by Rita Herron
She went still, then grabbed a dishcloth and began wiping the coffee spill. “I think they’re having a baby,” she said, a softness returning to her eyes. “I hope it’s a girl.”
Will swallowed hard as the truth dawned on him. Effie was obviously suffering from dementia.
He laid his business card on the table. “Thank you for the coffee, Effie. If you think of something else you want to share with me about your daughter and her husband, please call me.”
Frustration filled him as he walked back to his car. If Effie knew something helpful, it might be lost in her memories.
But she had been coherent when he’d first arrived and said the girls hadn’t been to see her. That matched the wife’s story.
Still, the parents had to know more than they were saying.
Will had work to do, but three missing girls were enough to make any parent panic. If he was wrong about Mr. Darling, and there was a predator lurking the streets preying on teenaged girls, the town should be alerted.
Fear swept through him. He needed to hear his daughter’s voice.
He called Betsy’s number as he settled in his car. Thankfully Piper answered, not his ex.
“Dad?”
“Hey, kiddo,” Will said, grateful she was home and safe. “Listen, a case came up. Three teenaged girls have gone missing. You may know them. Polly, Candace and Deborah Darling.”
Silence for a minute. “Yeah, they go to my school,” she said flatly.
“Their parents haven’t seen them since last night. How well do you know them?”
“Not well, Dad. Polly is sweet, but she’s two years younger and shy as all get out. She barely looks at you when you try to talk to her.”
“And the older girls?”
Her breath hissed out. “I don’t hang out with them,” Piper said. “Deborah is okay, I guess, but she follows her sister around like a puppy. They’re always trying to flirt with the jocks, but the boys don’t go for them.”
“Why not?” Will asked.
“Dad,” Piper said in an exasperated voice.
“So, your old man is clueless, fill me in.”
“I don’t know. You do remember high school, don’t you? The jocks and the cheerleaders.”
“Clicks,” he said.
“Exactly.”
What about Piper? Was she popular? Making friends? She played forward on the soccer team. What else was she into?
God. Was she starting to like boys?
There was so much he didn’t know about his own kid…
“Dad, I gotta go.”
“Wait.” He didn’t what to hang up yet. “Did you ever hear gossip about the girls being abused?”
A heartbeat passed. “No. You think they were?”
“I have to explore all angles. Find out if they had reason to run away or if something else happened.”
“You mean, like they were kidnapped?” Piper asked, her voice rising an octave.
Betsy would be pissed that he shared information with their daughter. But if a predator was stalking young girls in the area, he wanted Piper to be alert.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He hesitated, an image of her sweet face haunting him. “Sweetheart, promise me you’ll be careful. That you won’t go anywhere alone.”
Another heartbeat of silence. “So that’s the reason you called. To tell me not to go out alone.”
“Well, yeah. I’m your dad. I worry about you.”
She heaved a sigh that spoke volumes. “I thought you were coming to pick me up and we were going to get pizza.”
Shit. He hated to let Piper down again.
“I’m sorry, Piper, we’ll have to postpone. With missing person’s cases, the first twenty-four hours is crucial. We have to get search teams looking, alert authorities.”
“Fine, Dad, I should have known you wouldn’t show.”
“Honey, it’s not like—”
“I know, I get it,” she mumbled sarcastically. “Your job is more important.”
He opened his mouth to apologize, but the line went dead.
Dammit, his sweet daughter had hung up on him.
Dammit to hell. Will wanted to drive straight to his ex’s house and see his daughter, take her to get pizza, show her that she was the most important thing in his life.
But…every second that ticked by meant the Darling girls could be suffering if they’d been abducted. They could be getting farther and farther away on their own – or a predator could be transporting them to another town or state, even to another country.
He’d make it up to Piper later. She’d understand. She’d have to.
He drove to the precinct to drop off the photos of the girls to be passed along to the authorities. An hour later, the pictures had gone out and the local news had aired a segment about their disappearance.
“We checked those job sites for Mr. Darling. So far, nothing.”
He supposed that was a good sign.
“We’ve set up a tip line,” Chief Mantino added. “Hopefully someone has seen or heard something that will be helpful.”
“And if the girls are hiding out with friends, maybe the news clip will scare them into coming home. Or at least into calling to let their parents know they’re all right.”
“We could ask the mother to make a plea on TV,” the chief said.
Will quirked a brow. “Think we’d better hold off on that. She was not in a good way. Too much booze to ease the pain.”
Chief Mantino’s brows raised in interest. “Think that’s a habit?”
“Maybe. Husband said she’d had too much the night before and went to bed as soon as they got home.” Will scratched his head. “Of course, he could be lying.”
“Maybe she’s drinking because she’s scared of him,” the chief suggested.
“Can’t rule out anything at this point.” Will tapped his foot. “Except I don’t expect this to be about a ransom. Family didn’t appear to have money. Mr. Darling works construction and at the moment, is out of work. Wife cleans houses for a living.”
