Come Home

by Lisa Scottoline

  “No, I will. You’ve done enough today.”

  “Thanks.” Sam flashed her a tired smile, then turned to go.

  “Love you, too,” Jill called after him, listening to the sound of his footfalls disappearing. She didn’t like the distant look in his eyes, one she’d never seen before, and she could feel a new rift between them, as if suddenly they were on two separate ice floes, drifting apart on a vast and frigid sea.

  Jill, I love you, so much, you’re my mom.

  Jill got up and hurried into the kitchen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jill crossed to the coffeemaker and popped in a pod, then set a mug underneath and hit BREW. She couldn’t ignore the sensation that Abby was in trouble. Abby’s drinking worried her, and it was possible that she was passed out in a club or an alley somewhere.

  Jill picked up the phone and checked her messages, but Abby still hadn’t called her back, so she called her again and left another message, saying the same thing. On impulse, Jill called the University of Pennsylvania Hospital in Philly, transferred to the emergency room, and asked for Abby Skyler or a Jane Doe with Abby’s age and description. No luck. Meanwhile, the coffee had brewed, and Jill slid it out, took a hot sip, then called Temple and Hahnemann hospitals, but Abby hadn’t been at either of their ERs or admitted.

  Jill took the mug back to the laptop and moved the mouse. There was nothing more she could do for Abby right now, so she told herself to be patient. She stared at the screen for a moment, feeling the weight of Sam’s words and wondering if she’d been giving short shrift to Megan. Katie had said almost the same thing, and Jill was beginning to sense a consensus. She’d have to make sure to take care of Megan, too, and even that seemed a familiar balancing act, from her days as a mom of three.

  She had to get Megan that Lincoln book, so she navigated to an online bookseller, plugged Lincoln’s Ghost into the search, and waited for the book to come up. It appeared, and she clicked SEND TO CART, but then realized she might have to rush it to make sure it got here in time, so she reviewed the order form, changed the shipping preferences, and looked at the shipping addresses, which was when it struck her.

  The list contained all the people who were closest to her, both past and present. She’d never deleted the older addresses, and it still had her mother’s home address and Sam’s old condo address. William could have had a list like that, too, online. He used to shop online and was always sending gifts to doctors, nurses, and secretaries whose offices he called on, to grease his sales calls. Jill even knew his passwords, but she didn’t need them. She had his laptop.

  She palmed the mouse, went online, and plugged in the website. The flash screen came up, offering an array of new and upcoming books, and at the top, it read, WELCOME, WILLIAM! She navigated to My Account, which had all of his account settings, including Addresses, and the Default Address was the house on Acorn Street in Philadelphia. She clicked Manage Addresses, and a list of old addresses popped on the screen, some twenty odd long.

  Jill shifted onto the edge of her seat. William had sanitized his laptop, but he’d forgotten to erase information that was stored online. The second address on his list was an apartment in Philly, to which he and the girls moved after the divorce, and after that was their old home address. Next was a string of doctors’ office addresses, with the names of office managers, followed by a few women with addresses in and around Philadelphia, presumably girlfriends. There was a group of men on the list, but all of them were doctors except for the one she’d hoped to find: Neil Straub, with an apartment address on West 11th Street, in Manhattan.

  Jill picked up her phone, called information in New York City, and asked for the phone number, but the automated voice said they didn’t have the listing. She pressed 0 for an operator and reached a supervisor who looked up the number, then came back on the line, saying, “I’m sorry, we can’t give out that number.”

  Jill hung up, with a growing suspicion that Neil and William had been up to no good. She’d found out as much as she could about Neil for now, but she could find out about the others on the address list, and maybe they would yield information about him or lead to something else. Maybe there would be some connection to Abby, or at the very least, it would give Jill something to do until she could call Abby and the hospitals again.

