Chapter Ten
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lance rounded the desk in his mother’s home office and kissed her on the cheek.
“Of course.” His mom tapped her keyboard, blackening her computer screen, then she swiveled her chair to face him. “I like to feel useful.”
What had she been doing that she felt necessary to hide?
File in hand, Lance hesitated. Would the case be too much stress for her? The smile on her face didn’t resonate in her eyes. She tucked a lock of shoulder-length gray hair behind one ear. Had she lost weight? Her fragile-thin frame couldn’t spare an ounce. But since Lance saw her every day, he didn’t always notice slight changes, and he couldn’t quite quantify what was wrong today.
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. Her blue eyes seemed paler, her skin flushed, and her attempt to smile more transparent.
He scanned the tidy room. “No boxes today?”
The modern world of online shopping was an agoraphobic hoarder’s dream come true. Lance and his mom had an agreement. She ordered things she didn’t need every day. If she wanted to keep a purchase, she had to dispose of an item of equal size. Lance returned or donated the rest. The system was bizarre, but it kept Jennifer Kruger’s home relatively sane and safe. Lance would not allow her to live in a firetrap ever again.
“No.” She took the file from his hand and spun away from him.
Strange.
But maybe be was being paranoid. With good reason, he was hyperaware of her behavior.
Clutching the edges of her thick cardigan together, she set the folder on the blotter. “Tell me about the case.”
Again, Lance hesitated. Chelsea’s disappearance had brought back painful memories for him. How would his mother handle the parallels? Over the years that followed his father’s disappearance, she’d retreated into an eggshell of an existence. Her world was self-contained, easily shattered, and impossible to make whole.
“We’re looking for someone,” he said vaguely. “We need thorough background checks for the people on this list, and we need you to review the missing woman’s computer and phone files.” He set Tim’s USB drive on the desk.
She scanned the first few pages of their suspect list. “This is about that young mother who went missing, isn’t it?”
Shit.
“You know about her?” Lance asked.
His mother turned a page. “It was on the news.”
His shut-in mother taught online computer science courses and designed and maintained websites. Since she only left her house to go to therapy, she literally lived online. Coverage of Chelsea’s case had been limited, but his mom hadn’t missed the story.
“Maybe I should do the background checks,” Lance said.
“No.” His mom put a possessive hand flat on the file as if he were going to snatch it away. “Do you want me to do a deep dig on the husband?”
His mom’s precarious mental state often camouflaged her intelligence. She knew Tim would be a suspect despite the fact that he’d hired them.
“Yes,” he said.
“Hi, Jennifer.” Morgan walked into the room. She’d come with Lance but had been in the kitchen putting away groceries they’d brought. Knowing Morgan, she’d also taken stock of mom’s supplies.
Lance’s mom’s face went as bright as the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. He needed to have a talk with her. She was clearly building up unreasonable expectations about his relationship with Morgan.
How could he ever have a real life? There were too many variables to predict his mother’s reaction.
Damn it.
He should never have introduced them. His intentions had been good. Morgan would give his mother another person to interact with besides him and Sharp and the package delivery man.
Now if things didn’t work out between him and Morgan, his mother was going to be disappointed. Who knew how she would handle it? And what if she got her hopes up about having grandchildren and that didn’t pan out. Could she even handle grandchildren?
Why was he thinking about giving her grandchildren?
Suddenly hot, Lance pulled at the neck of his T-shirt. The room felt small. Morgan already had three kids.
Three.
Her life was a 24/7 power play to the kids’ advantage. Would she want more? Why was he even thinking about this?
His mom stood, leaned over the desk, and touched Morgan’s arm. It wasn’t quite a hug, but it was the most physical contact his mom had had with a human other than him or Sharp in a long time.
Morgan returned the touch, as usual letting his mother set the boundaries. “I hope you don’t mind. I started a pot of coffee, and we brought apple pie.”
