Making Her Way Home

“Dear God. Poor Sicily,” Rowena murmured. Then her eyes widened. “Surely you didn’t think we’d taken her?” She reached out a hand to her husband, who took it without moving any closer to her. “You do understand that we’d have had our attorney file for custody if we felt our daughter Elizabeth wasn’t doing an adequate job of caring for Sicily.”

“I hoped you’d answer some questions.”

“Like?”

“Do you know whether Sicily can swim?”

He expected an “I don’t know” or some equivalent, so it came as a surprise when Rowena said, “I’m sure she can. We were somewhat estranged from Rachel, but she did call home from time to time. I recall her mentioning swim lessons. They were in Los Angeles at the time. She said that Sicily loved the water.”

He nodded. “How would you describe your granddaughter? Is she likely to take off with someone on impulse, for example?”

“Heavens, no! She’s quiet and rather ordinary. Oh-so practical. But I suppose she’d have had to be,” she continued, nostrils flaring in disdain, “with the mother she had.”

Mike stared at her. She gazed coolly back.

Her husband let go of her hand and reached for the remote control and turned up the sound on the TV. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to see this.”

Mike swiveled. A segment had come on about the governor’s stance on a proposal to expand funding for higher education. He realized incredulously that Laurence had been watching with one eye this entire time for items of interest to him.

Did either of them give a damn that their granddaughter was missing? Did anyone actually love Sicily Marks? he wondered.

He asked more questions. Laurence tore his attention from the television long enough to express disgust for Sicily’s father.

“Thank God, he’s been out of the picture for years. Although Rachel found plenty of substitutes. She had a gift for picking losers.”

“I understand that she may have had a drug problem herself.”

“We’d have paid for rehab if she had ever been serious about licking it.” Laurence’s cell phone rang; he glanced at the number and silenced it. “I’m afraid I don’t know Rachel’s habits. As I said, we saw very little of her or Sicily.”

“Would you describe yourself as estranged from your other daughter, as well?”

His face closed. “She chooses to keep to herself,” he said, voice clipped. “But at least she hasn’t made a mess of her life like her sister did.” His phone rang again; once again he didn’t answer it. “What do you suggest we do to help, Detective?” He was clearly becoming impatient. “It would seem Elizabeth has no intention of calling on us. The least she could have done was let us know what was happening. This is our granddaughter.”

He found himself compelled to defend Beth Greenway. “I doubt she let herself believe Sicily wouldn’t turn up. It’s a good-size park, and the search continued until dusk.”

He explained that it would resume at first light, that the girl’s disappearance would be widely publicized. He asked for the most recent pictures they had of their granddaughter. Rowena produced the same fourth-grade school photo Beth had. The sight of the little girl’s face gave him another pang. He wished she’d have at least smiled.

He very much hoped he would have the chance to see her smile.

* * *

BETH HAD WANTED DESPERATELY TO be alone, but almost from the minute the detective left, she wished he hadn’t. At least he’d distracted her. And—oh, it was an illusion of caring, not the real thing, but he’d mostly been kind.

Now all she could think about was Sicily and what could possibly have happened to her. Beth simply couldn’t imagine her as foolish enough to go off with someone she didn’t know. Even a family with children. She might have gotten bored, yes, and decided to hike one of the short nature trails—although Beth wasn’t even sure about that. Gone up to the restroom. She wouldn’t necessarily have woken Beth to tell her where she was going. She was used to making her own decisions. But she didn’t do dumb things.

The park had been so busy, if someone had grabbed her and she’d screamed, plenty of people would have heard. So that didn’t seem likely, either. And the idea of her wading into the water and going swimming was ridiculous. The beach was so rocky she couldn’t have gone barefoot, and she’d never have discarded her brand-new flip-flops, which had so pleased her. And think how cold the water was! Besides, people would have seen her. There’d been plenty of other adults around.

None of it made sense.

The part that made Beth most uneasy was the disappearance of the kids Sicily had been with when Beth fell asleep. The kids and their parents. It seemed so coincidental that they’d decide to leave within the same half hour when Sicily vanished.

Beth had seen from his expression that Detective Ryan doubted the family had ever existed. She’d heard him talking to some of the search-and-rescue volunteers.

“No one here remembers seeing the kid at all.”

But some of the people had to have seen Sicily. Beth knew they had! If only she could remember the faces of anyone who’d been near when she and Sicily spread the blanket and she began to read. But the truth was, she hadn’t really looked. Even at the parents of those other kids. She hadn’t wanted to make eye contact and maybe be forced to chat.

She could be charming at work; it was a job skill. But she liked to keep her distance the rest of the time. Sometimes, toward the end of a day at work, she thought if she had to make smiling conversation for one more minute, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She frequently longed to be by herself.

Like I am now. Only now—please God, are you listening?—she didn’t want to be by herself. She desperately wanted to hear Sicily in the kitchen saying hopefully, “I could make cookies. Do you like chocolate chip, Aunt Beth? Because I make really good ones.”