“You’re probably right about the ransom.” Chief Mantino handed Will a sticky note with a phone number and address on it. “We located the school counselor, Evelyn Morris. Talk to her.”
“On my way.” Will checked the address. Evelyn lived on the island not far from the Village. It took him less than ten minutes to reach her house.
Her place was a small bungalow about two miles from the Village. A great location if you liked the beach. Judging from the bright blue paint and seashells lining the front porch ledge, she was a beachcomber.
She was late thirties with her blond hair in a ponytail. A breeze had picked up, rustling the palm trees and bringing the scent of salt air. She tugged her sweater tighter around her and ushered him inside.
He identified himself, then settled in her den facing her. The house smelled of cinnamon and pumpkin and pine, inviting and homey, as if Christmas still lingered inside.
“I saw the news a few minutes ago,” she said, worry flashing in her eyes. “I can’t believe there’s been an abduction right here on Seahawk Island.”
Her choice of words caught his attention. “What do you mean? Do you know something about what happened to the Darling sisters?”
She drummed her fingernails on her leg. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just meant that if someone kidnapped them, it’s scary. Everyone at school and in town will be in a panic.”
“We don’t know that they were kidnapped, but if you have reason to think so, please share it,” Will said.
She fiddled with the pillow on the sofa. “No, I guess it’s just gossip. I was at the diner when the news aired, and people started fearing the worst.”
“I see,” Will said. “For now, we’re considering all possibilities.”
“You mean that the girls may have run away,” Evelyn said quietly.
Will nodded. “Did you ever see bruises on the girls or hear talk about abuse at home? Maybe one of the girls came to you.”
She shook her head. “I did see bruises a few times, and asked, but Deborah and Candace both clammed up. Made up different stories. One time it was a bike wreck. Another they’d been playing tag football.”
Typical of abuse victims to cover for their abuser.
“I talked to the parents, but need more information on the sisters,” Will continued. “Mrs. Darling insisted that her daughters were good girls. Both parents also commented that the girls didn’t entertain friends at their house. And that they didn’t like boys.”
Surprise flickered on the woman’s face.
“I take it that’s not exactly true. Which part?”
She pulled at a loose thread on the pillow edge. A nervous gesture.
“Please, Mrs. Morris, anything you can tell me would be helpful. If the girls are in trouble, every second counts.”
She gave him a wary look. “They didn’t have a lot of friends,” she admitted. “But there were two girls who hung around with them. Aretha Franton and Mellie Thacker.”
Names were helpful. “I’ll need their contact information in case they know where the girls are.”
“I can get it from school,” she said. “Although Mellie and her mother moved away three weeks before Christmas. Mrs. Thacker told the school that her mother was sick, and she had to take care of her.”
“All right. Then I’ll need Aretha’s number.” He twisted his mouth. “Is there anything else?”
She studied her fingernails for a minute. “I’m the school counselor. The things my students share with me are supposed to be confidential.”
Will cleared his throat. “I respect your job, but these young ladies might be in danger, Mrs. Morris. So again, anything you tell me might help us find them.”
She inhaled. “Another girl in school came to me and said Deborah and Candace were teasing her. Bullying her.”
Will had been forming a mental image of the girls, but that wasn’t what he expected. Although sometimes abused kids turned into abusers themselves. “What was the girl’s name?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
Will reached out and patted her hand. “I won’t tell her that we talked. I’ll just explain that we’re questioning as many students as we can.”
The woman nodded slowly. “Her name is Libby Barrett. She’s a freshman. A quiet, shy girl with big glasses. She likes to read and volunteers on the yearbook staff.”
“Thank you.” He started to stand, but she caught his hand.
Regret darkened her eyes. “Detective, I hope you find them. Like I said, I can’t be certain that the girls were abused, but something was going on in that house. Something that wasn’t right.”
An hour later, Will parked at Libby Barrett’s house. According to the analyst at the precinct, she lived with her mother, a single parent who taught at the elementary school on the island.
He knocked and identified himself. The short, chubby woman led him to a den where she was obviously putting away holiday decorations. Dry needles from her Christmas tree dotted the floor, the tree bare of ornaments, making it look sad and empty. “Such terrible news about those girls,” she muttered. “I hope you find them all right.”
“We’re searching everywhere,” he said. “I wondered if I might speak with your daughter Libby.”
She raised a brow. “Why would you want to talk to her?”
“Routine. We’re interviewing as many students as possible hoping someone overheard something.”
The woman nodded in understanding, walked to the hall and called her daughter to come down. Footsteps clattered a minute later, and a thin red-haired girl with freckles and big square glasses appeared, hugging a copy of Wuthering Heights to her chest.
Wariness flickered across her face when she spotted him.
“Honey, this is Detective Flagler,” Mrs. Barrett said. “He needs to talk to you about the Darling girls.”
Libby pushed her glasses up on her nose and crossed the room to stand by her mother.
