Any news about Vicki?”
It took Sawyer a second to recall that Riley’s mother’s name was Vicki. It made sense that someone as outgoing as Mark Brennan would be on a first-name basis with his students and their guardians. “I went to the hospital,” Sawyer told him, “and I heard that Mrs. Addison’s condition had gone from critical to fair.”
He nodded. “Good to hear. It’s all so upsetting. Bad enough to be in such a tragic accident only to learn your daughter is missing.” He shivered. “I had flowers sent to her room. I wish there was something more I could do to help.” He exhaled. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to recall every detail of the day Riley went missing, but overall it was just a regular day.”
Sawyer watched him closely. He appeared genuinely upset.
“How often was Riley here at your house?” Aria asked, taking Sawyer by surprise since they hadn’t discussed h
er asking any questions.
“Most of my students come once a week,” he said as he set his glass on the tray. “That includes Riley.”
Aria got to her feet and gestured from the baby grand to the upright. “Which piano do your students use?”
“Nobody is allowed to touch the upright,” he said, concerned, as if he were afraid Aria might touch it. “It’s an antique. I use the Steinway for lessons.”
Standing by the baby grand, Aria picked up something and held it up for everyone to see. “Looks like someone left behind a sparkly hair clip.”
Sawyer inwardly groaned.
“I have a box, ‘Lost and Found,’ filled with stuff my students have left behind.” Again, he looked at Sawyer. “Would you like to take a look?”
“No. That’s not necessary.” Sawyer kept hoping Aria would look her way so she could give her sister the side-eye and let her know she would take over from here, but Aria was too busy flipping through a music book.
“What’s the usual protocol for when a parent is late to pick up one of your students?” Aria asked next.
Mark Brennan didn’t appear put off by Aria’s random line of questioning. “It’s different for everyone,” he said. “There are no hard-set rules unless a parent specifies their preference. For instance, Izzy Benson’s mom, Sheila, has always insisted that Izzy sit quietly inside until she arrives. A few of my students can drive, so they take off as soon as they finish their lesson.”
“Are you married?” Aria asked.
“I’m sorry,” Sawyer cut in. “This is my intern’s first interview.”
Aria screwed up her face. “What did I do wrong?”
Mark Brennan smiled. “No worries. I’ve never been married. No children either. My partner of many years passed away eighteen months ago. Music and my students are what keep me going.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sawyer said.
Aria returned to her seat beside Sawyer.
“The healing process never ends,” he said. “But I’ve learned that the pain is a reminder that I was lucky to have found love to begin with.”
Goose bumps spread across Sawyer’s arms. This man was still in mourning.
“Have you ever heard the name Katy Steiner?” Aria asked.
Sawyer cringed at her sister’s timing. Aria’s bluntness made her question whether it had been a good idea to bring her along.
“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” he said without hesitation.
“If you don’t mind,” Sawyer asked, hoping to change the subject and keep things moving along, “I’d love to know a little bit more about Riley.”
Mark Brennan brightened. “I could go on and on.”
“Please do,” Sawyer said.
“Although Riley is nearly a teenager, something she often reminded me of, she looks much younger. She’s petite. Fragile looking. As far as personalities go, she’s very independent and motherly.”
“How do you mean?” Sawyer asked.
“For example, Riley made it clear that she didn’t like me living alone, even suggested I get myself a pet to keep me company. She said picking a dog from the shelter would be a good idea.”
“I like her already,” Aria said.
Mark Brennan nodded. “She’s also given me advice about the way I dress and how I style my hair.” He laughed. “She always asks me how I’m doing. She’s one of a kind.” He pulled a tissue from the box on a side table and dabbed at the corners of his eyes. For the next fifteen minutes, as promised, he went on and on until Sawyer felt as if she knew Riley Addison.
Mark Brennan was still smiling when he said goodbye and shut the door.
As they made their way down the brick steps, Sawyer stopped at the last step and breathed in an enticingly sweet scent of a gardenia shrub lining the front window of Mark Brennan’s house.
Aria was two steps ahead of her, already stuffing her nose into a white bloom surrounded by waxy green leaves. “I’ve never seen such a perfect gardenia,” Aria said. “Come here,” she ordered, “and get a whiff.”
Sawyer had forgotten about Aria’s fondness for plants. She walked to her sister’s side and breathed in the scent of one of many blooms. “I wonder if a gardenia bush would grow in the small square of dirt outside my kitchen window?”
“Not enough sunlight,” Aria said before asking, “so what did you think about Mark Brennan?”
“We’ll talk in the car.” Sawyer headed that way, slipped behind the wheel, and started the engine. The moment she pulled away from the curb, Aria said, “I don’t trust him. He was way too nice.”
