Little Girl Lost (Georgiana Germaine Book 1)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

“By ‘well,’ you mean upper class?”

  “Yes. Anthony came from a rather poor upbringing. His mother was a maid, and his father was a truck driver before he died. They saved almost every penny they earned to put Anthony through school, and he used his degree to start his own business. A successful business, I might add.”

  “What made you change your mind about him?” I asked.

  “The way he loved our daughter, and because he accepted Maya as his own. As much as we didn’t want to approve of their union, we came to love him in time.”

  “Did you know about the letter Rebecca wrote Jack?”

  Judy sat on the chair opposite me and clasped her hands together on her lap. “I did. I was the one who convinced her to write it. I knew the secret she’d kept had taken a toll on her over the years. I thought Jack had a right to know the truth and that she needed to free herself from the lie before she passed.”

  “Were you aware Jack hired a private investigator?”

  She nodded. “After he received the letter she wrote, Rebecca didn’t hear back from Jack for a couple of weeks. A short time later, we found out he’d hired a private investigator to verify if there was any merit to what she’d told him.”

  “And did he get the confirmation he needed?”

  “He did, in the end. The private investigator provided him with her birth certificate. The date matched up with the last time Jack and Rebecca had seen each other. Even so, Jack still questioned it. He told the PI he wanted to get a court order for a DNA test, but once the private investigator showed him the photos he’d taken of Maya, Jack knew she was his.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “Once Jack believed he was Maya’s biological father, he sent Rebecca a letter, explaining why he’d taken so long to reply, and he asked if they could meet.”

  “I’m guessing they did. How did it go?”

  “He was agitated at first. I expect he’d brooded over the fact she’d kept Maya from him all those years and he planned to give her a piece of his mind. When he arrived, he learned Rebecca was not long for this world, and his demeanor changed. Rebecca asked for forgiveness, and after a long conversation, they made amends.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Rebecca wanted Jack to meet Maya, but she worried about how to go about it. There was no way to spare her from the pain the truth would cause, but Rebecca thought it would help if they eased in. Her solution was to invite Jack to Maya’s upcoming birthday party. She planned on telling Maya he was an old friend from high school who had stopped by to see her because he’d heard she was ill.”

  “And then what?”

  “Rebecca asked Jack to find a way to strike up a casual conversation with Maya while he was there. But she asked him not to reveal who he was that night. She thought it best if they saw each other a few times first.”

  “Anthony raised Maya from the time she was a toddler,” I said. “He was the only father she’d ever known. What did he have to say about it all?”

  “It was hard on him at first. He adores her. But he understood Rebecca’s desire to end her life with a clear conscience.”

  Judy sighed like she needed a diversion from the weight of our conversation. She leaned forward and scooted the cheese plate toward me.

  “Have a bit more, won’t you?” she asked.

  I didn’t want to confess I’d passed a McDonald’s on my way over and allowed myself one of my favorite indulgences, a Sausage McMuffin with Egg.

  “I had a lot to eat this morning. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll wrap it up, and you can take it with you.”

  “I appreciate the—”

  She huffed an abrasive sound of displeasure. “Nonsense. If you don’t take it, it will end up in the trash. You decide.”

  Was it my decision, though?

  I felt compelled to accept the offering whether I wanted to or not. The various cheeses on the platter looked like they had a good week or two before they’d start to become questionable. I despised frivolous waste, so I resigned myself to the fact I was about to be the proud new owner of an appetizer tray I didn’t really want.

  A restless irritation rose inside me, pulsing through me like I’d shot myself up with adrenaline. I’d spent the last several minutes trying to steer the conversation in the direction I wanted it to go, and in a single moment, it had disintegrated into a ridiculous exchange about cheese.

  “I’ll take the cheese,” I said.

  “Wonderful.”

  “Tell me about Maya’s birthday party.”

  “Of course. Jack arrived early, and Rebecca introduced him to Maya. A while later, I found them sitting together at the table. Jack was talking about some of the memories he’d shared with Rebecca when they were in school. Knowing her mother’s condition, it was the perfect icebreaker. She clung to his every word.”

  “Did Jack see Rebecca again—after the party?”

  Judy squeezed her eyes shut and breathed as if she struggled to catch her breath. “A couple of nights after Maya’s party, Rebecca’s condition worsened, which was unexpected. We thought we had several weeks left with her. We didn’t. She passed four days later.”

  “And Jack? Have you seen him since?”

  “I texted him about Rebecca. He came to the funeral, and a few days later, he showed up here, looking for Maya.”

  “Did he see her?” I asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. After the funeral, Anthony took her to Malaysia.”

  “Why Malaysia?”

  “They’d taken a family vacation there a few years before. Rebecca loved it. She’d wanted to go back, but they never got the chance. They went there to scatter her ashes over the ocean.”

  “When did they return?”

  Judy crossed one leg over the other. “Let’s see now. I suppose they would have returned a little over a week ago.”

  The timeline fit.

