Without a Trace

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  And now, seeing a message from my friend on my cell phone, I was overcome with relief.

  I typed out another message, clicking send before I could change my mind.

  Me: I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared. He found out where I am. When I woke up this morning, Lily was gone. He took my bunny away.

  I stared at the phone, nibbling on a hangnail as I waited for a response. Al was the only person who knew my situation, who understood what this getaway meant for me and Lily.

  Suddenly, the phone started ringing, the sound of it so shocking, so surreal. I saw Al’s name flash up on the screen. After a year of only talking online, I was about to hear Al’s voice.

  I took a deep breath then answered. “I-Is that r-really you?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Cop

  ELLIE

  Barbara James was a worrier. Not only did she worry about me, but everything. I’d tried to stay quiet, sneaking around my bedroom like I was fifteen years old again, but it was only a matter of time before she realized I was still awake.

  “Shit.” I clenched my teeth as she rapped on my bedroom door. The light was off, but the computer was emitting a low stream of light that could be seen from under the door.

  “Are you awake in there?” The knob rattled and groaned. And then, “Why did you lock your door?” Her voice was muffled on the other side.

  She sounded hurt. The pang in her voice triggered a distant memory: the first time I’d lied to her. My best friend Priscilla and I had snuck bottles of cheap alcohol into my room after our seventh grade Valentine’s dance. My mother suspected we were drinking, but I swore to her that we weren’t. Only a few days later she found a bottle of Boone’s Farm stuffed under my bed. Why did you lie to me? Who are you, Ellie? she’d asked. I’d never forgotten that look of disappointment on her face; it cut me to the core. But it wouldn’t be the last time I disappointed my mother…

  I got up and opened the door, half-expecting a younger version of her—soft brown curls around her face and smile lines sprouting from her nervous eyes…

  But this older version was wearing a frilly button-down nightgown. Her now-thinning, now-white hair was in rollers, her face scrubbed and cleaned to perfection. She didn’t look seventy, but the lines around her eyes had deepened and there were spidery crinkles around her mouth.

  “I thought I heard typing in here,” she said, making it sound like an accusation.

  “Yes, mother. I’m working. Remember my job? When I agreed to keep living with you, I didn’t agree to a curfew.”

  She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I know that, honey. I was just worried. Are you working on something important? I’m not very tired. Perhaps I could help…” She glanced over my shoulder, squinting at my desk screen even though I knew she couldn’t read it from here without her glasses.

  “No…you should get your rest.”

  “Oh, come on, Ellie. Your ol’ mom loves a good mystery. I was a big fan of Nancy Drew when I was a girl. Now I can tell something’s on your mind. You barely ate anything at dinner.”

  Too tired to put up a fight, I said, “Okay.”

  Talking through the case with someone else suddenly seemed like a good idea. I sat down in my computer chair and mom sat down on my bed. I scooted up closer to the screen, rubbing my sleep-filled eyes.

  “Okay. There’s this new woman in town, renting out the cabin on the Appleton Farm. She called us in this morning because apparently, her husband kidnapped his own daughter.”

  Mom’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. “Really? How old is the daughter?”

  “Four. And that’s what’s bothering me. The mom says he’s abusive and so she and the daughter ran away from him. But as soon as she got settled into her new place, he came and took her back.”

  “Well, maybe he just took her back home. That doesn’t mean he hurt her. It sort of sounds like this woman is the one who ran off with her in the first place. Why not just divorce the man and do things properly?” Mom sniffed the air, looking around my room as though this case had become considerably less interesting.

  But I knew that wasn’t the real reason. My dad never beat up my mom, but he’d been verbally abusive toward her for as long as I could remember, up until the day he died. Although she was too proud to admit it, she knew a thing or two about dysfunctional marriages.

  “Well, you’re sort of right. I mean, she doesn’t have a restraining order against the guy. They’re not divorced yet. Technically, taking his daughter back isn’t illegal.”

