Count to Three

by T. R. Ragan

  “I’m working with an investigator,” Quinn told her. “It’ll take me a few years to earn the title.”

  “Do you think you’ll find her?”

  “I hope so.”

  The house was an open-concept design with high ceilings. It was extraordinarily clean. The carpeted floors looked as if they had just been vacuumed, and the granite counters in the kitchen gleamed as they walked past.

  Once they got to a family room, Natalie introduced Quinn and Ethan to three other girls, who were all dressed in various workout clothes.

  “Quinn just wants to ask a couple of questions about Ali. Once Rachel arrives, we’ll have to go or we’ll be late.”

  “Hey, Ethan,” a blonde with a high ponytail said. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have fires to start and car parts to steal?”

  Ethan merely smiled. He didn’t look nervous or scared or even angry by her words.

  Everyone else ignored her.

  The brunette in the corner said, “My mom told me that Ali ran away.”

  “She didn’t run away,” Ethan said. “I saw a man shove her into the back of his van and drive off.”

  There was a collective gasp.

  “No evidence has been found,” Quinn told them. “Although we are treating Ali Cross’s case as an abduction, I would like to know if Ali talked to any of you about running away.”

  “Not really,” another girl said. She smiled. “I’m Stacy.”

  “Hi, Stacy. Did you know Ali well?”

  “Definitely. Since the second grade. Whenever I would go to Ali’s house, she and her mom would argue. Like all the time. I know Ali was eager to go to college so she wouldn’t have to listen to her mom bitch all the time.”

  “She did run away once before,” Natalie said, “but she told me that it was a mistake because of how it affected her little sister, Gracie.”

  “I remember that too,” the brunette said. “I really don’t think she would do that to Gracie again.”

  “We already talked to the police about all this, you know,” the blonde told Quinn.

  “But we don’t mind talking to you too,” Natalie said.

  Quinn looked at her notes. “Did Ali ever, throughout all the years you’ve all known her, talk about being followed or maybe watched?”

  “By a creeper?” Stacy asked, eyes wide.

  “By anyone at all,” Quinn said.

  “Well,” Natalie said, “she does get a lot of attention wherever she goes, so in a way she’s always being watched.”

  “Remember that Brent dude?” the brunette asked the other girls. “He was a senior when we were all sophomores. He used to wait for her in the parking lot and then plead with Ali to let him take her home.”

  “I do remember that,” Stacy said. “She always told him no.”

  “I forgot about him.” Natalie looked at Quinn. “I was with her once when he was begging her to get in his car, and she told him ‘No, thank you’ and his smile disappeared instantly. I swear his face contorted—slanted brows, flared nostrils. I do remember being scared.”

  “Do you remember his last name?” Quinn asked.

  Stacy scrolled through her phone. “Here he is. Brent Tarone. Looks like he’s in some sort of heavy metal band now.”

  Stacy got up and walked over to Quinn to show her the picture and information she’d pulled up on Brent Tarone.

  “What happened after Brent graduated from high school?” Quinn asked. “Did he leave her alone?”

  “I think he just disappeared for a while,” Natalie said.

  “He did call her once,” the brunette chimed in. “We had just started our senior year. It was totally out of the blue. Ali had no idea how he’d gotten her number, but she blocked him, and that was the last I heard of him.”

  The doorbell rang, and they all jumped up and started collecting their matching cardinal-red-and-white duffel bags with a lion’s paw print on the side. Quinn thanked them for their help, and she and Ethan walked with them to the door.

  “If I think of anything else,” Natalie said to Quinn, “I’ll message you.” She glanced at Ethan. “I’ll tell Eric you said hi!”

  Ethan managed a tight smile. “Great.”

  “Have you talked to Dylan Rushdan?” Stacy asked, coming up from behind and following them to the sidewalk. “I know it’s supposed to be a secret, but he’s the one Ali was spending most of her time with before she disappeared.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn said. “He’s on my list of people to talk to.”

  Once they were back in the car, Quinn put on her seat belt and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. That one girl was sort of mean to you. I wasn’t sure if she hurt your feelings.”

  He chuckled. “It would take a lot more than that to make me feel bad. I know who I am, and I’m not the horrible kid everyone thinks. Yes, I’ve done some stupid things. And yes, my life is fucked up. My mom is fucked up. But she’s doing her best and so am I.”

  Quinn was impressed and envious at the same time. Ethan was only twelve, and yet despite his struggles, he came across as confident and self-assured. He knew who he was, and so it didn’t matter what others thought of him. He’d never known his father, and he’d spent half of his short life with strangers. And yet it seemed he’d come to terms with the life that was his, had made peace with it.

  She turned on the engine and merged onto the street. In the rearview mirror she could see the girls they had just left, all piling into an SUV. So many people in the world, she found herself thinking. So much pain, and yet everyone dealt with that pain differently. “I guess everyone has a story,” Quinn murmured, cutting into the silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that there are a lot of people out there who have been through tough times. Look at Dani. Her only child. Taken.”