  “Did you tell Anthony that Jack was looking for Maya?” I asked.

  “I did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much, though he did ask me where Jack lived.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “Where is Maya now?”

  “In school. The new semester just started. I suggested she take some time off, given what’s just happened, but she said her mother would have wanted her to keep going, and she’s right.”

  “What about Anthony? When’s the last time you heard from him?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since the conversation we had right after he got back. I tried calling a few times. He hasn’t called back. I think he needs time to process what’s happened. It’s understandable. We all do.”

  “I’ve been to his house. No one was there.”

  She shrugged. “That’s odd. Where else would he be?”

  “What does Anthony do for work?” I asked.

  “He’s self-employed. He runs an online marketing business from home.”

  “After Rebecca died, did you consider telling Maya about Jack?”

  “I did. I talked it over with Stuart, my husband. We were in two minds about it. Stuart thought we should hold off. I didn’t. Jack has always been a persistent fellow. I knew he’d find a way to have Maya in his life, so I sent Anthony a text message to get his thoughts on the matter.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “Right before he went off to Malaysia.”

  “What was Anthony’s response to your message?”

  “I can’t remember the exact wording he used,” she said. “Wait just a moment. I’ll get my phone.”

  Either Judy was making light of her own suspicions or she lacked the skill of connecting the dots. In my own mind, the connection had been made, and my heart was racing.

  Judy returned to the sitting room, squinting at her phone through a pair of bifocals.

  “Here it is,” she said. “Anthony thought Maya needed more time to adjust to life without her mother
first, and he asked us to give it to her.”

  Of course, he did.

  Her time to heal was his time to kill.

  “Is there anywhere Anthony might stay other than his own house?” I asked.

  “You could try his mother. She might know.”

  “Does she live around here?”

  “She lives in Downey.”

  Downey.

  Ninety-five miles from where I was now, but a mere seventeen miles from Cambria.

  “How can I reach her?” I asked.

  “I’ll give you her address.”

  She scooped up the cheese platter and disappeared around the corner, returning a couple of minutes later. She handed me the platter, which she’d wrapped in cellophane. A yellow Post-it note with a handwritten address was stuck to the top. In an attempt to get going, I smiled and accepted the offering without hesitation.

  “I’d like to show you something before I go,” I said.

  While she’d been in the kitchen, I’d queued up the photo and was ready to roll with it. I flipped my phone around and held it in front of her.

  “Do you recognize this?” I asked.

  She bent down, staring at the photo in question.

  “Yes, I believe that’s the money clip Rebecca gave Anthony on their tenth wedding anniversary.”

  To TP with love.

  Anthony was short for Tony.

  TP stood for Tony Paine.

  I swallowed in an attempt to quell my tears.

  The moment I’d been waiting for had come.

  I had my man.

  On the drive to Downey, I called Harvey and filled him in. I let him know I was headed to Anthony’s mother’s place, and he said he’d meet me there. I figured he might, which was why I’d waited to call him until I had almost reached my destination. I wanted to get there first.

  Anthony’s mother lived in a mint-colored, stucco house that looked like it had been built in the ‘30s and hadn’t seen an ounce of renovation or upkeep since. The asphalt driveway was oil-stained and cracked, and the lawn had passed away several years earlier. It seemed Rebecca and Anthony had grown up in two different worlds, and yet somehow, they’d still ended up together.

  I walked to the door and knocked. A slat in the cheap, metal miniblinds was lifted, and an eyeball peeked out. I waved at the eyeball, knocked again, and waited.

  The front door opened a crack, just enough for the security chain to remain secure. A thin woman with a mound of dark, frizzy hair, and wearing cutoff jeans and a tank top, looked me in the eye and said, “Sorry, hun. No solicitors.”

  “I’m a detective,” I said. “I need to talk to you about your son.”

  “He doesn’t live here.”

  “I didn’t ask if he lived here.”

  “Well, he don’t, so there’s nothing to say.”

  Bad grammar aside, I pushed harder.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. At home, I suppose.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “On the day of his wife’s funeral.”

  “What kind of vehicle does he drive?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Why won’t you just tell me?” I asked.

  “Because I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

  “Let me guess, then. A truck. Dark in color. Broken windshield. Am I right?”

  She seemed unsure of how to respond, so she didn’t.

  “Are you married?” I asked. “Do you live here with anyone else?”

  She shook her head. “It’s just me. I already told you my son’s not here. I’d like you to leave.”

  “I’d like you to let me in so we can continue this conversation.”

  “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

  Inside the house, I heard a low, faint whine.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “What was what?”

  “The sound I heard coming from inside your house.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  I waited in silence and heard the sound again.

  “You’re not alone,” I said. “Who else is here?”

  The woman’s eyes widened as she searched her mind for a sufficient answer. “Oh, I know what it is. It must be my cat. She’s getting on in years, and she’s always whining about something or other. I’ve thought about putting her down, but I’ve had her for so long I can’t bring myself to do it.”