  “What did Sam say?”

  It sounded strange, hearing her call my boss, Sergeant DelGrande, by his first name.

  “That I should keep trying to reach the husband, then follow up with her again tomorrow. He said that these domestic squabbles usually blow over, and that next time I should suggest she get a lawyer and handle the custody dispute in court. It’s not really a criminal matter unless we have reason to believe the child is in danger.”

  “What about his criminal record? Is he a dangerous guy?” Mom leaned forward, squinting at the computer again. A list of criminal cases lined my screen. I’d looked up all men in Tennessee with the last name ‘Nesbitt’.

  “Not on paper. He’s had two traffic tickets. That’s it. There’s a couple other men on here with the same name, but they don’t have the same birthday or identifying characteristics as the one who lives in Granton.”

  “So, he’s not a criminal. That’s a good sign. But that doesn’t mean he’s not guilty. Abuse can be so subtle…so well hidden sometimes.” Mom shifted around on the bed, looking uncomfortable. In the green glow of the computer screen, she looked gaunt and ghoulish.

  “I found something I could work with though. It’s illegal to take your child away to another state without a court order. So, maybe I could nail him for that. Nova’s in West Virginia and he’s in Tennessee. If he grabbed the girl and crossed state lines…”

  “Or you could nail her,” Mom corrected me, fluffing her rollers.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her home is in Tennessee, right? I bet it still says Tennessee on her driver’s license. If she up and took the daughter away to West Virginia, then she’s the one in trouble here. Have you even looked up her criminal record?”

  Instantly, I felt like a moron. “No, I haven’t. But you’re right. I should. I’ve been looking up info on him for the past hour.”

  Determined now, I scooted my chair up closer and typed in ‘Nova Nesbitt’ in the search box. I widened my criteria, searching all states and genders.

  Instantly, a list popped up and Nova’s name was at the very top. I gasped as a row of charges loaded beneath her name.

  Domestic Battery.

  Criminal Confinement.

  Strangulation.

  “Holy shit.”

  I leaned back in my chair, full of disbelief. My mind floated back to the wispy, stuttering woman I met this morning. She seemed so fragile, so anxious. Could she be the real abuser in this situation? I wondered, incredulously. My gut was saying: no.

  “Mom, you’re the best. I was so focused on him and whether the child was in danger, that I never looked up more info on her. It sounds like there are some major issues going on in the family and I need to figure this out.”

  I expected my mom to make a crack about my investigative skills or get on me for cussing, but she just looked tired and worried. She patted me on the shoulder and stood up.

  “Don’t go out there by yourself. You know what happened last time…”

  I stiffened. “What happened to Ezra Clark wasn’t my fault. I was doing things by the book…”

  “This is a small town, Ellie. And everyone in it knew Ezra was a mean drunk.” My mother’s back was to me, her hand resting on the doorknob in the dark.

  So, even my mother thinks I’m a cop killer, I thought, squeezing the arms of my computer chair.

  “Whether he was a drunk or a well-known cop, doesn’t give hi
m the right to hit his wife. And it certainly didn’t give him the right to grab for my gun when I went to arrest him,” I hissed, waiting for her to turn around.

  “I know, honey. I know,” she said, letting herself out and pulling the door closed behind her.

  Turning back to the computer screen, I stared at the list of Nova’s charges until the words turned blurry through my tears. Maybe she really was a criminal. A reckless woman who assaulted her husband and skipped town with their child…

  Maybe she wasn’t all that she seemed. Or…maybe she just got a bad rap like I did when I’d defended myself against Ezra Clark…

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Neighbor

  CLARA

  I stopped sleeping after Krissy left. The house had gone quiet ever since she moved to Texas with her husband, Tim. Now twenty, she was no longer my little girl, but a woman on her own with her own family to take care of and worry about.

