That thought had Jared running for the door despite all the other possibilities. As he hit the yard, he thought about going for his window instead. Maybe he could get back in before anyone noticed he was gone—if that wasn’t what they were there for. But he realized immediately he was too late. One patrol officer stood beside her car, straightening from putting something into it or grabbing something out, and she spotted him, instantly going on alert.
“You the son?” she asked.
His deer-in-the-headlights look must have given him away. He could run. He was good at that. Unless she was really in shape, he could probably outpace her. But how would that look? And if they were here for him, would that be resisting arrest? Probably. Anyway, he had to know. If they were there about Mom …
He nodded, gave up on the idea of running, and started toward her at a walk. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“We’re serving a warrant on the house. It might be best if you stay here, out of the way.”
“If my family’s inside, there’s where I need to be.” Would Dad still be at the police station answering questions? Probably. That would leave Gran and Emily alone. Not that they couldn’t handle themselves, but … he should be there. And they’d definitely have discovered him missing when he didn’t come out of his room when the police showed up. Maybe they’d even searched his room already.
That thought got him moving. Not that he had anything to hide, but the violation of it.
The cop stayed behind rather than escort him, which he didn’t understand until he looked around and saw the neighbors gathered like vultures over a carcass, waiting to pick at the remains of their dignity.
He hurried toward the house, knocking on the door when he hit it … just in case. Of what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe someone on the other side who might take exception to him entering. There was no immediate answer, so he used his key, thinking the knock was probably warning enough that he was coming. The blast of sound from Gran’s shows didn’t hit him the second the door opened, but the sight of her and Emily huddled in the foyer did. Emily had her arms wrapped around Gran, who had one arm wrapped around her in return and the other white-knuckling her cane. Their gazes shot to him as he came through the door, and Emily flung herself at him, nearly overbalancing Gran at the loss of support.
“Jared, where have you been?”
He didn’t answer right away, taking it all in. A head had poked through the door from the garage when he entered, noted his arrival with a glare, and disappeared again. It was one of the cops who’d arrested him in Poughkeepsie. So, not the local police then. Was that normal? Maybe finding Mom’s car in Poughkeepsie settled the case firmly in their jurisdiction? But didn’t finding the car at the train station mean Mom had taken off? Why were they here? At the house. In the garage.
From which he’d heard that horrible noise the night Mom disappeared.
“We’ve been worried sick,” Gran said, refocusing his attention.
Crap. He hadn’t meant to worry anyone. He hadn’t meant to get caught. And what was going on in that garage?
“I had to get out. Dad has me trapped here with nothing to do all day,” he said, too distracted by what was happening to worry about a cover story.
“What?” Gran asked at full volume. “Don’t mumble.”
Oh hell.
Jared repeated himself. Louder. Loudly enough, probably, for the cops to hear.
“I thought you had homework,” Gran said.
“I … do.” He answered. He hadn’t lied to her about that, just misrepresented when he was going to do it.
“Where did you go?” Emily demanded. “You didn’t go back to Mom’s place, did you?”
As if there’d been time. He glared at her for making him air his dirty laundry in front of Gran, who’d no doubt report everything to his father.
“I went to see Aaliyah, okay? She won’t talk to me, but I had to see her. Tell her I was sorry.”
Even with rheumy eyes, Gran could pull off the same predator’s glare Dad had. Like she was a raptor and he was prey who’d just moved and given away his location. “Well, now you’ve seen her. I hope you made it count, because if you think you were grounded before …”
“Don’t tell Dad!” Emily pleaded, turning back to her.
Gran looked down her nose at Emily. “I’m certainly going to tell him. I won’t lie to my son.”
“No one’s asking you to lie. Just … leave it out. Jared’s already in enough trouble. Dad will kill Jared if he finds out.”
It was a figure of speech, but it sent chills up and down Jared’s back. They didn’t stay there, but spread to his heart, freezing it until it could barely beat.
“Obviously, he’s not in enough trouble. Not enough to keep him from getting into more.”
Emily’s big eyes pleaded for all they were worth. He didn’t know how Gran could resist. He never could. Even Dad usually gave in.
“Well then,” Emily said, “think of it as Dad has enough to worry about.”
It was weird, his sister fighting his battle for him, but these were the kind of battles she fought best—battles of persuasion.
Gran chewed her lip and didn’t respond. Maybe Emily was getting to her.
“Did the police say what they’re looking for?” Jared asked.
“I didn’t ask,” Gran said. “The warrant is on the counter.”
How could you not ask? Jared thought.
Wasn’t she the last bit curious? Or terrified?
He crossed over to the counter, hoping no one would stop him. The cop outside had said he wasn’t supposed to touch anything, but he was sure that didn’t apply to the warrant. He grabbed it and started skimming, looking for the important information, then had to make himself go back and read more carefully. The first time he was too frantic, too panicked. All he could see were words. He couldn’t make any of them out individually.
He gasped when he found it. Blood, other bodily tissue or effluents and any objects containing traces of blood or other tissue.
