Authors: Rebecca Drake
“What?” Surprise overcame her resolve not to speak to him. “You’re kidding.”
“Apparently employing a child killer is bad for the firm.”
“Did they actually say that?”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, of course not. They suggested that it would probably be a good idea to take a break, that I needed to concentrate on my family situation.” He took a swig from his glass. “That’s what they called it—a
situation
.”
“I can’t believe they actually asked you to leave.”
“Oh, it was all very polite.” He laughed, a harsh sound, and then his voice went deeper and she knew he was imitating one of the senior partners. “Of course you understand that this does not reflect on your performance, but we must think of the firm.”
“But what about Andrew? I know he wouldn’t support that.”
He turned from the window to look at her. “The partners are having a meeting now; they’ll let me know tomorrow. He’s trying his best, but he’s probably going to be outvoted. He told me as much.”
“What did you say when they asked you to leave?”
“What could I say? No? It really wasn’t presented as an option. I said I was sorry my situation had inconvenienced the firm and I left.”
“Situation.” She repeated the word, thinking how antiseptic it was, and how wildly inappropriate to describe the disappearance of their child.
The doorbell rang, startling them both. “Isn’t the officer still outside?” Jill said.
“It could be Andrew,” David said. He headed toward the front hall. “If it’s another one of those reporters I’m not going to be held responsible for what I do.”
She followed behind him and saw him swing the door open. A middle-aged woman with long, graying hair stood on the doorstep. She wore a purple tunic-like garment over black stretch pants with black boots and she had a silvery scarf looped around her neck, but it was her eyes that captured most of Jill’s attention. They were a strange shade of blue, so pale that they appeared almost translucent. “Hello, are you Mr. Lassiter?”
“We’re not giving interviews,” David said, moving to close the door, but the woman stepped forward, sticking her foot inside.
She smiled. “I’m not a reporter.” She peered around David and spotted Jill. “You must be Mrs. Lassiter. I’m Glynnis Moonday.”
David said, “I’m not sure what you’re selling, Ms. Mooday—”
“Moon-day,” the woman corrected with the same smile.
“Moonday. But whatever it is, we’re not interested.”
“I’m not selling anything. I’m here to help you.”
“Are you with the police?”
“No, but they’ve used my services before. I’m a psychic.”
“Oh dear God,” David said.
“I know about your little girl.”
Jill knew she should send the woman away. Early on in the investigation, before they became the prime suspects, Ottilo had warned them about people like this. “Every nut in the country will try to contact you,” he’d said. “Don’t answer their calls. Just refuse to talk to them.”
“You need to leave,” David said, moving to close the door.
“I just want to help you find your daughter.”
“We’re being helped by the police, but thank you anyway.” David pushed against the door, but the woman wouldn’t move. She’d fixed her gaze on Jill.
“Do you want me to leave, Mrs. Lassiter?”
Jill knew she should say no, knew that there was no basis in fact, that it was just superstitious nonsense, but she couldn’t do it. David had the door half-closed. “Wait!”
He stopped, shocked. The woman pushed her way back inside. “I’m here, Mrs. Lassiter,” she said in a soothing voice. “I’m here to help.”
David looked at Jill. “What are you doing?”
“Let’s just hear what she has to say.”
“Why? To give us false hope? This woman is a fake—there is no such thing as psychic ability.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Lassiter,” Glynnis Moonday said, but her strange eyes remained fixed on Jill. “I’m used to skeptics.”
“Do you know something?” Jill asked. “Have you seen Sophia?”
The woman smiled. “Not physically, no.”
“But mentally? In images?”
The woman nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen her.”
“Where is she?” David demanded. “If you can see her then tell us where she is.”
“Spirit doesn’t work that way, Mr. Lassiter.”
David snorted. “Of course not.”
“What can you tell us?” Jill asked. She felt like she did as a kid when she’d wanted so desperately to believe that Santa Claus existed.
“Can I see her room?”
Jill hesitated, but the woman was already moving toward the stairs. David took Jill’s arm. “This is crap,” he hissed. “All she wants is money.”
“If she doesn’t know anything then we’re no worse off than we were before.” Jill said.
