by Sharon Potts
But there were sounds that didn’t belong. Constant ringing, like phones in a telethon. And a droning noise, like from swarming bees.
“Are you Aubrey?”
She turned toward the stranger who had stepped into the foyer: a woman with too-thick eyebrows and jet-black hair, pulled back from a face that had been scarred by acne. She was probably in her early thirties, a few years older than Aubrey, and wore a gray, crumpled pantsuit. Her thumb was hooked on her waistband, over a gold badge.
“Yes. I’m Aubrey Lynd.”
“Detective Gonzalez with the MDPD Missing Persons Unit.” She had an accent Aubrey recognized from growing up in Miami—northeastern with a hint of Latino. “Your mother said you were coming.”
“Tell me about my nephew. Is there any news?”
“Nothing yet, but we’re doing everything we can.”
“Where is my mother? I need to see her.”
“In the other room, speaking with the FBI.”
“The FBI?” Aubrey wasn’t sure if she should be alarmed. “Are they involved?”
“Apparently your brother’s in-laws have quite a bit of clout,” the detective said. Aubrey picked up an edge of irritation in her voice. “The FBI deployed a CARD team to work with us.”
“Card?”
“Child Abduction Rapid Deployment.”
Aubrey’s heart bounced. “Has Ethan been abducted? The reporters were asking about an AMBER alert.”
The detective scratched a tattoo that stuck out from under her wristwatch. It could have been a nervous tic, not a good sign. “We don’t issue an AMBER alert without a known suspect or a vehicle,” she said. “We have neither. But we’ve put out a media alert. We’re being aggressive in trying to find Ethan quickly.”
They’re trying to find him quickly. Aubrey wanted to believe the detective’s confident words, not her faltering body language. He’s going to be fine.
She took a deep breath to settle herself and glanced around the small foyer.
The walls were plastered in thick swirls, as had been the style in the 1920s, but the pattern made her dizzy.
Or maybe it was lack of sleep.
She caught her reflection in the mottled mirror over the foyer table. Her long, dark hair and stick-straight bangs looked the same as always, but her eyes were wrong—too large and shadowed, like a terrified character in a silent film.
Aubrey turned to the detective. “I have to let my mother know I’m here.”
“You can’t interrupt right now, but she should be finished soon.”
“What about my brother? Is Kevin here?”
“He and his wife left a little while ago with Kimberly’s parents.”
“Left? For where?”
“They’re all staying at the Coconut Grove Ritz.”
So she wasn’t going to see Kevin just yet. She felt a mix of disappointment and something resembling jealousy. Her brother was in the grip of the Simmers, not his own family.
“The Simmers have also arranged for several meeting rooms at the Ritz,” Gonzalez said. “They’re bringing in their own private investigators.”
Aubrey was confused. “And the police and FBI—you’re okay with that?”
“As long as their investigators don’t interfere with our investigation,” Gonzalez replied. “The FBI will continue to use your mother’s home as its command post. I’ll be back and forth between here, my office, and the Simmers’ hotel. Someone will be with Kevin, Kimberly, and her parents in case whoever took Ethan tries to make contact with one of them. If this is a ransom situation, we still don’t know who they’re targeting.”
“Well, the Simmers, of course,” Aubrey said. The detective had to know that Prudence Simmer was a Baer heiress.
The detective frowned. “Do you know Ernest or Prudence Simmer well?”
“No. Not well.” Aubrey had only seen them a few times, but she doubted anyone knew the Simmers well. They wore their money and power like gold-plated armor, keeping at a distance all but those in their inner circle. And even though Kevin had married into the family and worked at Baer Business Machines, Aubrey sensed they would never treat him as one of their own.
“Here you are, Detective,” said a brusque voice behind Gonzalez.