Mom beamed. “Of course I don’t mind. I love pie.”
That, at least, was the truth.
Dropping back into her seat, his mom waved at the file in front of her. “This is just a list of names. Tell me more about the case. Did Chelsea Clark really just disappear into thin air?”
Like his dad.
“We don’t have enough information to say yet.” Morgan smiled.
His mom nodded, her face grim.
“I could really go for some pie.” Morgan shot Lance a worried glance. “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”
Morgan and Lance took twenty minutes to fill his mom in on the necessary details of the case. His mother ate an entire slice of pie, which eased his mind. Anxiety dampened her appetite. So her being able to eat was a good sign.
“You’re sure you don’t mind doing those background checks?” he asked his mom.
“I want to do them. I get bored.” She kissed him goodbye and then shooed them toward the door.
Outside, Lance stood on the front step and stared at the closed door. The he dug his phone from his pocket and called Sharp. “Would you mind stopping in to see my mom?”
“Tonight?” Sharp asked.
“It’s not an emergency.” Lance glanced back at the house.
“But—”
“She seemed . . . off.” Lance wanted another opinion. Sharp was less paranoid.
“I’ll go tonight,” Sharp said.
“Thanks.” Lance ended the call. He would check on his mom later too.
“What’s wrong?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” Unease filled Lance’s gut.
“She seemed happy. She ate her pie.”
Lance turned and started toward the Jeep. “I know.”
“But you’re afraid the case will remind her of your father.” Morgan fell into step beside him.
“Yes.” Though his mom had seemed off even before he’d brought up the case.
“Do you want to stay with her? I can handle the interview with Fiona.”
He glanced at her. The scarf around her neck hid the bruises, but he knew they were there, darkening by the hour. After today’s incident, he wanted to keep Morgan close. Rationally he knew Tyler Green was safely in custody, but Lance’s feelings for Morgan weren’t always rational.
“No,” he said. “I’ll come back tonight and make sure she’s all right.”
They got into his Jeep, and Morgan read him the address of Fiona West’s apartment.
She fastened her seat belt. “How do you feel about working on a case so similar to your father’s disappearance?”
Lance almost brushed off her question then changed his mind. “I can definitely relate to how Tim’s feeling right now.”
“I’m sure you can.”
He backed out of the driveway and turned the Jeep back toward town. “I still haven’t opened Sharp’s case file on my dad’s investigation.”
A few weeks before, Sharp had turned over the information, saying that it was now up to Lance if he wanted to know the particulars of his father’s disappearance.
Morgan didn’t say anything, but she reached across the console and took his hand.
“I’m afraid I’ll be sucked in,” Lance said. “Or that my mom will somehow find out. The last thing she needs is anything to bring back memories of those years.”
“Do you know any of the details?”
Lance sighed. “I know the basic information. I was only ten when it happened. Sharp shared as much as he thought I could handle. Frankly, there wasn’t much to share. Not many leads ever turned up. Those were the days before cell phones, before surveillance cameras were everywhere, before E-ZPass and GPS made it hard to disappear. People still used cash in the nineties.”
“So why would you dig in to the case?” Morgan asked. “Was there DNA or other physical evidence that could be analyzed with more precision now?”
“I don’t think so.”
Her fingers squeezed his. “Sharp is a good detective, and you said he worked your father’s case for years. I doubt he would have overlooked anything.”
“I know.” But did he? Lance wouldn’t know for sure unless he reviewed the file.
“If anything, there will be less evidence now. Memories fade over time. People will have left their jobs. Twenty-three years is a long time.”
“You’re right.” But could he live with not even trying? Uncomfortable, Lance turned the conversation back to the case. “Tell me about Fiona.”
Morgan opened a file. “Fiona West is twenty-six years old. She works as a fitness instructor and teaches yoga. She’s lived in Scarlet Falls all her life. We don’t have our full background check yet, but the sheriff said they found nothing alarming in her history. King wasn’t the most forthcoming member of law enforcement I’ve dealt with. I have no doubt he held back information on the case, but I don’t think he’d outright lie.”
