“Check-in at the hotel is after four, so you’ve got plenty of time,” Eliot replied.
“I need to stake that place out,” I said, my mind already busy. “Can you dig up a photo of her?”
“I can,” Eliot confirmed. “It’s just … .”
“It’s just what?” I prodded, surprised by Eliot’s reticence.
“This is a woman who lost her husband to an affair and now her daughter is missing,” Eliot cautioned. “She’s going to be on the edge. You can’t be you and go in there and push her to give you what you want and ignore her needs. You know that, right?”
For some reason his suspicion bothered me. “Is that what you really think of me?”
“No,” Eliot balked. “It’s just … you have a tendency to focus on one thing to the detriment of other things. It’s usually your safety, but that doesn’t seem to be a concern just yet, and I’m thankful for that. I simply don’t want you to push Bridget Dalton so far she might not recover. She’s already dealing with a lot.”
“I promise to keep her feelings at the forefront of my teeny brain,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and staring out the window of Eliot’s truck.
“This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?” Eliot sounded weary. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was merely reminding you that you tend to fly off the handle, and maybe in this one instance it wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Can you take me home to get my car?” I asked, ignoring his statement. “I’m going to need it when I’m mean to a grieving mother.”
“Yup, it’s definitely a thing,” Eliot said.
“Take me home, please.”
“Avery, I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Eliot said. “I’m sorry. It was rude and I shouldn’t have said it.”
“I understand,” I said. “Being rude is my job.”
“Oh, well, this bites,” Eliot said, turning the key in the ignition. “How long are you going to be angry?”
I shrugged. “I’m not angry.”
“You’re hurt,” Eliot clarified. “I hurt your feelings. I wasn’t even sure it was possible when you get excited about a story, but I guess I was wrong.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings.”
“I definitely hurt your feelings.”
“Can you take me home please?” I asked.
Eliot blew out a frustrated sigh. “No. I will not take you home. I will take you to the hotel and stake it out with you, though. I think we’re going to have a long afternoon in front of us, so you’d better buckle up. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you forgive me.”
I scrunched up my nose, disgusted. “If I wasn’t sitting down I’d pat a cheek for you to kiss.”
Eliot grinned. “And here I thought you were mad at me. Our day is looking up.”
10
“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,” Eliot said later that afternoon, sitting on the Best Western lobby couch and fixing me with a dark look. “You cannot possibly stay angry with me forever.”
“You’d be surprised at what I can do when I set my mind to something,” I replied, flipping through today’s edition of The Monitor. “I’m virtually unstoppable when I decide I want something.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Eliot said. “Do you want to tell me what you’ve decided about me right now?”
“Not particularly.”
“Avery, I am sorry,” Eliot said, lowering his voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That is the last thing I ever want to do.”
“I’m not hurt, Eliot,” I said. “I’m perfectly fine. In fact, I don’t need a chaperone. I know you’re worried I’m going to say something awful, but I promise to be on my best behavior and refrain from punching the worried mother in the face with the sheer force of my words if you leave.”
“Yeah, that didn’t sound bitter at all,” Eliot deadpanned, glancing around the lobby. “Avery, I didn’t mean what I said the way you took it.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth and tugged on my waning patience. “How did you mean it, Eliot?”
“I just didn’t want you to let your excitement at having a lead get ahead of your common sense.”
“So you basically thought I would walk in here and be an ass to a grieving mother,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
“Avery.” Eliot’s expression was pained. “I’m really sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You can go. I promise not to be a heartless bitch to Bridget Dalton when she gets here. Your conscience can be clear when you go forth and do … whatever you plan on doing for the rest of the day.”
“I plan to stick close to you,” Eliot said. “I’m sorry you’re upset. I really am. I didn’t do the right thing by you to today, and I know I hurt you. I promise to find a way to make it up to you if you give me a chance.”
“Oh, yeah? How are you going to make it up to me?”
“Here we go,” Eliot said, leaning forward. “What do you want? Do you want a massage? Do you want a gift?”
“I’d actually appreciate a little faith,” I replied.
Eliot’s wan smile tipped down. “I have faith in you,” he said. “I’m the one person who always has faith in you. Well, other than yourself. I always believe you can do whatever you set your mind to do.”
“Except talk to a grieving mother without making things worse,” I supplied.
“This is an endless trap right now,” Eliot said. “I don’t know how to fix this. How do you want me to fix this?”
I had no idea. He was right about me being hurt. I didn’t like that he thought so little about my ability to show empathy. That hurt manifested as anger, though, and I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out at him. “Just … let it go,” I said, turning my attention back to the door. “You can go. I’ll call Marvin for a ride when I’m done.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Eliot said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I did a terrible thing and I’m truly sorry. I’m not leaving until you forgive me, though.”
“So you’re punishing me because you screwed up? That seems fair.”
“You’re just … .” Eliot mimed strangling an invisible person and I almost cracked a smile before remembering I was angry with him. Thankfully the sound of an opening door caught my attention.