He looked up at Gran and Emily, huddled together again now that he’d removed himself. He didn’t know how to ask and not freak out Emily, so he read the whole thing again, more slowly still. Trying to take in every word. He knew the police needed evidence to get a warrant. He was hoping it would be spelled out so that he’d know what they had.
He needed to know whether something had happened in that garage, whether he’d heard what he most feared. He needed to know whether to come forward. He wasn’t trying to protect Dad. Not if he’d hurt Mom. But he couldn’t accuse him of anything—or lead to an accusation—unless he was sure. For Emily’s sake at the least.
“Did they say anything?” he asked Gran. “About why?”
“No, they just gave me the warrant and went about their business.”
And Gran had dropped it on the counter like a hot potato.
He did the same and headed toward the garage.
“They want us out of the way,” Emily protested.
“I won’t get in anyone’s way.”
He got to the entrance to the garage, which they’d left open, but the officer stopped him before he could get within a couple of feet of it. Jared realized he’d been watching the entrance and keeping an eye on any comings and goings in the house at the same time. Nothing Gran or Emily or he said would have been private. Not that they’d said anything incriminating, but they could have.
“I’m sorry, son,” he said. “You can’t come in here.”
“I’m not your son,” Jared snapped back. But he didn’t move. The smell of bleach stopped him. And if he could smell it …
From where he stood, he could see someone dressed in a black vest with CSI displayed in bright yellow reflective lettering spraying something on the floor of the garage. In CSI and shows like that it was always Luminol, something that made blood and other fluids fluoresce under black light. The tech wasn’t alone. There was another doing the same to Dad’s barely-used workbench and tools
. Someone stood beside him. Not a tech. Slim charcoal gray pants, a dove gray button-up shirt tucked into them, the black of her gun and holster stark against the lighter fabric. Her hennaed, close-cropped hair gave her away even before she turned around—Detective Anderson.
Her gaze met his with no stops along the way. Her mouth was set in a grim line. What had they found?
“Stay right there,” Detective Anderson said, hand out as though she could hold him back from a distance. “Lopez, the lights.”
The officer who’d been standing by the door making sure no one interfered with the search hit the garage lights as the CSI exchanged his Luminol for a black light. Jared held his breath, feelings rushing him like traffic coming the wrong way up a one-way street. Fear was first. That they’d find something. Or that they wouldn’t, but only because of the bleach he smelled. At least he was seeing it all first hand, so he’d know whether or not they found anything. They wouldn’t be able to put him off in order to protect him or their investigation. No one could play games with him over what he could see for himself.
His breath caught, as almost immediately the black light raised an eerie glow from the concrete—ghost-bright, streaky blue arcs, as though someone had tried to scrub something away, but only managed to smear it across the floor.
He watched the other crime scene tech circle around the glow, snapping pictures. Then the black light moved on, across the garage. But there were no other glows.
Jared hissed as the overhead lights were flipped back on, suddenly too bright, and he blinked his eyes to adjust, then stared at the spot where he’d seen the glow, as though it might still be there and tell him something. Then he looked up to see what Detective Anderson was making of it. She was looking right at him.
“But,” Jared started. Again, he had no idea how he meant to continue. He really should keep his mouth shut, but the impulse to know was too great. “But … I smell bleach. Doesn’t that—”
She exchanged a look with the crime scene tech still holding the black light, as though they got that a lot.
“Walk me through the last time you saw your mother,” she said, spearing him with her gaze.
He froze, like he was a deer and she was the headlights. “I, uh, thought you weren’t allowed to question me without my dad or a lawyer.”
“Choudhry, did you hear a question?” she asked the officer with the black light.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I did not.”
“No question,” Detective Anderson confirmed, watching Jared. “I just thought you might want to help.”
“Let me ask you a question first,” he said, hoping she’d go for it. “Why are you here? I thought you found Mom’s car. Why aren’t you asking at ticket counters, reviewing camera footage, all that?”
Anderson’s gaze seemed to soften, almost to pity. Jared steeled himself and his breath caught. He wasn’t going to like what came next. He wasn’t sure he could take it. He almost told her “never mind,” but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had to know.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” she asked.
Jared shook his head.
Detective Anderson sighed, and took a second to decide on words before saying them. “We found her car,” she said gently. “But there was blood. Someone tried to wipe it away, but they didn’t catch everything. We did.”
Jared swallowed hard at the lump, maybe his heart, which seemed to be caught in his throat. It didn’t help.
“Blood?” he asked, sounding strangled.
Detective Anderson approached, put a hand to his arm, stared him in the face. “Jared, we’re checking every angle, but we think there might have been foul play.”
His legs started to go out from under him, but he caught himself on the wall, which was a good thing, because suddenly Gran snapped out his name from behind him, a helluva lot closer than the front foyer, “Jared? Jared, what’s going on? What’s happening?”
Crap, Emily would be right behind her. She couldn’t hear this; she’d be devastated. He had to protect her as long as he could.