  “And what about you?” he asked. “What’s your story?”

  She didn’t like telling her story because each time she did, the emotions of loss, anger, and grief hit her hard. “In a nutshell, one day my beautiful and loving mom was helping me with my homework and telling me to clean my room, and the next day she was gone. Poof! Just like that.”

  “How old were you when she left?”

  “Fifteen.” She kept her eyes on the road as she talked. “Two years later, my dad was diagnosed with cancer so we moved in with my grandmother. Dani moved to the neighborhood at the same time, which was weird because I had just started following Tinsley Callahan’s abduction.”

  “That’s a crazy coincidence.”

  “Well, my mom is the reason I started keeping track of missing persons. I wanted to find her. Grandma said I was in denial, though, since I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that Mom had left on purpose. No random visits. No phone calls.” A heavy lump settled in her stomach.

  “Did your dad have any idea where she might have gone?”

  “Nope. But I was determined to find her. Nothing was going to stop me.”

  “So did you find her?”

  Quinn sighed and shook her head. “It’s hard to find someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Makes sense. So how is your dad doing?”

  “He died six months after his diagnosis.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, and then Grandma had a stroke, and Dani, who had just moved into the neighborhood, brought me to her home for a few weeks. She was great. She didn’t ask too many questions. She just let me be me. When I was on a stakeout with her, I picked up her camera and started shooting. It was exciting to see what different angles and lighting could do to a photo. I started noticing details of buildings—all the different colors and the intricacies of the smallest things, even a mere flower. Things I hadn’t been paying attention to because I was so wrapped up in all the bad stuff. Anyway, working with Dani was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  There was a long pause before he said, “I get that you
like Dani, but it sounds to me like you need to let go of the anger you’re holding inside.”

  She chuckled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Psychologist.”

  “I think you do.”

  The kid was getting on her nerves. “Okay, sure. Maybe you’re right. I’m angry that Mom left. Most nights I hardly sleep. I have good days and bad days, but no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to forgive her.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Go ahead, then—keep playing the role of victim, but all you’re doing is giving the person that isn’t even in your life the power to control you. You’ll never be happy.”

  “I don’t deserve to be happy.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Why?”

  “Everyone deserves to be happy. But it’s your choice,” he said matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t really care what she did or didn’t do.

  Ethan’s phone rang and he picked up the call, said, “Yeah, yeah,” and then hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Mom needs me to help her clean houses. If you could pull over and drop me off, I can hitchhike home.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I do it all the time.”

  “Not going to happen. Besides, you told me earlier that you thought you were being watched.”

  “I’m not a little kid.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  He crossed his arms. “I’ve been taking care of myself my entire life.”

  “Who taught you about forgiveness?”

  “I taught myself.”

  Quinn let it go. There was no point in saying anything. He had a chip on his shoulder, and she didn’t blame him. He had been taking care of himself, and he didn’t want anyone acting like they knew what was best for him. She knew the feeling. It sucked. Because deep down, everybody wanted to know that someone cared.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Dani climbed out of the taxi, paid the driver, and then slowly made her way up the walkway leading to her house. It was nearly two in the afternoon. The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun was out, its rays warming her back. Under any other circumstances she might have appreciated such a beautiful day.

  Yesterday’s attack had left her with blurred vision. Well into the night, she’d felt nauseous and disoriented. Now she just felt bruised and battered. Even her neck ached.

  She used her key to unlock the door and pushed her way inside. She set her purse on the small table by the door, then shut and locked it. Usually when she returned home after being at work all day, she felt relaxed, safe.

  Not today.

  With her tiny canister of pepper spray in hand, she listened closely for any unusual sounds before making her way into the living area. She opened a coat closet and then inspected the pantry in the kitchen. She looked inside the guest room and checked the closet before making her way to her bedroom. Nobody was under the bed or in the closet or in the bathroom. She locked the bedroom door just the same, then walked into the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower.

  While the water heated, she stripped off her clothes and then found a pair of scissors and took her time removing the tape and gauze around her head. Her face was swollen and discolored. She looked like a distant cousin of Frankenstein. She had always bled more easily than most. She gingerly brushed her fingertips over the ten small stitches at the side of her head near her left ear, where they had shaved her hair. Her doctor had said she was lucky because it could have been much worse.

  She walked into the shower and fiddled with the faucet until the temperature was just right. The warm water felt good against her back as she carefully washed her hair, her head tilted to one side so she could stay away from her wound but also get all the blood out of her hair. It wasn’t until she was toweling herself off that dizziness set in, forcing her to make her way to the bed, where she lay down. As she stared at the ceiling, the image of the intruder swinging an object at her made her cringe. What if Quinn had returned to the office before her and had been the one who was attacked?

  The thought sickened Dani.

  First thing tomorrow, she would go to the store and purchase a set of digital cameras and maybe look into installing a new heavy-duty lock at the office.