A tall, stiff man stood in the archway of the foyer. He had a buzz cut and wore a white shirt, tie, and dark tailored suit. Something about the way he held his shoulders back and kept one hand in his pants pocket made him seem as if he thought he were better than everyone else. Aubrey wondered if he was one of the private investigators the Simmers had hired. His light-gray eyes roamed over Aubrey, then returned to the detective. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course,” Gonzalez said.
“What is it?” Aubrey asked, feeling the prickle of panic at the man’s cold efficiency. “Have you found Ethan?”
The man stared at her, lips flattened, as though surprised by her question. “And you are?”
His tone irked her. “Aubrey Lynd. Ethan’s aunt. And who are you?”
“Special Agent Smolleck. I’m heading up the FBI CARD team. And no, we haven’t found your nephew.” He hesitated, then added, “Yet.”
Aubrey watched the two strangers walk across the dark wood floor of her childhood home and listened to the cacophony coming from the other end of the house.
Twenty-four hours ago, she had been sealed in her own private bubble, concerned about things that no longer mattered.
Twenty-four hours ago, Ethan had been laughing at a carnival in his grandmother’s arms.
And just like that, everything changed.
CHAPTER 4
A stale smell hit Aubrey when she pushed open the door to her upstairs bedroom. She hadn’t been home since Thanksgiving a couple of months before, but at least her room was as she had left it. The delft-blue wallpaper was still peeling away at the seams, still covered by the dozen or so oil paintings of fruit, vases, and favorite objects she had made when she was a teenager. She threw her coat on the white quilted bedspread and set her suitcase on the old footstool, then went to open one of the windows. Her room faced the front of the house, and as soon as she got the window open, reporters shouted up at her.
“Has Ethan been found? Is there a ransom demand?”
She slammed the window shut, then paced on the faded, blue-and-beige Oriental rug, reminding herself it wasn’t the reporters’ fault Ethan was missing.
Her breathing slowed as her eyes settled on familiar, much-loved mementos—her snow globes on the shelf above her desk, and the photo on the wicker nightstand she hadn’t been able to part with, even after Mama had put away all the other photos of Aubrey’s dad.
It was what Aubrey classified in her memory as a “before” photo of the four of them. Before Mama had begun working late most nights and Dad started traveling all the time. Before something had changed her parents’ relationship, which Aubrey had never understood and was afraid to ask about. The photo had been taken twenty years ago, when Aubrey was eight and Kevin was eleven. They were standing on top of a mountain somewhere in Colorado. She and Kevin were smiling at the camera, but the reason Aubrey had kept the photo was because of the way her parents were looking at each other. Not in the polite-but-distant way she’d become accustomed to, but as though they were remembering the first time they’d fallen in love. Aubrey had always wanted to believe this was how they’d really felt about each other.
Even now—or maybe especially now, after her disappointing experience with Jackson—she still did.
How she wished her family could be together to support one another while they waited for news about Ethan! But Mama was unavailable, Dad probably hadn’t arrived yet from Los Angeles, and Kevin was with Kim and her parents. But Aubrey was Kevin’s family, too, and despite his angry words about their mother, she was certain he would want the comfort of the people who loved him unconditionally.
She got her phone out and speed-dialed his number, taken aback when a strange man’s voice answered.
> “I want to speak with Kevin,” she said. “This is his sister.”
“Mr. Lynd isn’t taking calls right now.”
“Would you please tell him it’s Aubrey?”
“I’m sorry. He’s not taking any calls.”
“Who are you?” Aubrey asked.
“I’ve been hired by the family,” the man said.
The family, she wanted to scream. I’m his family.
“I’ll tell Mr. Lynd you called. I’m sure he’ll return your call when he’s able.” He disconnected.
What the heck was that about? What if someone called with a ransom demand? Would they talk to a stranger? Or maybe the caller wouldn’t know it wasn’t Kevin answering his phone.
She sent her brother a text, not sure he would see it, but she had to try. I’m at the house. Can come see you anytime. Just say when.