“Right,” Lance agreed. “King is cantankerous and tight-lipped, but he’s always been a straight shooter in my dealings with him.”
A few minutes later, Lance turned into the entrance to Fiona’s apartment complex and parked. He and Morgan walked to a door on the first floor of a plain brick building. Morgan had called ahead. Fiona was home and expecting them.
She opened her door on the first knock. “Come in.”
The apartment was a square. A small eat-in kitchen opened to a living room. A hallway presumably led to the single bedroom and bath. Through sliding glass doors, a tiny patio overlooked a strip of grass and the parking lot beyond. No fancy views.
The best word to describe Fiona was cute. Dressed in yoga pants and an oversize shirt, she was a little thing—maybe an inch over five feet tall—perky and fit, with big brown eyes and curly brown hair cut short.
After offering them coffee, which they declined, she sat on a futon-type sofa and curled her legs underneath her body in a way that made Lance’s knees hurt.
Morgan sat on the futon with Fiona while Lance eased carefully into a modern, metal-framed chair that looked as if it might snap shut at any moment.
“Where did you meet Chelsea?” Morgan started.
Fiona shifted her position and hugged her knees to her chest. “At the yoga studio. I teach there a few nights a week.”
Lance leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “How often did Chelsea come to class?”
“Before she had William, she came three times a week. She practiced right up until she gave birth,” Fiona said. “But afterward, she was a mess.”
“Babies are a handful,” Morgan commiserated. “And I hear William is particularly difficult.”
Fiona’s lips mashed flat. “Especially if your husband makes no attempt to help. I don’t understand why Chelsea put up with him. She did everything.”
Morgan tilted her head and nodded.
Tim might not have helped much with the baby, but he clearly went to work and paid the bills. But Lance was not going to argue. He kept his mouth firmly shut. Arguing with a witness wasn’t the best way to encourage the free flow of information.
Anger sharpened Fiona’s tone. “I stopped by to see her a couple of times a week. All she did was cry. I was worried she had postpartum depression.”
“Did you talk to her about it?” Morgan asked.
Fiona nodded, her eyes shining with moisture. She grabbed a tissue from a box on the coffee table and blotted her eyes. “I did. I tried to get her to see a psychiatrist. She said she just needed some sleep.” Fiona blew her nose. “In Tim’s defense, the baby wouldn’t drink from a bottle, and Chelsea refused to be firm. She gave in every time. She’s a pushover when it comes to her kids. I kept telling her if she was out of the house, the baby would figure it out.” Fiona lowered the tissue to her lap. “And Tim would have to do more.”
“You don’t think Tim had anything to do with her disappearance, do you?” Lance asked.
Fiona looked horrified. “No. God. No. I didn’t mean anything like that. Tim’s a perfectly nice guy. He’s just clueless and, frankly, a little whiny.”
Morgan leaned forward a little. “Fiona, I hate to even ask this, but I have to.”
Fiona’s eyes opened wide. “What?”
“Is there any chance that Chelsea was so desperate that she needed to get away for a little while?”
“Are you asking me if Chelsea left her family?” Fiona asked.
“Yes.” Morgan nodded. “Part of lending fresh eyes to the case means we have to consider every possibility.”
Fiona shook her head hard. “No. No way. Chelsea loves those kids to death. She’d never leave them.”
“What about Tim? Would she ever leave Tim?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t think so.” But Fiona didn’t seem as adamant. “She excuses everything he does. ‘Tim goes to work all day. Tim’s tired. He’s great with Bella.’ That sort of thing. But even as she says it, you can tell she doesn’t think he helps out enough. But even if she was mad at Tim, she would never leave her kids.”
Morgan nodded. “She sounds like a wonderful mom and wife.”
“She is.” Fiona sniffed again.