“I don’t know anything about them,” Libby said.
“You weren’t friends?” Will asked, studying her reaction.
Her glasses slipped down her nose as she shook her head no.
“I’ve been talking with as many students as possible,” he said, bending the truth. “A couple of them commented that Deborah and Candace bullied you.”
Mrs. Barrett gasped. “Honey, is that true? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Libby’s face reddened with anger. “Because it was no big deal,” Libby said. “They just teased me about my glasses and freckles, that’s all.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mrs. Barrett said sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Teenagers can be so cruel sometimes.”
“Were they mean to you?” Will asked bluntly.
Libby glanced at her mother then at him, some emotion akin to panic streaking her face. “Like I said, it was just some teasing, nothing I haven’t heard before or can’t handle.”
Will offered her a smile. “Can you think of any place the girls might go if they ran away?”
Libby shook her head. “I avoid them,” she admitted.
“Kids talk though,” Will said. “Would they have gone to a boy’s house?”
Libby shrugged. “I don’t know. You should ask Aretha Franton or Mellie Thacker. They were tight with them.”
Will thanked her, then left his card, hoping she might decide to open up later.
He drove from the Barrett’s to Aretha Franton’s house. The woman who met him at the door looked irritated when he explained the reason for his visit.
“I heard the news,” she said tersely. “I’m sorry about those girls, but my daughter can’t help you.”
Will narrowed his eyes, noting that she hadn’t invited him inside. “I had the impression they were friends.”
“You had the wrong impression,” she said stiffly.
He spotted a slender dark-haired girl with big brown eyes behind the woman. Fear strained the girl’s face, and her eyes looked red rimmed as if she’d been crying.
“Please, Mrs. Franton,” Will said. “Let me speak with your daughter for a moment. Mr. and Mrs. Darling are frantic that something bad happened to their children.”
Mrs. Franton pursed her lips. “Maybe they should have been better parents then.”
Her tone reeked of anger. “What exactly do you mean?” Will asked.
She gripped the doorjamb, still blocking his entry. “Nothing. I…am sorry their girls are missing. They probably just ran away.”
“We’re looking into that angle,” Will said. “That’s another reason I wanted to speak to Aretha. I thought the girls might have told her if they’d planned to leave home, and where they were going.”
“My daughter doesn’t know anything,” Mrs. Franton said.
“Please, Mrs. Franton. Aretha might know if there’s someone the sisters might call. Maybe they went to meet some guys or snuck out to a party last night?” Will said. “They could be in trouble and need help.”
“I told you Aretha doesn’t know anything. She hasn’t spoken to those girls in weeks.”
Without another word, she slammed the door in Will’s face.
Will spent the rest of the day questioning people in the Village while the Coast Guard searched from the sky, and other officers and locals combed the beaches, the marsh, parks, anywhere they could think of that a teenager might go. They even checked the high school inside and out, but the girls weren’t there.
Chief Mantino had their analyst pull the Darlings’ phone records, but they found nothing suspicious. The tip line sent them racing to an abandoned ship at the marina, but it was a
false lead. No Darlings, just a homeless man who’d sought shelter while he slept off his nightly binge. Police on I-l6 heading toward Macon discovered a stolen car, but the prints inside belonged to a guy who’d held up a gas station the night before.
No stowaways reported. No bus tickets for three teenaged girls. And no one at the local airport spotted the sisters.
He ducked into the diner for a quick meal and ordered a burger from a waitress named Susan who’d waited on him before. She was always friendly although not flirtatious, but today she looked antsy and spilled a tray of drinks and brought a couple the wrong order.
Her little girl Marilyn was sitting in the corner with a notepad and pencil. He heard the six-year-old liked to draw and scribble down things she overhead people say. Marilyn once told him she wanted to be a TV reporter when she grew up.
She kept hovering in the back and looking towards the door as if something were wrong. Susan delivered his burger and sweet tea and dropped the bill on the table.
“Everything okay?” he asked her.
She glanced back at her daughter, then bit her lip. “Yeah, guess the news about those missing girls has all of us freaked out. I can’t imagine if something happened to Marilyn. She’s all I’ve got.”
“I understand,” he said sincerely. “I had to call my daughter earlier just to hear her voice.” He laid his napkin in his lap. “Did the sisters ever come in here?”
She shook her head. “Don’t think I ever saw ‘em here. Sorry, wish I could help.”
A tall man with dark hair called her over, and Will realized it was Daryl Eaton, the lighthouse keeper. He supposed the women thought him handsome. From what he’d seen, the man kept to himself. He seemed friendlier to Susan than Will had ever seen him be to anyone else.
His phone buzzed, and he snatched it and answered, his pulse jumping. Maybe the girls had been found.
“Detective Flagler.”
“Will, it’s Betsy. What time are you bringing Piper home?”
He froze, his chest clenching. “What do you mean? I’ve been working and had to cancel. You heard about – ”