She hurried up the stairs after the woman and watched her wander down the hall until she stopped inside the doorway to Sophia’s room. It was gloomy, but she didn’t put on a light. Jill came into the room every single day, unable to stay away even though just being there was like pulling off a scab. She could see dust on the butterfly mobile that hung from the ceiling, turning silently. The room looked untidy, but not the way Sophia left it, with toys scattered around and her clothes left in piles. It was disheveled from searching. The sheets tossed back where she’d pulled them, the drawers open where the police had searched. The clothes in the closet separated where strange hands had pushed the hangers apart. Jill felt the gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach, but she stayed, watching Glynnis Moonday survey the room.
“Can I touch something of hers,” she said in a quiet voice.
Jill looked around; everything was Sophia’s. “Does it matter what it is? Do you want clothes?”
“Does she have a favorite toy?”
“It’s gone—missing, I mean.”
“Was it a stuffed animal?”
Jill clenched her hands. “Yes.”
Glynnis Moonday moved forward and paused next to the bed. It looked so small, but it had been Sophia’s big-girl bed. She’d been so excited to move out of the crib, but Jill wished she’d waited another year. Why hadn’t she waited? From the minute that bed was in the room Sophia got up at night. Although she’d climbed out of her crib, too, and that was why they’d gotten the bed in the first place, because Jill was afraid she’d hurt herself falling over the high sides of the crib. But no matter how many times they’d spoken to her, Sophia would sneak out of bed. The danger had been there all along, but Jill hadn’t recognized it.
The psychic reached down and put one hand on the pillow. Her hands had prominent veins and her nails were long and painted a deep red that was chipping. Jill didn’t want her to touch it, didn’t want her there in Sophia’s room, another stranger picking among her things, but she wanted it at the same time. The woman held her hand there for a moment, pressed into the pillow, her long, graying hair hanging around her face. Then she straightened up, moving her hand away and turned toward Jill. Her odd eyes rolled back in her head and Jill felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.
“I see trees. Lots of trees. And there’s a dog.”
“Blinky? Is it a stuffed animal?”
If the woman heard her she didn’t acknowledge it. “I see water. Running water.”
“Is she near the river?”
The woman looked down again suddenly and her eyes came back into focus. “I can’t see it,” she said.
Jill heard a snort behind her and turned to see David in the doorway. She ignored him. “What does that mean?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” the woman said. “You need to put those images together with other evidence.”
“Yes, very helpful,” David said. “Trees and water. Wow, I hope we can find some of those.”
Glynnis Moonday looked at him. “The reading wasn’t as strong as it could be because his negative energy is blocking.”
David made a derisive noise, but Jill ignored him. “Please,” she said, touching the woman’s arm. “Please, is she, that is, did you actually see her?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask directly, but Glynnis Moonday did it for her.
“Is she alive? I feel her energy, Mrs. Lassiter,” she said. “But it’s very weak.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s here, but I don’t know for how much longer.”
“Oh, no—is she hurt?”
“I can’t tell, not without spending more time. If you want to engage my services—”
“No,” David interrupted. “No more. Get out.” He pushed past Jill and grabbed Glynnis Moonday’s upper arm. “Get out of our house. Now.”
“Let go of me,” the psychic protested.
He pulled her into the hall. “Go.”
“If you don’t stop, I’ll have you charged with assault.”
“And I’ll have you charged with fraud.”
Jill ran after them. “Stop it, David. You could hurt her.”
The woman shook herself free from his grip. “I’m leaving. Spirit doesn’t stay where the energy field is so negative.”
“Good riddance to you and Spirit,” David said.
“Please!” Jill ran after her. “Is there anything else? Anything at all?” She touched the woman’s arm and Glynnis Moonday turned her strange eyes on her. “You lost another child,” she said, staring deep into Jill’s eyes. “You’re afraid because you already lost one child and you don’t want to lose another.”
Jill let go of her, stunned, and the woman swept out the door. David slammed it behind her. “And you didn’t have to swallow that bullshit.”
“How do you know it’s bullshit? Did you hear what she said about Ethan?”
“She could easily have found that out. Why are you sucked in by her voodoo? It’s just false hope.”
“It’s better than no hope,” Jill said. “What else do I have left?”
She walked away from the stricken look on his face, heading to the kitchen where she gathered empty coffee cups and a crumpled fast-food bag from the table and she threw them out, the small action spurring her to keep moving. She wiped the kitchen table and then the countertops. Someone had run the dishwasher, so she emptied it, losing herself in the mindless task. At some point she became aware of David standing in the doorway watching her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.