She hesitated. Should she say she was here for him? That she loved him? But it would sound false after the distance between them for so many years. She pressed “Send,” hoping he would write back or call.
Hoping his silence didn’t mean the war with Mama was back on.
She stuck her phone in her pocket, then went across the hall to her mother’s room. It was cool in the large corner bedroom, which was shaded by towering bamboos that blocked the sun from this part of the house. The bed was made, throw pillows piled up against the brass headboard, no indentation on the old patchwork quilt. She ran her hand over the satin squares in crimson, emerald green, and navy blue. It didn’t look like her mother had slept, or even lain down for a rest.
Two faded-pink brocade armchairs were pulled close to the fireplace; a small table with a book on it stood between them. Now that she lived up north, she realized how odd it was to have fireplaces in Miami.
When she was little, she had longed for a fire, like in the Hans Christian Andersen stories she read, but her parents had never made one. So one winter when she was eight or nine, she’d talked Kevin into helping her gather wood. They’d filled the hearth with twigs and dead leaves, threw in some wadded-up toilet paper, then lit the mess with matches. It flamed and smoked, and Mama had coming running into the room, shouting hysterically. Aubrey had never seen her so upset. Mama had doused the fire with water, and had then climbed into bed beneath the patchwork quilt, suffering from one of her dizzy spells.
After that, with the smell of burned leaves lingering in the upstairs hallway, Aubrey and Kev had tried to follow the rules and be exemplary children. They only had themselves to rely on and became each other’s best friends and confidants. Aubrey missed that so much . . . Kev’s whispered dreams about reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, like Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit. Promising her someday they’d be a real family again.
Well, maybe they could be, once they got Ethan back. One thing was for certain—she wasn’t giving up on their family, even if Kevin had.
She went downstairs toward the dissonance of multiple voices talking at the same time. The family room had been transformed, crammed with folding tables and people talking on cell phones and tapping on computers. These strangers didn’t belong here, surrounded by photos of her and her brother in front of their bunks at summer camp, hiking in the Rockies, throwing snowballs in Breckenridge. But Ethan wasn’t supposed to be missing, either.
Neither Detective Gonzalez nor Special Agent Smolleck was in the room, so she went over to a youngish Asian man in a suit who was frowning at several computer screens.
He sat taller in his chair when he noticed her. “You’re not allowed in here.”
“I’m Aubrey Lynd. I’m looking for my mother, Diana Lynd. Do you know where she is?”
“Sorry. No.”
She left the family room and pushed open a French door that led to the backyard. The mildewed-brick patio was shaded by so many trees—crepe myrtle, gumbo limbos, palms, and soaring bamboos—that the sun could hardly break through, and the little areas of grass around the rock garden were perennially thin. Unlike the inside of the house, transformed by all the people who didn’t belong, out here nothing had changed. Still the same impossible-to-lift wrought iron chairs and filigreed table with a hole for an umbrella that Mama had never got around to buying.
Aubrey followed the brick path that meandered around the side of the house. This was the one area that was sunny, where the grass grew so fast it always looked like it needed mowing.
When they were kids, Aubrey and Kevin had begged their parents to put in a swimming pool. Dad had finally agreed, but Mama had dug in her heels. She’d said she had enough to worry about with her sick patients, without imagining her own children diving in and breaking their necks.
Mama was always waiting for a catastrophe to happen.
It finally had.
A couple of lawn chairs faced a small fountain near the tall hedge that separated their property from the neighbor’s. Someone was stretched out on one of the chairs. Soft-brown leather loafers, pressed navy slacks, pale-blue shirt.
Dad.
For a moment she was a child again, remembering the joy she’d felt when her father would return home from an out-of-town trial and sweep her up in the air.
How’s my beautiful princess?
She had adored him. Then he’d let her down.
He must have heard her coming, because he put his feet in the grass and turned toward her. “Aubrey.”