  She printed the address list, then got to work.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jill woke up in front of her laptop at the island, with a shaft of sunlight coming through the windows over the sink. The kitchen was bright and still, and the wall clock read 6:15 A.M. Her first thought was of Abby, and she prayed that she’d called or texted. She picked up her BlackBerry and checked her messages, but there was nothing from Abby, or Victoria. None of her patients had called either, including Padma, but Jill wouldn’t rest until Rahul’s bloodwork came in.

  Beef came over from his dog bed, wagging his tail slowly, and she patted him on his soft head, scrolled to her call log, found Abby’s number, and pressed CALL on the way to the back door, to let him out. The call rang as she unlocked the deadbolt, and Beef trotted outside, with Jill behind. It was a clear Sunday morning, the neighborhood quiet and peaceful, because it was too early for leafblowers and lawnmowers. Their backyard was large, a full, flat acre with a pool, bounded by a tall privacy fence. Pin oaks shaded the left end of the property, which was Beef territory.

  Jill stood in the sunshine, letting it warm her and hoping Abby would pick up the phone. She listened to the ringing, but there was no answer, so she left another message, then pressed END. She scrolled back to her call log, pressed in the number for the Penn ER, and asked again about Abby. Still no luck. She called Temple and Hahnemann, but Abby hadn’t been in there, either.

  She checked her phone for the time, and it was 6:35. She wanted to go to Abby’s house to check on her, but she’d have to leave soon to be back in time for Megan’s meet. She found Victoria’s number in the log and pressed CALL.

  “Jill?” Victoria answered, groggy. “Why the hell are you calling me so early?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t hear from Abby. Did you?”

  “No. You woke me up.”

  “I’m sorry, really. She hasn’t returned my calls, and I want to check on her, but I don’t have the keys. Do you know if any of the neighbors have a set?”

  “I don’t know, and are you nuts? What’s your problem, Jill? Stay out of it, would you?”

  Jill had expected the reaction. She kept her tone conciliatory. “I’m worried she fell down the stairs, hurt herself, or can’t get to the door somehow.”

  “She didn’t fall. She’s not an old lady. Jeez!”

  “If she was drinking, she could have fallen and aspirated her own vomit. It happens, Victoria. People die from that.”

  Victoria scoffed. “I thought you said she wouldn’t go out partying last night.”

  Jill bit her tongue. “What if I was wrong? Do you have keys?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you meet me there?” Jill asked, hoping against hope. She couldn’t drive to Victoria’s apartment in Central Jersey and still get back in time for Megan’s meet.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you love your sister.”

  “Right,” Victoria shot back. “I love her enough not to enable her.”

  Jill wasn’t getting anywhere, so she went for it. “Victoria, I think a car might have followed her to my house the other night, and I think it’s been following me. It’s a black SUV, and the license plate was T something. Do you know it? Does she date anybody who drives a black SUV?”

  “No.” Victoria scoffed. “How do you know it was following her?”

  “I don’t, for sure, but it had one headlight. I noticed it because it was a padiddle, that game we used to play.”

  “You think a padiddle is following her? Really? Did you spy it with your little eye?”

  Jill didn’t know how to convince her. “Besides that, the pills that w
ere found in your father’s bedroom were prescribed by a doctor who’s been dead for years. It was a forged prescription.”

  “Are you saying Dad forged his prescription?”

  “Either he or someone trying to—”

  “He would never do that. Are you crazy? Really, are you? None of this is your business.”

  Jill wanted those keys. “Victoria, you don’t know this, but if you meet me, I can explain. He did it once before—”

  Victoria gasped. “Stop it right now. Did you wake me up to trash Dad? What’s the matter with you? You’re a sick woman.”

  “Please, meet me and give me the keys, for Abby’s sake.”

  “No, this is all about you. She’s fine, you’re the freak.” Victoria hung up, and Jill pressed END, agitated. Beef came trotting forward, wagging his tail, and she turned to see Sam coming out the back door with a soft smile, in his T-shirt, running shorts, and bare feet. He met her and gave her a big hug, holding her close.

  “Sounds like that went well,” he said, sadly, and as Jill hugged him back, she felt that the tension of last night had diminished, and they were reconnecting, almost back to themselves again.

