Little Girl Lost (Georgiana Germaine Book 1)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  It was something I never thought he’d say.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Why what?”

  “I don’t get it. How can you live here after what happened?”

  He stared at me for a moment. “We made a lot of good memories here.”

  “Yeah, let’s leave the past where it is, okay?”

  “It’s true. Are you telling me you never think about it? There were a lot of good times before the bad.”

  I didn’t think about it because I couldn’t. I was bitter. Maybe I had no right to be, but I hadn’t let it stop me from indulging the feeling anyway.

  “I didn’t ask for a divorce,” I said. “You did.”

  “Are you saying it’s my fault we didn’t work out? What was I supposed to do? You self-destructed right in front of me. I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

  “Tell yourself whatever you want, but that’s not what happened.”

  “It is what happened. And nothing I did or said made any difference. I wish things were different between us. I want what’s best for you. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

  I could feel my emotions struggling to erupt inside of me. I pushed them down.

  “Don’t concern yourself with me,” I said. “I’m not your problem anymore.”

  “Is it always going to be this way?”

  “What way?”

  “Are you always going to be angry?”

  I didn’t know.

  We couldn’t rewind the clock, go back in time, and fix things. It was far too late now. We were smashed and broken, just like the shards of glass sprinkled around the kitchen window.

  He was right to ask for a divorce. I was a mess at the end. I didn’t love him anymore, and he didn’t love me, not in the way either of us deserved. We were two people who had cared for one another while hanging by the tiniest thread.

  “Keep the house, if it’s what you want,” I said. “I just have one question.”

  He leaned against the wall. “Shoot.”

  “My brother’s wife asked me today if I’d seen you. Why?”

  He broke eye contact and said, “I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?”

  I waited. He said nothing.

  “You asked why I’m here,” I said. “It’s because ... Harvey, he, umm ...”

  My throat was dry, my voice too cracked to finish.

  Liam raised a brow of concern. “What happened? Is Harvey okay? Is your mom okay?”

  If I answered based on the word okay, none of us were. Our lives had been cursed, again.

  “Jack was shot last night,” I said. “He’s dead.”

  Liam slapped a hand over his mouth. “No, no. no. I can’t believe it. I just saw him at the store a few nights ago.”

  “That’s not even the worst part. Lark is missing. I thought you would have heard already, but when you didn’t bring it up, I realized you didn’t know.”

  “I worked a double shift last night. I’m behind on the house I’m renovating. Supposed to be up for sale in a week. Anyway, guess it explains why I have three missed calls from Higgins. Are you all right? What do you need? What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. I have to go.”

  “Don’t leave yet, all right? Stay. Let’s ... I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of you being alone right now.”

  “I’m not alone. I’m working the case, and I have Luka. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re ... back to work?”

  I wasn’t sure why it was a shock to him. When it came to family, I always stepped in.

  “I’m on the job for now until we find Lark, and I figure out what happened and why.” I opened the door. “Take care of yourself, Liam. It was good to see you today.”

  “Yeah, you too. I’m here ... if you need anything.”

  I grabbed my gun out of the safe and walked to the Jeep thinking of the look he’d just given me. I knew it well. He was lonesome. He wanted to pull me into his arms but was too nervous about what would happen if he did. He feared I’d reject him, and he was right. I was the villain in our broken love story.

  I found Phoebe under a large oak tree in my mother’s back yard when I returned. Her long, blond hair had been swept into a messy bun, and she was blinking up at the sky, watching the clouds bend and shift, break apart, and then come together again. I lay beside her and watched two clouds join together to form a shape I thought resembled a wild horse running free. For a time, I remained there and said nothing. I waited and thought she would talk when she was ready. The minutes ticked by until the silence between us became too much.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Don’t forget to take the trash out,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t forget to take the trash out. It was the last thing I said to Jack before I left. Not ‘I love you,’ or ‘I’ll miss you,’ or any other sweet sentiments a wife should say to her husband when she goes away for the night.”

  “You didn’t know it was the last time you’d see him.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I could have said it, and I didn’t.”

  “He knew you loved him, Phoebe. He knew without you saying a word.”

  “Thing is, I thought about saying it. It crossed my mind, but we’d just argued over something stupid. I flipped out because he gave Lark a few cookies after breakfast. I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. My anal-retentive need to push my opinion on him refused to be silent. It was stupid. They were cookies for heaven’s sake.”

  “There isn’t a single person alive who doesn’t say things they regret from time to time,” I said. “We all do it.”

  “Why do we do it? Why can’t we see none of it matters in the end? We waste so much of our lives hung up on a ridiculous ideal of how things should be, because in our own mind, we tell ourselves the way we view things is right. Anyone who disagrees is wrong. It’s ridiculous. We’re all ridiculous, horrible people.”

  “We’re all navigating through life the best way we can. Sometimes we’re our best selves; other times we’re not. You’re dealing with a lot right now. Go easy on yourself.”