  It had been two years since she left, but still, sometimes I thought I could hear her—the tap tap tap of her typing. That girl was always typing, either writing a story or doing research for some cause she wanted to fight for. And sometimes I heard the younger versions of her—Krissy with her Hot Wheels, the metal wheels scraping on the hardwood floors and running up the sides of the walls. It used to aggravate me to no end. I’d be reading a book or cooking supper, and here she’d come, buzzing down the hall with those obnoxious cars.

  And Annie, too. Sometimes I still heard Annie. Unlike Krissy, Annie never aged—her sounds were always that of a three-year-old. Sucking on her bottle that I never got the chance to break her from. Giggling. Her laughter, a cute little snort. I’d open the bathroom door, expecting to find Annie in there taking a bubble bath, running little rubber duckies around the porcelain walls of the tub…

  There were pieces of them all over the farm, like pieces of old ghosts. I couldn’t sleep in my own bed because Andy would be there waiting. I could feel the pressure of his weight, lying on his side of the bed…

  Lately, I’d taken to leaving the TV on. Twenty-four hours a day someone was talking—Ellen DeGeneres, Dr. Phil, Judge Judy…But tonight, I couldn’t bear to listen. There was something about listening to other people’s lives that I could no longer stand. It felt stupid, really, living vicariously through other people. Meanwhile, I was wasting away, turning into a ghost myself, here on the farm.

  It was late, nearly three in the morning, and nothing good was ever on at this time. A pale sliver of light poked through the curtains and there was a tightening in my throat. I hadn’t smoked in hours, but still, my mouth and throat felt dry.

  Quietly, I tiptoed closer to the dining room window, peeking through the small gap in the curtains. Praying my new tenant wouldn’t catch me spying on her again.

  But there wasn’t much to see, just a slippery shadow moving around behind the curtains in her bedroom window.

  News of Nova’s missing daughter hadn’t made the nightly news. I’d seen her wandering the property in the middle of the day, but she hadn’t been out there long. I was so worried she’d come to my door and knock, but she never did. She’d ran around, frantic-like, then ran back inside.

  Suddenly, the back-porch light of the cabin popped on and off. Then on again. From across the field, I watched my tenant emerge through the back-screen door. She was bent at the waist, dragging something over the threshold and then, she pulled a large object across the ground.

  In the dark, it looked like a long, black bag.

  I couldn’t see her face as she tugged and pulled, but her hair whipped around wildly in the wind until eventually, she disappeared through the trees at the back of the property.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Cop

  ELLIE

  Northfolk’s police station was a small brick building, reminiscent of a 1940s school house. On a Sunday morning, there was no one manning the front desk, the entire building deserted. I let myself in, using my key, then flipped on lights as I juggled my coffee and purse.

  Working on Sundays wasn’t typical for me. Usually, there was no reason to. The four other officers and I rotated the on-call cell phone every weekend, and responded to emergencies as needed, calling for back-up when necessary.

  But rarely did the phone ever ring.

  This was Roland’s weekend, but I didn’t expect to see him either. He didn’t come in on weekends; sometimes he didn’t even work on weekdays.

  The hallway was cold and colorless, one smoky lightbulb flickering in and out. I used another key to let myself into my office, then frowned at my neatly arranged desk. In the movies, police officers always had messy desks because they were too busy out in the field to deal with paperwork. But most days, I had more than enough time to finish my work and clean my office, too.

  The organization in my office felt like a niggling sign of failure.

  I took a seat behind the desk and fired up my computer. At home, my searches were more limited. I needed to know more about Nova Nesbitt. Needed to see that police report from when she was charged with all those awful crimes.

  The computer was taking forever to load, probably installing some useless update. That’s when I heard the front door to the building click open and shut. Hadn’t I locked it behind me?

  “Yooo-hooo!” a man’s voice bellowed. Roland. He’d probably seen my cruiser parked out front and decided to stop in just because. I released an internal groan.