  “I’d kiss you, but my breath stinks.”

  “Kiss me, anyway.”

  Jill went on tiptoe to give him a kiss. “Tastes like stale coffee, right?”

  “No.” Sam smiled. “Tastes like wife.”

  “I love you.” Jill smiled back, but her thoughts returned to Abby. “Are we allowed to talk about Abby?”

  “Yes.” Sam smiled, crookedly.

  “She’s still not answering, and I want to go downtown and check on her. Megan has a meet today, and Courtney’s mom is taking her. It starts at noon but I can be back in time, don’t you think? She won’t swim until one o’clock or so.”

  “Yes, and I’ll go downtown with you.”

  “No, thanks, I can go alone.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.” Sam’s expression darkened. “I slept on it, and though I don’t think your ex was murdered, I’m worried about this SUV.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for it. On a Sunday morning, I’d spot it a mile away, there’s no traffic. Besides, Megan needs her swim bag, and if I run late, I can’t get it to her.”

  “We can drop it off on our way out.”

  “And wake up Courtney’s family? Their dogs bark like crazy.”

  “Then we can leave it at school.”

  “The meet’s at the high school. It won’t be open, and where would we leave it? They don’t know her there.” Jill gave his arm a squeeze. “Thanks, but it’s best if you stay. If there are any problems, I’ll call the police.”

  Sam pursed his lips “You’re supposed to be calling the police today anyway, correct?”

  “Yes, I will, after I check on Abby.” Jill gave him a final hug and patted Beef good-bye. “I’ll pack Megan’s bag before I go.”

  “I can do it. But be careful in Philly, will you? Any sign of that SUV, call 911, then call me. Text me when you get there.”

  “Will do.”

  “Wait. What are you going to do if Abby doesn’t answer the door?”

  “I’ll knock until she does, or I can see if her car is there, so I’ll know she’s home.”

  “You don’t have a key to the house, do you?”

  “No, but I hope a neighbor does. We always used to do that, just in case.”

  “By ‘we,’ do you mean you and William?” Sam lifted an eyebrow, but he smiled.

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  “We’re going to stop talking about him by our wedding, no?”

  “Promise,” Jill answered, and took off.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jill zoomed into town and didn’t see any black SUVs as she hit the on-ramp toward Society Hill. She made it in no time and found a parking space on Acorn Street, cut the ignition, texted Sam that she was fine, and got out of the car. The sun slashed through the trees along the street, and a breeze disturbed the leaves of the trees, but it was too early on a Sunday morning for anyone to be out, even tourists.

  Jill made a beeline for William’s house, hustled up the steps, and rang the bell. She rang it again, then again, but no answer. She knocked on the door, rapping hard with her knuckles. “Abby?” she called out, loud enough to be heard without waking the entire block. “It’s me, Jill! Open up!” She waited, then called out again, knocking, but there was no reply.

  She peeked in the front window, edging over on the stoop, but she couldn’t see anything. The window was too high in the wall, and a massive shade covered the bottom. There were no lights on inside the house, and she didn’t know if Abby was home, but she knew a way to find out. She climbed down the front steps and continued down the street until she came to the break in the rowhouses. She’d lived in the city during her residency and she knew that alleys usually ran behind the rowhouses.

  She took a right and hurried down the alley, which changed to a stone walkway that led to a pocket parking lot. Each house had two parking spaces, and the lot was full. There was a cheap orange Datsun parked right behind a black Mercedes sedan, and they had to be Abby’s and William’s cars. Jill worried anew. So Abby was home, but she wasn’t answering the door? Was she hurt inside the house? Or had she gone somewhere, with someone who had driven her? Jill went over to Abby’s car and peered inside. Balled-up Trident wrappers dotted the passenger’s seat, next to an empty water bottle and a hairbrush. On impulse, she went over and looked inside William’s car, and it was predictably immaculate.