  “I didn’t even kiss my own daughter goodbye. I grabbed my bag, walked down the hall, and poked my head into Lark’s room. She was playing Connect 4 with Ethan, the neighbor boy. They were having so much fun. I didn’t want to disrupt her. She looked up at me and smiled, and I blew her a kiss. Can you believe it? I didn’t go to her, throw my arms around her, and kiss her sweet face. I blew her a kiss. And now they’re both gone. They’re gone from me forever.”

  I reached out and grabbed her hand. “Listen to me. None of us has a crystal ball. We don’t know what’s going to happen today, tomorrow, or five minutes from now. You don’t know Lark is gone forever. I will find her, Phoebe. I promise.”

  She rolled on her side and faced me. We locked eyes, and I swallowed hard. Her face was puffy and red, soaked in an endless stream of tears. Black makeup lines streaked both sides of her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled. She bit down on it, attempting to muffle the sounds of anguish welling inside of her.

  “Let it out, Phoebe,” I said. “It’s just us now. It’s okay.”

  I wrapped my arm around her, and she buried her face in my chest. I felt useless. I didn’t know what to do, how to care for her, how to ease her pain, or if it was even possible to ease it. I hummed into her ear, because humming had been what I’d done when I soothed myself on the nights I felt alone in the woods.

  Phoebe remained by my side for a time. Then she bent her arm, rested her head on her hand, looked at me, and said, “I’m sorry for the way I acted on the day you left.”

  I shook my head. “You have no reason to apologize.”

  “I didn’t understand,” she said. “I couldn’t because I’d never experienced the hardship you had. I’ve never had the sinking feeling that comes when you’ve lost all you love. I was self
ish for wanting to keep you here. I see it now.”

  “I was selfish too. I could have let you in, could have let you be there for me like I want to be here for you now. It was a life lesson for both of us.”

  She turned her head to the side and sighed. “Do you believe Lark is still alive?”

  “I choose to believe it,” I said. “We have nothing to suggest otherwise. Has anyone talked to you about it?”

  “Harvey told me what happened.”

  “Have you been questioned by anyone?”

  She shook her head. “Detective Hunter wanted to stop by today, and Harvey told her to hold off. I guess it’s because he knew you were coming.”

  “I know it’s hard to answer questions right now when everything is fresh and raw, but the sooner I’m pointed in a direction to go in, the faster I can get to work on finding Lark.”

  The time had come to remove my sister cap and put on my work one. I didn’t want to, but I had to if I wanted to find Lark.

  “I figured you’d talk to me,” she said. “I just wanted to have a moment with my sister first.”

  “Before I ask you anything, I want you to know, none of this is your fault. Don’t blame yourself for what happened. You were a great wife, you are a great mother, and—”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “What happened last night with Jack and Lark ... it is my fault.”

  “No. It isn’t.”

  She waved a hand in front of her. “Stop it, okay? I need to confess something. You’re not going to like it.”

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” I said.

  I needed to know, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Phoebe’s face screamed all the things she hadn’t spoken. She didn’t just think what happened to Jack and Lark was her fault, she believed it, leading me to wonder if she had done something—something damaging enough to cast a dark shadow on them all.

  Phoebe pulled her knees in, wrapped her hands around them, and leaned against the tree. “They’re talking about replacing me at work and hiring a new reporter to take my place.”

  “What? Why?”

  “There’s some shifting around of roles getting ready to happen at the network. My boss is retiring, and Joe Coldwell, the man slated to take his place ... we don’t always get along. From what I’ve heard, he has someone else in mind for my job.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t, and he doesn’t know I’m aware of his intentions. He was talking to one of the other guys at the network and let it slip within earshot of Pete, one of the cameramen. Pete and I are friends, and he told me.”

  The sliding glass door opened, and Aunt Laura stepped out. I flashed her a look to let her know now wasn’t the best time for us to be disturbed. She gave me the “okay” symbol with her fingers and said, “Luka is getting restless in the house. I thought I’d let him out.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  Luka bounded outside, did a few laps around the yard, and settled in next to me.

  “I’m sorry about what’s happening at work,” I said. “What does it have to do with Jack and Lark? Why do you think it’s your fault?”

  She averted her eyes.

  “I have a ... I ... there’s a man who is ... I have a stalker.”

  I sat straight up. “Since when?”

  “Two months ago.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

  “Why haven’t you told anyone else?”

  “I know. I know. Okay? I should have said something, or I should have done something, or both.”

  “So, why didn’t you?”

  She combed a hand through Luka’s fur. “I didn’t think anything of it at first.”

  “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  She took a deep breath in. “A couple of months ago, I walked into my office and found a bouquet of flowers sitting on my desk. There was no card attached to it.”

  “Could the flowers have been sent by Jack?”

  “They were wildflowers, and Jack almost always buys me roses. I asked around, and no one in the office seemed to know where they had come from either.”