  Roland was nearly forty, and balding, but still acted like a frat boy, always telling inappropriate jokes and flirting with the women he was supposed to be protecting.

  “What’s up, Sharp?” Sharp was short for Sharp Shooter, another stupid nickname because I wasn’t as experienced or interested in guns as some of my male compatriots. And also, a more sinister reference…they still looked at me as that cop, the one who had shot a fellow officer. A superior officer, to make matters worse.

  It didn’t matter that the shooting was justified…no one seemed to care about the actual details of what happened that day with Ezra Clark’s death…they simply wanted to blame the newbie that had killed a veteran officer.

  When they looked at me, I could see it in their eyes…She killed a cop. She killed one of us. She can’t be trusted.

  But I did the right thing, didn’t I? Sometimes they made me doubt myself…and plans to join a big city force had dissipated. If I couldn’t make it in this small town, I couldn’t make it anywhere…

  Roland’s head popped through my door, his smile wolfish and mean. “Whatcha doing here on a Sunday, huh? Looking up online pointers for your shooting exam?” He chuckled at his own joke, hard enough that his laughs evaporated into wheezy coughs.

  I was seized by the sudden desire to stand up and punch him.

  “Working on a case,” I grumbled, shifting unimportant papers around on my desk. He made me uncomfortable and for a brief moment, as he stood in the doorway surveying me, I forgot why I’d come in in the first place. “What can I do for you, Roland?” I sighed.

  “Saw your car. And that reminded me. There were a few messages for ya, on Saturday. From some girl.”

  I gripped the edge of my desk with both hands. “Why didn’t you call my personal cell? By girl, do you mean a woman? Was it Nova Nesbitt?”

  “Well, I didn’t get the messages until this morning. But yeah, I think that’s the name she said in her message.”

  “Roland! You’re on-call. That means you have to answer the phone when it rings. How hard is that to understand? What if it was an emergency?”

  Roland shrugged, that lopsided smile coming back. “So, shoot me. It was an honest mistake.” His face flickered with anger on the word shoot.

  His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. He’d probably been down at Mick’s Lounge when the calls came in. Roland and some of the other guys spent their free time at Mick’s, or Prissy’s, the strip club on I-90. Sometimes they spent their on-the-clock hours there too. They weren’t all bad guys, but Roland was definitely the worst i
n the group. He’s the reason some male cops get bad raps, I thought, shaking my head.

  In a town where there were more bars than restaurants, and the closest thing to a strip mall was a strip club with a Dollar Tree attached, what could I really expect? Twenty-five years ago, Roland was playing football, or some other meathead sport that made him look cool, while I was being ignored and/or teased by guys just like him. Now he was just an older, fatter version of himself, but he had the power and authority that came with being a cop.

  “Welp, if it was an emergency, she should have called 911. Anyway, she mentioned your name in the message, so I thought I’d pass it along. Something about a dispute with the husband and kid? Sounds like a domestic dispute that the courts should be handling…”

  My jaw clenched. It was a terrible habit that often resulted in midnight migraines.

  I clicked my computer screen off and gathered up my bag and keys, then I locked the door to my office behind me, nudging him aside with my purse.

  I was going to walk out, but then I changed my mind. Turning around, I narrowed my eyes at Roland.

  “You know what? I’ll take that on-call cell phone,” I snapped.

  Another shrug. “Hey, that works for me.” He took the cell phone out of his back pocket and held it over my head, just out of reach. You must be fucking kidding me. I was far from petite, but I hadn’t grown an inch since middle school. Roland’s six-foot frame towered over my five-foot two-inches.

  My fist struck the center of his abdomen and he let out a groan. Bent at the waist, I grabbed the cell phone as it clattered on the floor by my feet.

  Roland looked up at me, smiling as he clutched his waistline. His cheeks were the color of cherry blossoms. “You got a thing for picking on other officers, don’t you? Maybe I should report you to the sarge for assault…”