  Her thoughts shifted to the attacker. What had they been looking for?

  Whoever it was must have heard her come in, found the lamp, and waited. If Dani had been smart, she would have called the police first or at least readied her pepper spray. But she’d never expected to find someone waiting behind the door. Who had hit her and why? Her mind swirled with speculation.

  Fifteen minutes passed before she finally slid off the bed and pulled on a pair of soft sweatpants and a comfortable T-shirt. It took her ten minutes to comb out her hair before she walked to the kitchen to make some tea.

  The sound of her doorbell sent her into a tizzy. She raced back to the bedroom to find her pepper spray, the quick movement making her feel nauseous.

  The doorbell sounded again.

  She peeked out the bedroom window and saw Matthew’s car parked in her driveway. Damn. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody, especially her ex-husband. By the time she reached the door, he’d hit the ringer for the third time.

  Exasperated, she swung open the door. “Really? Three times?”

  The second he saw her face, his mouth fell open. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  For a split second she’d forgotten about her bruised face and partially shaved head. “I’ve been better.”

  When she first peeked out the window and saw his car, she’d figured he must have heard about the attack. But that didn’t seem to be the case. He’d obviously come to talk to her about something. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Okay. If you’re sure?”

  After she shut the door, she led him into the kitchen and offered him some tea since she’d already set the kettle on the burner. She pulled two random mugs from the cupboard, tossed in a tea bag, and poured the water, not waiting for the kettle to whistle.

  She followed his gaze, which had settled on one of the mugs that said BEST MOM IN THE WORLD! Matthew and Tinsley had given it to her on her first Mother’s Day. “Sweetener?” she asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  She slid the plain white mug his way and then took her tea to the family room. “I need to sit down.”

  He followed her and took a seat on the ottoman across from her. “What happened to you?”

  She gave him the quick version. The papers scattered about her office. How her worry about Quinn overtook all else as she opened the door to the basement, and bam. Lights out.

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “I have no idea. The police are looking into it. Why are you here, Matthew?”

  He squirmed a bit before finally spitting it all out. “I heard through the grapevine that you were talking to some of the girls at work about some random photos taken at a RAYTEX company picnic.”

  When he didn’t go on, she said, “I called Mimi about a collage of pictures in the Annual Employee Report. Pictures taken at the last RAYTEX picnic I attended before Tinsley disappeared. In one of the photos you were talking to a woman I didn’t recognize. In another, the same woman was painting Tinsley’s face at one of the booths.” Dani watched him closely, looking for signs of guilt.

  “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

  “Because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you think our beautiful Tinsley is gone forever and that you want me to let it go. I wasn’t in the mood for another lecture.”

  He hadn’t touched his tea. His elbows were propped on his knees, his fingers entwined as he stared at the floor. She knew him well enough to know that he was stringing words together in his head, perhaps words to tell her to back off without being too harsh, considering her condition.

  “There’s more,” Dani said.

  His head came up. Instead of curious, he looked exasperated, as if he regretted stopping by and woul
d prefer not to hear more about the pictures or Dani’s fixation with finding Tinsley. But she didn’t care.

  “You no longer have any hold on me, Matthew. After the divorce, I thought we would be friends, but now, looking back, I don’t know what I was thinking. We’ve never been on the same page. I wanted more children. You didn’t—”

  “That’s not true,” he said, cutting her off. “I just didn’t have the energy to go through years of fertility treatments. And I’m still not willing to spend my life focused on one thing to the detriment of all else. There’s a beautiful world out there, Dani. When was the last time you went to a park or a museum or had dinner with a good friend?”

  “Focused on one thing? You mean our daughter, don’t you? Do you think you’re the only one who sacrificed to have Tinsley? When you put your foot down after we had Tinsley, saying you were not willing to use fertility options again, I was devastated. But I loved you, and I was determined to make our marriage work. I quit my job, a job I loved, so that I could watch my only child take her first steps. But Tinsley was never the only person I thought about. I thought about you too. I wanted you to be happy. I did your laundry, ironed your shirts, kept the house clean, did all the shopping, and made sure we had a date night every month. And now I am told that you and the woman in the picture were involved somehow. Is that true?”

  His eyes widened, a deer caught in the headlights.

  She’d known him long enough to know that look. Something had happened between him and the woman. “No wonder you’re so upset that I won’t let this go.” She set her mug on the table, then leaned forward. “What else are you hiding from me, Matthew?”

  His chin dropped, and he rubbed both hands over his face. When he finally looked up, he said, “You know I would never have betrayed you in such a way. Rebecca Carr was a flirt, hell-bent on getting the attention of any man that would look her way. That’s why she was let go. She was a distraction.”

  Rebecca Carr. That was the name Mimi had given her on the phone. And yet she didn’t have to say the name aloud for Matthew to remember it, even after all these years. He had never been good at remembering names, not unless the person meant something to him or left an impression. He kept rubbing his eyes and his face. He could hardly make eye contact.