“I disagree. I think he genuinely cares about Riley.”
“It was an act,” Aria said matter-of-factly.
Sawyer shook her head. “His voice and breathing were steady the entire time. His stories about Riley were detailed, and he held just the right amount of eye contact while talking.”
“Okay,” Aria said. “So what now?”
“I want to stop by Carly Butler’s house. She disappeared on her way home from school three years ago. The house where she was living at the time isn’t far from here.”
Aria frowned. “Two young girls disappear practically in Mark Brennan’s backyard. I think he’s up to no good. He only has thirty minutes with Riley every week, and he knows everything about her. Didn’t that strike you as odd?”
Sawyer kept her eyes on the road. “He seemed sad and lonely. His house was cluttered but clean, no sign of anything weird going on, in my opinion.”
“There was a clipboard for his students to sign in on a stack of music books. While you and Brennan were talking, I flipped through it and took pictures using my cell.”
Sawyer perked up at once. “Did anyone sign in after Riley?”
“No,” Aria said. “But the funny thing is, in the weeks and months prior, every once in a while, I saw the name ‘Bob Upperman’ signed in after Riley.”
“But not every week?”
“No.”
“Why,” Sawyer asked, “would Mark Brennan have harmed the girl when he had no way of knowing that Riley’s mom had been in an accident?” Before her sister could answer, Sawyer said, “It seems a bit crazy that nobody saw Riley come or go that day.”
Aria put her phone away. “Mark Brennan was the last person to see Riley, the only person who could corroborate that she’d been waiting on the steps for her mother.”
Silence hovered between them until Aria added, “If Bob Upperman saw Riley waiting on the steps, then at least we’ll know that Mark Brennan was telling the truth.”
“Yes,” Sawyer agreed.
“But even if he did see Riley,” Aria continued, “that wouldn’t mean Mark Brennan didn’t invite her back into the house after the guy left.”
“Either way, we need to find Bob Upperman.” Sawyer pulled to the curb at 1511 Juniper and shut off the engine. “We’re here.”
“I get that Mark Brennan came across as a nice guy,” Aria said. “But what do you feel in your gut? Do you think the piano teacher knows what happened to Riley Addison?”
“I have no idea. As a crime reporter, I need to be objective and write what I see and hear and nothing else. No thoughts or opinions, hunches or guesses.”
A solemn expression crossed Aria’s face. “It’s not your job to search for missing persons either, but you want to find Riley Addison, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” Sawyer admitted. “I want to know what’s going on. Five young girls disappear in the span of five years, and nobody’s talking about it?”
“That’s because some of them disappeared outside Sacramento. And only two of them, one being Riley Addison, got much media attention,” Aria said. “One escaped, and one is thought to have run away. I read that two thousand children go missing in the US every single day. One hundred and fifteen a year are stranger abductions. That’s a lot of kids to search for.”
“It is. That’s why our main focus should be on Riley Addison. I can’t stop thinking about her. If
she’s still alive, she’s got to be terrified and wondering if anyone is looking for her.”
“Thinking about what she might be going through won’t help us find her. Come on,” Aria said. “Let’s see if anyone’s home.”
“I’ll do the talking this time,” Sawyer said as she reached for the door handle.
Aria was already outside, but she stuck her head back in the passenger side of the car. “Are you kidding me? I’m good at this shit.”
“You’re too blunt. If we get invited into the house, no cursing and no drilling anyone with questions.”
“Sure,” Aria said. “Whatever. Your loss.”
It turned out to be both their losses when the person who answered the door told them the Butler family had moved away six months ago.
As they returned to the car, Sawyer again found herself questioning if it had been a good idea enlisting Aria’s help. But the answer came quickly. It was a resounding yes. Aria could be blunt, bordering on unprofessional, but she was inquisitive and unafraid to ask questions, and besides, Sawyer needed all the help she could get.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bubbles was standing at the island in the center of the kitchen, preparing lunches for the week—chicken, rice, and vegetables—when the anchorman on a local station stated that an update on the Riley Addison case was coming up next.
All it had taken was a quick search through the girl’s backpack for her to know Riley’s name and home address. Even so, she’d been tracking media coverage on the girl since day one. Vicki Addison’s car accident had made everything worse since it quickly became a sensational story. The media was all over it. Headlines read Mom Fights for Her Life While Police Search for Her Missing Daughter.
Give me a break. Vicki Addison was recovering nicely. She had a loving husband and son to go home to. They would be fine.
Leaving the plastic containers on the counter, she wiped her hands on her flowery apron as she walked into the family room and sat down on the plastic-covered couch.
She sat quietly through three commercials before the news anchor came back on the screen.