And she would argue at first, saying, “I don’t eat desserts very often. If you’re hungry, we have ice cream,” but then she’d see the anxiety mixed with the eagerness in her niece’s golden-green eyes. She would realize that baking those cookies would make Sicily happy, because she’d feel as if she was contributing something. So then Beth would say, “You know, I haven’t baked in ages. Do you mind if I help?” And they’d mix the dough and make a mess and the heavenly smell of cookies baking would fill the kitchen. They might even giggle, and at some point Beth would discover in amazement that she was having fun.

When did I last have fun?

Never? There must have been times, but if so they were lost in the more painful memories.

I could drive back to the park. The impulse was powerful. She saw herself walking slowly, calling, “Honey? I’m here,” as if Sicily were only hiding. Which she wouldn’t be. But…what if she’d fallen and hurt herself, been knocked out, and was now regaining consciousness in the dark? What if she had a broken leg and couldn’t get up to walk?

The idea of continuing to do nothing but sit here was unendurable. Beth heard a thin, anguished sound and realized she’d made it. She was horrified; she knew better than to make any noise at all! No matter how much she hurt, she knew how to be silent.

She made herself draw slow, deep breaths. Look around, ground herself. This was home. Her home. No one was hurting her; that was long in her past. Her hurt now was for her niece, who had to be scared and bewildered somewhere.

She’d have her cell phone if she went back to the park, so Sicily could call her if she were able. Detective Ryan could reach her, too, in case he had news.

A part of her knew this was ridiculous, but she rushed to her room and changed clothes, into jeans and a sweatshirt warm enough for the evening, plus thick socks and athletic shoes. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and looked quickly away from that pale, haunted face.

She carried a flashlight in her glove compartment, but she had a better one here in the house, big, sealed in rubber, with a bright beam. Beth grabbed that, and a zip-up sweatshirt she’d bought Sicily, because if she was out there she’d be cold.

Then Beth left the house.

* * *

SICILY WOKE WITH A START TO A scraping sound. By the time the trunk lifted, she realized what she’d heard was key in the lock. She cringed toward the back of the trunk, then thought, No! I should have jumped out. Really fast, and run.

Too late. A man bent over her, too quick for her to really see him. He flung a blanket over Sicily. Even as she started to fight, he bundled her in rough, scratchy wool so tight it was like the Egyptian mummies. She could hardly move at all except to buck and kick and she couldn’t get enough air to scream.

Nothing she did made any difference. He was way bigger than her, and he carried her in his arms, not over his shoulder, where she might have been able to squirm her face or arms free. He didn’t walk very far. Doors opened and closed. She thought maybe they went down some steps, which she couldn’t figure out until she understood. Basement. Once he banged her head against a hard surface, maybe a door frame. More steps and then abruptly she was dumped onto what felt like a mattress.

As she fought her way free of the blanket, the door slammed shut and she heard the distinct slide of a lock. Sicily found herself in complete darkness. No light came in any window, and for a minute she heard nothing at all. And then…was that a television?

* * *

WHETHER DRIVEN BY UNEASINESS or only a gut feeling, Mike went straight back to Edmonds. He’d wanted to assess the grandparents, but he had the bad feeling he’d made a mistake. He should have parked down the street and kept an eye on Beth Greenway’s house.

He pulled up in front to find the porch light on and one light somewhere inside, but the house was darker than when he’d left. If she’d gone to bed, why had she left lights on at all? He had trouble imagining her brushing her teeth, changing into a nightgown and settling comfortably into bed. Maybe with the aid of a sleeping pill—but would she be willing to knock herself out so that she might not hear her phone ring?

Yes. If she already knew where Sicily was. If her anxiety was only for herself.

He went to the porch and rang the bell, hearing the deep tolls inside. There was no stir of activity. He rang again. Swearing, Mike circled the garage and found a side window. Of course it was dark inside, but he stood patiently waiting until his eyes gradually adjusted enough for him to see that the small space was empty. Goddamn. Where had she gone?

He went back to his Tahoe and sat with the door open so the overhead light was on. He snatched his cell phone from his belt, then had to flip open the notebook he carried to find her number.

She answered on the third ring, her voice quick and eager. “Yes?”

“Where the hell are you?” he growled.

“Detective Ryan? Did you find anything out?”

“No. What I want to know is why you aren’t home.”

The silence was long enough he began to wonder if the call had been dropped, or she’d ended it. But finally she said, “You came back to see if I was there.”

He could have lied and told her he’d come back to check up on her because he was worried about her. He didn’t. “Yes.”

“I’m not.”

“I figured that out.”

“How?”

“Your car isn’t in the garage.”

Another pool of silence fell, but he didn’t make the mistake this time of thinking she wasn’t there. This time he could feel her, all of that tension stretched quivering and tight beneath the surface.