Maybe the blood wasn’t Mom’s. Maybe it was old. Maybe the bleach in the garage was Dad trying to get rid of the stain from an oil leak. Maybe—
But he knew it was time to speak, to tell Detective Anderson what he might have heard and let her deal with it. The police were already investigating. They’d already served a warrant. He couldn’t make it worse, and he wouldn’t have to carry the should-he/shouldn’t-he burden around any longer. It was eating him up. If she’d just tell him it was nothing or too vague to be of any use, he could breathe easy, knowing he’d done what he could. But not right now. Not with Gran and Emily listening in.
We’ll talk later, he mouthed to the detective. Then he turned to Gran and ushered her away. “Nothing,” he said. “I think they’re just finishing up. Maybe we should get Emily out of here for a while. I’ll drive.”
Emily
Emily did not want to be gotten out of there. All she wanted to do was throw herself at the police and insist that they were looking in the wrong place and they needed to be out there finding her mother. She was in tears again, and it made her feel small. Like a kid. Someone the police wouldn’t take seriously.
It ticked her off. She was angry and destroyed all at the same time.
There was blood, the detective had said. Jared probably thought she hadn’t heard. She was sure Gran hadn’t. But now it was stuck in her head, bouncing around with those other two terrible words—foul play.
They thought something had happened to Mom.
Something bad.
“Come on, Emily,” Gran said. “Let’s go to the Alps Sweet Shop. My treat. I think we all need something nice. Chocolate makes everything better. It’s like defense against the dark arts.”
Gran quoting Harry Potter? It couldn’t be. Her world was all kinds of upside down.
“I want to stay here,” Emily said. Only it was more of a sob. “I want to wait for Mom. Or Dad,” she added, when she realized that was only going to get her Gransplained to, and if Gran said something bad about Mom right now, Emily would lose it. It was bad enough the police were prowling the house, implying that Dad …
“Emily,” Gran said—her voice strained, like she was working not to be sharp, but it didn’t come naturally. Emily was starting to hate the sound of her own name. Everyone seemed to use it as a rebuke. “We’re going.” She announced. End of story. Like Emily had no say at all. She was so tired of it. So sick of everything.
Make me.
But she only said it in her head. She didn’t know if she would have said it to Gran in any case, but the police were there. With a lifetime of being the good girl and keeping the peace, she couldn’t suddenly rebel the way she desperately wanted to. She didn’t dare send the message that the Grahams were a family of troublemakers. Not after Jared’s arrest and Dad’s questioning. Not with her mother running off … because anything else had to be a mistake.
“Give me a minute.”
She didn’t wait for an answer that might not be what she wanted, but retreated to the bathroom to wash her face and … she wanted to do more. She wanted to release the scream building inside. The pressure of pain that wanted to collapse her. She needed to divert the pain. Focus it.
But Jake followed her to the bathroom. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She glared. Stupid question.
She ran the water, splashed it over her face. Let it run as she lathered her hands. She knew he hated the waste. She did too, but for now it was her only way of rebelling. She scrubbed like she could wash everything away, reality along with the tears. She slammed off the faucet and rubbed the towel over her face until it was raw.
“No,” she said finally, emerging from the towel. “It fucking isn’t.”
Jared reared back as if she’d struck him, and she felt a weird release, like either her curse or his shock had vented the bubble of pressure/pain building inside her. Enough that she might live through leaving the house.
If they weren’t gone too long. If nothing else happened while they were out. If it did … She didn’t know how much more she could take.
Jared moved instantly aside when she went to brush past, like he knew she was all sharp edges right now and might cut him.
She blinked at the sunlight as they stepped onto the front porch. It seemed wrong. There was nothing sunshiny about their day. But the giant orb in the sky hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stay back,” someone said.
That was when Emily realized that they weren’t alone, but had stepped out of their house into what looked like a neighborhood fire drill or something. People stood gathered in twos and threes, some with their dogs or kids, staring at their house or pretending not to stare but talking to each other and shooting glances. It was a female cop who’d been talking, and it was to Mr. Meyers, who stopped in his tracks.
“I’m not trying to get inside,” he said instantly. “We just want to make sure the kids are okay. See if they need anything.”
He gestured behind himself to demonstrate the “we” he referred too, and Emily looked beyond him to see Ms. Carla and Andrew hanging on to each other. Well, she was hanging on to him and he was tolerating it. In her experience, teenaged boys didn’t generally allow that sort of thing from their mothers. At least, not in public and not for long. Not that anyone was focused on them.
Emily swept the crowd with her gaze, noting who else had come out. Seeing Samantha from way down the block with her mother and their Yorkie. And then she froze. It was him—that creepy guy who’d come looking for Mom.
“We’re fine,” Jared started to tell Mr. Meyers. “Gran—” but Emily reached over blindly and yanked at her brother’s sleeve, stopping the rest of his words.
“It’s him,” she said. “That guy Jake.”
She pointed. She didn’t have any other choice, because she’d been the only one to get a look at him before, but he saw her pointing and instantly started edging down the block.
“Wait!” Jared shouted. “You!”
Jared
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