“It’s a shame she and Tim were going through a rough patch,” Morgan empathized.
“It wasn’t just a rough patch.” Fiona shook her head. “They were having problems long before now.”
Morgan tilted her head. “What kind of problems?”
“Tim worked too much. Last year, Chelsea told me she felt like they were growing apart.” Fiona’s mouth twisted. “Then she did something really stupid. She got pregnant. I told her another baby would only make their problems worse, but she thought it would bring them together again.”
“But it didn’t,” Lance said.
“No.” Fiona sniffed.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Lance asked.
“I stopped by their house on Wednesday,” Fiona said.
“Was anything odd about her appearance or behavior?” he pressed.
“She was tired.” Fiona tossed her tissue in a wastebasket. “She’d just gotten back from a run. I watched the kids so she could take a quick shower.”
“How was William?”
“I tried to do a puzzle with Bella, but I ended up just walking in circles with the baby instead. He cried the whole time she was out of his sight.” Fiona picked at a fingernail. “But that’s normal for him.”
“The crying didn’t bother you?” Morgan asked. “My youngest was colicky. The screaming can get to you after hours and hours of it.”
Fiona shuddered. “It was nerve-racking, but I wanted to help. I don’t know how Chelsea stands listening to him bawl day and night.”
Lance added, “But other than the crying baby, nothing seemed abnormal?”
“No.” Fiona used her fingertips to swipe a tear from under one eye.
“Were you surprised when she didn’t show up on Friday night?” Morgan asked.
Fiona shook her head. “No. We were supposed to meet two weeks ago, but Chelsea was a no-show. I called her and she didn’t answer. I worried all night. The next morning, she sent me a text apologizing for blowing me off, saying William had had a bad night. God forbid Tim handle the baby for one evening.”
“So Friday night, you assumed the same thing had happened,” Morgan said. “When did you talk to Chelsea last?”
“Around seven. She was really excited to see me.” Fiona ignored a second tear. Her eyes were bright with tears as she lifted her gaze to Morgan and then Lance. “So where is she?”
“We’re going to do everything we can to find her.” Morgan asked a few more personal questions about Chelsea, but all of Fiona’s answers matched Tim’s.
“Please call me if you have any more questions,” Fiona said as she escorted them to the door. “I’ll do anything to help find Chelsea.”
Back in the Jeep, Lance started the engine. “What do you think? Is she being too hard on Tim or is he a self-absorbed jerk?”
“Hard to say.” Morgan set her bag on the floor. “Keep in mind, Fiona isn’t married and doesn’t have kids. From the outside, it may have appeared as if Chelsea was on her own. Who knew what it was really like? When Tim was in our office, he might not have seemed completely comfortable with the baby, but he was hardly incompetent. Clearly, he’s handled a baby in the past.”
“You’re probably right. Their little girl acted very comfortable with him this afternoon.” Lance drove toward the office. “What do you want to do for dinner?”
Morgan checked the time on her phone. “We don’t have much time before our meeting with Tim’s boss at Speed Net.”
“You hate to miss dinner with your girls.”
“It can’t be helped tonight. Gianna will feed them. Maybe I can make it home for bedtime.” Morgan had a family friend who insisted on performing live-in nanny duties in return for her keep.
“I know you want to find Chelsea, but we have to eat.”
Morgan skipped way too many meals.
“You’re right,” she said. “I just want to find her. I’ll take the Clarks’ financial records home with me tonight. I can go through them after the kids go to bed.”
“Sharp said he’d work on the phone records. I guess that leaves me with social media accounts.” Lance drove toward a deli.
Neither Morgan nor Sharp nor Lance would ever be the kind of professionals who could leave a case like Chelsea’s at the office at five o’clock. But on the other side of the equation, they couldn’t neglect the loved ones who depended on them. It was going to be a long night—the first of many until they found Chelsea Clark.
Alive or dead.