Eliot had shown me a photograph of Bridget Dalton in the parking lot. While the woman trudging up to the front desk looked ten years older than the photo, she was clearly Bridget Dalton.
“Stay here,” I muttered. “I’ll come back after I’ve crushed her spirit and tried to convince her to commit suicide.”
“It’s going to be a really long night, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” I said, leaving Eliot to stew while I loitered behind Bridget as she signed in. As soon as she had her key card in hand and swiveled to return to her vehicle I moved into her path. “Hi. My name is Avery Shaw and I’m a reporter for The Monitor. I want to write an article from your point of view regarding your daughter’s disappearance. I think it’s important to get her story out there.”
I decided to go for it and tell the truth from the beginning. Hemming and hawing around the subject wasn’t going to help anyone, and the last thing I wanted to do was prove Eliot right.
Bridget’s face drained of color. “You’re a reporter?”
“I want to find your daughter,” I replied. “I work for The Monitor. I want to know what you think happened to her. I want you to send a message to the person who may have her. I think it’s important.”
Bridget didn’t look convinced. “What if that’s the wrong decision? What if whoever has her decides to kill her because I talked to the press?”
“I can’t make you any promises,” I answered. “I can say that media pressure has proven helpful in cases like this in the past. The more a kidnapper sees his victim as a person instead of a thing, the more likely that victim is to survive.” That’s a legitimate fact in case anyone thinks I’m making it up. No matter what Eliot thinks, I’m
not that cruel.
“Okay,” Bridget said, tugging a strand of her straggly brown hair behind her ear. “I need to get my luggage and carry it up to my room first, though. Can we do the interview up there?”
“Absolutely,” I said, forcing a watery smile. “In fact, I’ve got a personal bellhop for you right over here.” I gestured at Eliot. “He would love to carry your bags to your room for you.”
“I DON’T know where to begin,” Bridget admitted twenty minutes later, shifting in the chair next to the small table at the far side of her room. “This whole thing has been a mess right from the beginning.”
I sat across from her, my notebook resting on the table. Eliot leaned against the wall behind me. He hadn’t offered up one word of argument since Bridget entered the hotel. Even when I told him he was carrying luggage he merely nodded and did as I instructed. I knew he felt sorry … and guilty … but I wasn’t sure I was ready to forgive him yet.
“How did you find out Sierra was missing?” I asked, going for the easy question first.
“The police called,” Bridget answered. “They wanted to know if I picked her up at the mall in an attempt to discredit my husband. Like I would drive up from Ohio just to mess with him or something. It’s ridiculous.”
“Did Daniel tell the police that?”
“He did,” Bridget confirmed. “I’m sure you’ve heard, but my husband and I haven’t had the most … agreeable … divorce.”
“I’ve heard rumblings,” I confirmed.
“What have you heard?”
“I talked to one of Sandy’s neighbors,” I replied. “She said Sandy had issues with her husband and got divorced. The neighborhood thought she was depressed because she got fat after the divorce. Then Sandy started working out and they figured she was either dating or would start soon.
“When Daniel showed up, Sandy apparently told her neighbors he was single and her boyfriend from high school and they just happened to reconnect,” I continued. “The neighbors didn’t know Daniel was married until you showed up at Sandy’s house. At least that’s the story I was told today. How much of that is true?”
“You need this for the story, right?” Bridget pressed.
“I need at least a vague breakdown of the family dynamics,” I clarified. “How much detail you want to go into is up to you, but this has the potential to be a big story and we want things right for the article.”
“Everything you just said is pretty much true,” Bridget said. “My separation and divorce from Daniel was … ugly. There’s no other way to put it. If you think I’m proud of the way I acted during that time, I’m not. I was immature and unbelievably obnoxious. All I can say is that I was hurt, and when you’re hurt you do stupid things.”
I risked a glance at Eliot and found him staring at me so I immediately averted my eyes and focused on Bridget again. “How did you find out Daniel was cheating on you?”
“We were in marriage counseling for six months before I discovered his infidelity,” Bridget explained. “Daniel had some … um … anger issues.”
I stilled, surprised at the phrasing. “Did he abuse you or the kids?”
“I don’t want to throw the word abuse around,” Bridget cautioned. “He yelled a lot. He lost his temper a lot. He told us what to do, and if we didn’t move fast enough he got angry and yelled.
“He would hit the walls and his truck … or he would kick furniture and stuff like that, but he never hit us,” she continued. “One night when he got a little too out of control he threatened to strangle me and dump my body in the woods. That’s when I asked him to move out and attend counseling with me.”
“How did he take that?” Eliot asked, shooting me an apologetic look when he realized he’d taken over the interview.
Bridget apparently didn’t notice the tension between us. “He was very upset,” she said. “He spent months begging me to allow him back. He was living with his father in a small house and he didn’t like it. I allowed him to see the kids whenever he wanted, although if they told me he raised his voice I reserved the right to cut off visitation.