  She straightened up, then noticed something. The house had a back door, painted dark blue. She walked around the cars and down another stone walkway that ran along the back of the houses, stopping at the door with house number 363. A recycling container sat outside it, next to a galvanized trash can. She banged on the door, and called, “Abby, Abby!”

  “Hey! What are you doing?” said a stern voice behind her, and Jill turned around to see an older man in a green track suit, with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He was standing in the lot, his lined brow furrowed and his hooded eyes glowering behind bifocals.

  “Hello, I’m Jill Farrow, Abby’s stepmother, and I’m looking for her. Are you a neighbor?”

  “It depends.” The man frowned, but his tone softened. “Abby’s the girl who lives here?”

  “Yes, that’s her car.” Jill gestured at the Datsun. “She’s home but she doesn’t answer the door. Her father, who lived here, died last Tuesday, and I’m worried about her.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that.” The man’s forehead relaxed. “My condolences. Name’s Ernie Berg.”

  “Hi, Ernie.” Jill walked over and shook his hand. “Where do you live?”

  “Two doors down, on Acorn.” Ernie pointed at a black Lincoln. “That’s my car.”

  “Have you seen Abby recently?”

  “No, not recently. Pretty girl, and she always waves. I’m retired, so I’m home, and I see most things on the street. I’m on the Town Watch, too.”

  Jill knew it was a lucky break. “How about William, then? Her father? Do you see him much? The Mercedes is his.”

  “I know who you mean, but he’s not around that much. That night, guess it was a few days ago, the street was full of police, even the medical examiner. Quite a to-do.” Ernie shook his head. “He was too young, wasn’t he? What did he die of?”

  “A reaction to a prescription drug.”

  “That’s too bad. I didn’t know him, but a man that young, that’s too bad. I asked him to be on the Town Watch, but he said no. Said he was traveling all the time.”

  Jill made a mental note. “Do you know the neighbors on either side? I’m wondering if they’ve seen her or if they have a key to the house.”

  “You can forget about that. The Wilsons and the Eraskos. The Wilsons are skiing, and the Eraskos are on some college tour, with the son. He plays basketball. Heavily recruited.”

  Jill felt defeated, momentarily. “I’m worried that Abby’s in the house and fell
or something. She lives alone now that her father died.”

  “I’d worry, too.” Ernie buckled his lower lip. “Most fatal accidents occur in the home. Might be time to go to the police. We discourage the use of 911, when it’s not an emergency, and our precinct house is just a few blocks away. We’re in the Sixth District.”

  “You think I should go?”

  Ernie shrugged. “How many daughters you got?”

  Jill was about to answer “three” when she realized it was rhetorical.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Jill hustled toward the police station, which was an aging, low-rise building of nicotine yellow brick, shaped like a grocery-store sheet cake. It had a stop-time blue sign with art-deco letters that read POLICE 6TH DISTRICT, and a parking lot beside the building held a handful of white cruisers bearing the distinctive yellow-and-blue stripe of the Philadelphia Police. There weren’t any cops on the street or out front, and she hurried inside the smudged stainless-steel-and-glass entrance.

  She found herself in a hallway of dingy tile that ended in a forbidding steel door, obviously locked. To the right was a pay phone, and to the left was a poster that read CURFEW CRACKDOWN, then a small sliding window in a blue frame. She crossed to the window, which revealed a rectangular room barely large enough to fit four old desks of gray metal, arranged cheek-by-jowl, each with a black swivel chair. Two of the chairs were occupied by a female and male police officer, and the female looked up, rose, and came to the window.

  “Good morning, I’m Officer Mendina,” she said, pleasantly. Her nameplate read Veronica Mendina, and her blue shirt matched the earnest hue of her eyes. Her thick brown bangs were held off her forehead by a bobby pin. “May I help you?”

  “Hi, I’m Jill Farrow, and I’m worried that my former stepdaughter is hurt in her house, or missing. Her name is Abby Skyler, and she lives on Acorn Street. Her car is there, but there’s no answer at the door.”