Too soon there was nothing left to clean. She stood at the sink looking over the backyard, sponge clutched in one hand. David cleared his throat. The noise was loud in the quiet of the room.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
It was so feeble. The words were so stupidly feeble. They ignited a spark within her. She turned so she could see his face. “What did you mean to do? Did you think that fucking another woman was somehow going to help us?”
He winced at the obscenity and she felt glad. She wanted more than a wince, she wanted to wound him in the same way that he had her. “Did you hurt Sophia?”
He made a sound as if she’d punched him. “God, no, of course not. How can you say that? How can you even think that?”
“Did that bitch you sleep with hurt her?”
“Jill! My God!”
“You saw her nightgown. You saw the blood.”
“I didn’t do anything to her and neither did Leslie. I swear.”
“How can I believe anything you say? You’re obviously an accomplished liar.”
“I wouldn’t lie about that—”
“No, only about our marriage.”
He turned to the side, one hand reaching for his stomach and she was pleased, desperately pleased to see him clutch himself as if he were in physical pain.
“You were alone with her,” he said after a minute, his voice so low that at first she thought she’d heard him wrong.
“Are you accusing me?” The anger had turned toxic; it was a real thing crackling in the air between them.
“You were alone with her that night—”
“Yeah, while you were on the phone with your whore!”
“And the next morning, I was asleep.”
Jill felt blind rage consuming her. “You bastard! I can’t believe you’re even suggesting that.”
“She’s a handful, you’re always saying that. You lose your temper with her—”
Jill laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “How would you know? You’re barely around. You don’t know anything about my parenting.”
“I’m around enough to see that you get frustrated by her behavior.”
“And you don’t? For God’s sake, David, do you really think that getting frustrated with a strong-willed three-year-old means that I hurt her?” Jill couldn’t stop shaking, she didn’t know how much was emotion and how much sheer adrenaline. “What did I do, David? Did I stab her?”
“Stop it.” David turned from her.
“No! I want you to tell me what exactly I did to our daughter. Did I smother her in her sleep?”
“I’m not going to listen to this.” David walked out of the room, but Jill ran after him.
“If you’re going to accuse me, I’d like to know what it is you think I’ve done.”
He didn’t answer, walking into the living room where he stopped in front of the windows. Through the sheers, Jill could see the outline of the large crowd hovering, always hovering there like some lost herd of sheep, at the edge of their property. “Why do you think it’s me instead of that whore you’ve been sleeping with.”
David finally turned to look her in the face. The expression in his eyes frightened her before he spoke. “Because you’re the last person who saw her.”
DAYS TWENTY-TWO AND TWENTY-THREE
“I’m going to stay at my parents’ for a while.” David walked into the family room with an overnight bag in his hand. Jill could see his reflection in the window. It was almost nine and far too dark to see anything, but she stared into the darkness anyway, nursing a second glass of wine.
“I’ve got my cell phone—you can reach me on it or at my parents’ number.” He stood there as if he expected her to try to stop him. Jill didn’t turn around. Of course he’d go to his parents. They would welcome him with open arms. They’d find a way to blame Jill for his infidelity, just as they probably blamed her for Ethan’s death, and for Sophia’s disappearance.
After a minute David left the room, and a few minutes after that she heard the front door close. Her shoulders dropped a little and she took a swig of wine and settled on the couch, glad that he was gone. She couldn’t have shared a bed with him tonight; she didn’t know if she’d be able to again.
It was odd being all alone in the house; she couldn’t recall when that last happened. She finished the wine and dragged herself up to bed, sure that between emotional and physical exhaustion she’d fall right to sleep, only she didn’t. All alone in their king-size bed she couldn’t stop thinking about the stories of betrayal she’d heard over the years and how she’d pitied women who claimed to be clueless to what their husbands were really doing. How could they have missed the signs? There were always signs. She’d judged these women, thought of them as either stupidly oblivious or willfully blind. So which was she? She found herself replaying all the things that should have made her suspicious and the times that she had been suspicious, but had allowed him to convince her not to be. How stupid she’d been not to realize, to think that somehow her marriage was exempt from the possibility.