“We’d been having problems with our neighbors before then,” she continued. “Daniel fought with them about … well … everything. One night after it snowed I came home and found a message written in what looked like blood in front of the house. I was frightened so I called Daniel.”
“What was the message?” I asked.
“Someone wrote the word ‘slut.’”
“Was it blood?” Eliot asked. “Did you call the police?”
“Daniel was against calling the police because he thought it would escalate things with the neighbors, but I insisted,” Bridget answered. “It turned out the fluid was not blood but chocolate syrup. The police thought it was a prank gone wrong and couldn’t arrest anyone. I decided to let Daniel move home, though. We agreed to continue counseling, and that’s where I thought we were when I found out he was cheating on me.”
I studied her a moment, wondering whether she could really be naïve enough to miss the fact that it was Daniel who left the message for her in the snow in an attempt to manipulate her. She didn’t appear to be covering for him. “What about the kids?” I asked, opting to let it go. “Have they had problems adjusting since the divorce?”
“It hasn’t been easy for them,” Bridget said. “They’ve been … sad. They’ve been confused. They’ve also been really angry.”
“Have they kept in touch with their father since your move?”
“We moved to be close to my mother not long after Daniel filed for divorce,” Bridget said. “It took me by surprise, but once I knew he was cheating I was done. I told Daniel to give the kids time to get over their anger. The fact that he married his new … friend … the day our divorce was finalized didn’t sit well with anyone.”
I made a face. “I’m sorry. He married Sandy the day your divorce was finalized?”
Bridget nodded. “It was hard on everyone, and the kids didn’t want to see him. He insisted and took me to court, though. That’s how all of this happened.”
“Did you ask the kids to act up while they were with their father? One of the neighbors said Sandy is telling people that.”
“I would never do anything like that,” Bridget answered. “I told them to voice their problems with their father, but to make sure they didn’t yell and scream because that might set him off when I wasn’t around to protect them. Other than that, I told them to be respectful but not to feel obligated to be pushed into accepting something they’re not ready to accept.”
“I know this is a hard question, but do you think there’s any chance Sierra took off on her own to teach her father a lesson?”
“I’ve thought long and hard about that,” Bridget replied. “My daughter is angry and hurt. She wouldn’t do that, though. Someone took her.”
“Do you think it was her father or stepmother?”
“I hope not,” Bridget said. “I can’t say with absolute certainty that they’re incapable of it, though. I just don’t know.”
“Do you think your daughter is alive?”
“She has to be,” Bridget said. “I can’t survive without her.”
ELIOT and I left Bridget’s suite an hour later, our shoulders and hearts heavy. He waited until we hit the elevator to speak.
“That was a crazy story.”
“I think the whole family is crazy,” I said. “Did you catch the part of the story about the neighbor writing ‘slut’ in chocolate syrup?”
Eliot nodded. “That was clearly Daniel.”
“I’m glad you saw that, too,” I admitted. “I felt mean for thinking it was him, but it seemed pretty obvious.”
Eliot grabbed my arm before I could press the elevator button. “You’re not mean,” he said. “Sure, you have a tendency to dig in your heels and you can be incredibly cruel, but it’s always to people who have been mean to you first.
“I am really sorry for what I said and how I made you feel,” he
continued. “It was wrong. You were very respectful and professional in there. I think you made her feel better.”
“Thank you.”
“Avery … .”
I held up my hand. “I don’t want to fight,” I said. “It’s fine. I overreacted. We’re fine.”
Eliot didn’t look convinced. “Well, I’m still going to make it up to you when we get back to your place,” he said. “How about I drop you off at the newspaper office to write your story and I’ll pick up a nice dinner? Then we’ll go home and I’ll grovel appropriately in private.”
I didn’t want to laugh, yet I couldn’t seem to help myself. “I think I can live with that.”
“Good,” Eliot said, rubbing his thumb down my cheek. “I really am sorry.”
“I know you are,” I said. “I just … let me write this story and things will be better. You can massage me for three hours and I’m sure we’ll be even.”
Eliot cocked an eyebrow. “Three hours?”
“You’ve been very bad.”
This time Eliot was the one who couldn’t hide his smile. “Fine. I agree to your terms.”
I tapped my cheek for emphasis and Eliot let loose with a hearty chuckle as he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
“Don’t be bad again,” I ordered.
“We’ll see how the punishment goes,” he countered. “It might be worth it.”
11
I felt practically boneless when I woke the next morning, my body light from the hours of rubbing Eliot painstakingly put in the previous evening. When I shifted I found him staring at me, his dark eyes conflicted.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, instantly alert. I generally prefer waking up slowly, but Eliot’s expression was enough to worry me out of my lethargic morning ritual.
“Nothing is wrong,” Eliot said, slipping his arm around my waist and tugging me close. “We’re okay, right?”
I rolled my eyes. After filing my story, Eliot insisted on doting on me all night. In theory that sounds nice. Eventually it gets old, though, especially when someone is constantly apologizing. “We’re fine, Eliot. Everything is great.”
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