  “Any chance you remember the day you received the flowers or what flower shop they came from?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t remember the exact day. They weren’t from a flower shop, I don’t think.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “They looked like they had been picked by hand. I mean, they were pretty, but I’ve been given enough flowers to know they hadn’t been arranged by a professional.”

  “What happened after you received the flowers?” I asked.

  “About a week later, I was given another anonymous gift. This time, it was a box of candy, milk chocolate with nuts.”

  “Do you still have the box?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Phoebe ...”

  “You have to understand. I had no reason to suspect anything at first.”

  It was one of the many ways we were different. I suspected everything and everyone. Question first, trust second.

  “What kind of nuts?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “The nuts in the chocolate. Which variety were they?”

  “Peanut.”

  Phoebe’s stalker was someone she knew, or someone who knew enough about her to recognize what she liked. Jack had always given her roses because she wouldn’t be honest with him and say she wasn’t a fan of them. She preferred wildflowers. She was also addicted to any type of chocolate that contained peanuts.

  “What happened after you were given the chocolates?” I asked.

  “He started leaving me notes.”

  “Where?”

  “On the windshield of my car. I’d leave work for the day, go into the parking garage, and find a note folded in half beneath my windshield wiper.”

  “What did the notes say?”

  “They were all written with a black pen and in capital letters. The first one was no big deal. It said he was a fan. He watched my newscast every day, and he had a crush on me.”

  She assumed it was a man, but it could have been anyone. I wanted to be angry with her, but I couldn’t. She’d been careless not to take it seriously.

  “How did you see a note left on your vehicle as no big deal?” I asked. “First you receive your favorite flowers, then candy you can’t resist, and then a note is left on your car to indicate your stalker knows where you park and what you drive.”

  Phoebe buried her head in her hands. “I can’t talk about it anymore if you’re going to sit there and judge me. Do you think I haven’t tortured myself over this already? It’s all I’ve thought about. I’m not a hotshot detective like you. I don’t think like you. I don’t have the same instincts you do. I can’t take back the way I handled it. I wish I could. Believe me.”

  She had trusted me with her truth, and my big, opinionated mouth had shut her down. She didn’t deserve the scrutiny I’d given her.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t being fair. Please, tell me the rest.”

  She sniffled, wiped a few tears away, and said, “After the first letter, I started to suspect the guy had access to the building I worked at. You need a swipe card to get into the parking lot.”

  “Is the parking lot under surveillance?”

  “I don’t think so. Part of me wondered if someone on staff was playing a joke on me. I wanted to say something to someone, but I worried if Joe Coldwell got wind of it, he’d see me as even more of a liability.”

  “Why? You’re innocent in all of this.”

  “Yeah, well, Pete also told me that Joe thought I was crazy. Saying I had a stalker would have made me seem even crazier. It’s what I told myself, anyway.”

  Crazy.

  It was a word I despised.

  In almost every relationship I’d been in from childhood to the prese
nt day, when I asked the boy, or guy, or man the reason why things ended with their ex, the answer was always the same: she’s crazy.

  Crazy was a blanket statement, a label, an easy way to distract from the truth. He may have lied, or cheated, or spent all of their money, or had a nefarious habit he couldn’t quit. His sins didn’t matter, though, because she was crazy. Men used the word crazy as their Get Out of Jail Free card, because whatever they’d done to contribute to the relationship’s demise, hey—at least they weren’t crazy, right?

  “Why would Joe call you crazy?” I asked.

  She scrunched up her face and said, “Well ... I may have thrown a cupcake at him, which happened to land on his face.”

  It didn’t surprise me.

  She had impeccable aim and an affinity for throwing things.

  At least it hadn’t been a plastic cup, or worse, a glass one.

  “Why did you throw a cupcake at him?”

  “Because a knife would have been too mean.”

  And there’s where we were alike.

  “I imagine he did something to deserve it,” I said.

  She nodded. “He hit on my assistant, Holly. He said his pants were gift wrap and she should unzip the package and see what was inside.”

  I felt a sudden urge to empty the contents of my stomach.

  “I can see why he took a cupcake to the face,” I said. “Do you still have the notes that were left on your car?”

  She nodded. “They’re in a file folder in my cabinet at the office. I can’t show my face there, though. Not right now. But I can give you the key.”

  “Good. Any chance Joe is your stalker?”

  “I thought the same thing, but there are two more notes I haven’t told you about yet. One came on the day Joe married his fourth wife. The wedding was in Switzerland. He wasn’t there. So, it can’t be him.”

  Maybe not.

  Still, he hadn’t earned the right to be crossed off my list just yet.

  “What did the next letter say?” I asked.

  “It said he had followed me in the park on my lunch break the day before. He commented on the dress I was wearing, described what it looked like, and said he imagined the two of us together. He knew I was married, but he said since my first marriage hadn’t worked out, he figured my second one wouldn’t either, and he was willing to wait.”