  It seemed the woman of few words could talk after all, long enough to make up a bogus story, at least. Whatever I’d heard, it wasn’t a cat.

  “Can I see it?” I asked.

  “See what?”

  “Your cat.”

  “She’s resting now. You can’t see her.”

  Every part of me screamed that something was awry.

  I leaned forward until my face was a few inches from the crack in the doorway. “I’ve played nice, and I’ve tried to be polite. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m going to give you one chance. Got it? Not three, not five, one.”

  “One chance to what?”

  “You’re lying. Tell me the truth, or I’ll bust this door down.”

  She tossed her head back and laughed. “You can’t do anything. You’re not allowed to because you’d get in trouble if you did. Screw you.”

  Screw me?

  She turned, intending to close the door. I stepped back, lifted my foot, and drove it into the door. The chain busted loose, and the door opened, smacking her in the face. She stumbled backward and tumbled to the ground.

  I showed myself inside, leaned over her trembling body, and said, “If you want the chain to work, invest in a better door next time, and never, ever turn your back on someone trying to get inside your house.”

  I glanced around and found the interior in far better condition than the exterior. The furniture was dated and sparse, but well-kept, and on prominent display was a lighted antique hutch filled with miniature crystal figurines.

  “Where is he?” I asked. “Don’t lie to me this time.”

  “I told you. I don’t know.”

  “Where’s Lark?”

  “Who?”

  “Lark Donovan, the little girl your son kidnapped the night he murdered my sister’s husband.”

  The connection between who I was and why I was there and the personal connection I had to the case caused her to gasp and cover her mouth with her hand.

  “Get up!” I said.

  She averted her eyes but did what I asked.

  I opened the door to my left. It was a small half-bath, with bars on the outside of the window to prevent a person from breaking in, or in my case, to prevent a person from breaking out.

  “Get in there,” I said.

  “What? Why?”

  “Do it.”

  She stepped inside. I slammed the door closed and grabbed a nearby chair. I jammed it against the doorknob, wedging it beneath the knob at an angle. It wouldn’t hold her for long if she tried to get out, but I hoped it would hold her for long enough.

  “Please don’t do this,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

  She began sobbing.

  “Stop crying,” I said. “I need to look around, and I’ll let you out in a few minutes.”

  “He’s my son. Can’t you understand? What would you expect me to do—turn on him? What kind of mother would I be if I had?”

  An honest one, for starters.

  I tore down the hallway toward the sound I’d heard before.

  “Lark!” I screamed. “Are you here? It’s Aunt Gigi. Talk to me.”

  Please let the voice I heard be hers.

  Please.

  Please.

  Please.

  The knob on the door at the end of the hall twisted open. Not knowing what to expect, I backed against the wall and readied my gun. The door creaked open, and a child stuck his head out. I squinted, staring at him for a moment
, and realized the him wasn’t a him at all. It was a her.

  Her hair had been dyed, hacked off into a short crew cut, and she was dressed in a blue T-shirt with orange dinosaurs on it. Even so, there was no mistaking her.

  I’d found her.

  She was alive.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said. “You’re safe now. I’ll take you to Mommy.”

  Lark stood in the doorway, blinking at me, frozen in place, confused.

  I dropped to my knees and spread my arms. “Come here, baby girl. It’s all right. I got you.”

  Lark burst into tears and rushed toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I showered her with kisses, promising never to walk out of her life again.

  I felt someone tap my shoulder, and I swung around.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Hunter asked.

  “Yeah, where’s Harvey?”

  “In the other room, talking to the woman you locked in the bathroom.”

  Hunter tipped her head toward Lark. “Is this ... your niece?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, it is.”

  Hunter smiled at me, and I nodded back, our eyes filling with tears.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lark,” Hunter said. “I’m Lilia. Lilia Hunter.”

  Lark, who still clung to me, buried her head into my chest.

  “I ... ahh ... think I’ll go and see if I can take over for Harvey so he can join you,” Hunter said.

  She walked away, and a minute later, Harvey rounded the corner. He clapped his hands together and said, “Where’s Papa’s favorite girl?”

  Upon hearing his voice, Lark looked up, and shouted, “Papa!”

  She ran to him, and they embraced.

  I patted him on the shoulder, leaned over his ear, and whispered, “I still don’t know where Anthony is. You keep her, and I’ll search the rest of the house.”

  “He could be anywhere,” Harvey said. “Take Hunter with you.”

  I nodded and walked to the front room. Hunter was doing her best to reason with Anthony’s frantic mother, who lurched out and clasped my arm when she saw me.

  “I want you to know, I took care of her,” she said. “I fed her and kept her clean. I read to her every night.”

  I jerked free from her grip. “I’ll tell you what you did. You kept a child away from her mother, and then you took that child and tried to turn her into a boy so no one would recognize her. You didn’t care for her. You cared for your son. Now you’ll suffer the consequences of those actions, and I’ll make sure I’m there to see it.”