His expression brightened, then his mouth fell, as though he’d remembered the circumstances. His full head of hair looked whiter than ever against his red face, but his blue eyes were the same—clear and concerned. Eyes that were known to sway the toughest juries.
And, once upon a time, even her.
He came toward her with outstretched arms, then hugged her tightly. Her mind told her to resist, but her body didn’t listen, and she felt herself swaddled in his embrace. She clung to him, closing her eyes and taking in the familiar, fusty airplane smell of her childhood. He stroked her hair, and the sensation made her feel sleepy, just like when she was a little girl.
She wished they could go back to how they once were, but then he loosened his grip.
She took a step back.
She hadn’t seen her father in more than a year, at a party for Ethan. He had a few extra wrinkles, but he was a handsome man, even at sixty-five. Kevin had inherited his lean, fit build, though both Aubrey and her brother more closely resembled their mother, with her dark hair and eyes and often-solemn disposition.
“I’m surprised to see you,” she said.
“Did you think I wouldn’t be here for my grandson and family?” His voice reflected hurt.
She backed off, ashamed to have implied that he didn’t care about Ethan. “No, of course not. I didn’t think you could get here so quickly from LA.”
“I would have bought a plane to get here, if I’d had to.”
She believed that. Even though he’d traveled a lot, her father had always put family first, which was one reason why it had been so bewildering to see him turn on her mother so heartlessly eight years ago.
“Have you spoken to Mama?” she asked.
“No. She’s been busy with the police and FBI. I didn’t want to get in the way.” He clasped her hand. “It’s been a long time. Too long.”
“Yes,” she said, feeling the firmness of his grip.
“I’m in shock over this,” he said. “I could barely put one foot in front of the other. But Star’s been my savior. Made all the arrangements to get here.”
Aubrey pulled her hand away. She couldn’t stomach the way her father seemed to worship the woman for whom he’d abandoned his wife.
He and Jackson were the same. Both of them oblivious to the pain they’d caused by succumbing to their self-centered needs.
“I wish you wouldn’t resent her,” her father said. “Star flew over with me. She’s just as worried about Ethan as we are.”
Aubrey felt a visceral loathing. It came on every time Star’s name was mentioned, bringing up a memory of the first time they’d met.
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Aubrey had been in her father’s apartment, taking in the view of downtown LA, when she’d realized she wasn’t alone. She had turned to see a ghostlike person in a darkened alcove of the room. Aubrey registered pale skin, flowing white scarves, and a perfectly shaped head with light hair so short it appeared naked. The apparition all but faded away—except for the bright, glassy-blue eyes studying her.
Then Star had stepped forward, arms extended, a smile pasted on her face. Hello, dear, she’d said, her words oozing like poisoned honey from an oleander flower. I would so like us to be friends.
“Please, Aubrey,” her father was saying, “we need to stick together right now. For Ethan’s sake.”
“You’re right,” she said, erasing the vision of Star. She had to try to put old grievances aside and stand by both her parents. She knew how difficult Ethan’s disappearance had to be for her father, too. He doted on his grandson, always sending Aubrey photos of Ethan’s frequent visits to LA.
“I can’t wrap my mind around it,” he said. “Our little man.” His voice quivered, and he ran his fingers through his hair. There was a dark perspiration stain under his arm on his light-blue button-down shirt.
“Do you want to go inside and get some water?” she asked.
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” The sun glinted off his white hair as he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.
There was a spot he’d missed while shaving, near the cleft of his chin.
She remembered how immaculate he’d always been when he would leave to consult with one of the Innocence Projects he was involved with, looking like a movie star in his dark suit and white shirt, carrying the monogrammed cordovan briefcase Mama had gotten him.
She had been so proud of her father in his mission to save the innocent from death row. But at the same time, she was despondent about his leaving—sometimes for weeks at a time.
“Why don’t we sit?” She led him back to the lounge chairs. He looked older, suddenly. Old and tired.