“I’m at the park.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t do nothing but sit there. I’d have gone crazy. Knowing that no one was looking for her…” Beth’s voice cracked.

“It’s pitch-dark!”

“I brought a flashlight,” she said defensively.

“How long have you been there?”

“I left not that long after you did.”

He slammed his door and turned the key in the ignition with a jerk. The engine had barely roared to life before he gunned away from the curb. “You thought you’d find her in the dark when twenty trained search-and-rescue personnel couldn’t find her in daylight.”

“No.” She said it so softly he strained to hear. “But I had to try. I didn’t today, you know, not once…after everyone else started looking. All I did was sit there and wait. I can’t do that anymore.”

Pity joined the anger and frustration crowding him. He could imagine all too easily how she felt. If she were sincere and this wasn’t all an act for his benefit. If she were actually at the park at all.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“Um…on the beach. I keep thinking she could have fallen and been knocked out. And now it’s dark. If she woke up and it was completely dark…”

Something in her voice told him she wasn’t entirely talking about the missing child. “Darkness can be comforting,” he said. “It can hide you.” He didn’t even know why he said that.

“Yes.” She sounded calmer. “I know that. You’re right.”

“Are you ready to come home?”

“No. I feel better being here.”

He growled an obscenity under his breath, but she must have heard because she said stiffly, “It’s my choice. The park isn’t closed. I can answer the phone here, as well as at home. I can’t sleep anyway.”

“She’s not there, Ms. Greenway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I think we both know that.”

“No! No, we don’t. And if I want to keep looking for her, that’s my business. If you need to talk to me in the morning, you know where to find me.” She ended the call.

He reached the freeway and got on. Traffic was sparse at this time of night, so he’d make good time. Once he’d maneuvered into the inside lane and was pushing the speed limit, he hit redial on his phone. She didn’t answer.

* * *

THE NIGHT WAS SO QUIET, SHE heard the powerful engine when a vehicle pulled into the parking lot up above. Beth knew who it was. For a moment, guilt squeezed her throat, but it subsided when she remembered that he was here not out of concern for her, but because he thought…what? That she was taking dinner to Sicily, wherever she’d stowed her? Was visiting the grave? Who knew? He’d already have seen her car, which confirmed that she was here. That didn’t mean she had to go to meet him. He’d never find her if she didn’t want him to.

Which would be childish and completely ridiculous. She should reassure him and send him on his way. Maybe even give up and go home, if that would allow him to go home, too.

His voice roared from up above, “Ms. Greenway? Beth?”

“Down here,” she called, but felt the night swallow up her too-small voice. She tried again, cupping her hands. “Down here.”

It took her some scrambling to get back to the beach proper. She’d had this image of Sicily having fallen down the bluff, bouncing off a driftwood log, ending up wedged behind it and hidden by some of the shrubby growth that had taken root in the red soil of the bluff. The whole time, she knew her search was futile. Of course, others had looked in the same places today. Probably over and over.

The sweep of a powerful beam of light and the crunch of beach pebbles heralded his arrival. “Beth?”

“Right here.” Suddenly exhausted, she wasn’t paying enough attention and her foot skidded on the last log as she scrambled over it. She teetered and fell, landing painfully on her hands and knees. Exactly, of course, at the moment the beam of light found her.

“Damn it,” he said, and reached her while she was still blinking back tears of pain. As angry as he sounded, his hands were gentle when he picked her up and set her down on the log. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

Determined to regain her dignity, Beth said, “Nothing permanent. I slipped, that’s all.” Blinded by his light, she couldn’t make out his face at all. Her own flashlight had fallen and gone out. She lifted an arm to protect her eyes. “Do you mind?”

The detective sighed and turned the light away from her. He found and picked up her flashlight, fiddled with it for a moment until it came back on and then switched it off before handing it to her.

She hurt, and was mad at herself. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say.

He sat down next to her and turned off his own flashlight. They sat quietly for a minute, the soft shush of small waves the only sound. It wasn’t really totally dark, either, not the way it might be on a cloudy night. The moon was only a quarter full, but the stars were bright. Beth found that to be comforting.

When I hid, I would have liked to be able to have seen the moon and stars.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said. “I’m all right.”

“You shouldn’t be here alone. Why didn’t you call someone if you were determined to come?”

She almost said, “Who?” But that sounded—and was—pathetic. And she did have friends, of a sort. It hadn’t occurred to her to call any of them. They weren’t those kinds of friends. If Rachel were still alive, if this were Beth’s daughter missing… No, she thought sadly, I wouldn’t have called Rachel, either. She’d failed her sister too devastatingly to expect her to feel any obligation.

“I met your parents.”

She was already tense; now she went rigid.

He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he continued, “I was a little surprised when your mother said she hadn’t seen Sicily since your sister’s funeral.”

Beth shrugged, guessing he’d feel the movement even though they weren’t touching.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“I told you we don’t have a good relationship.”

“But she’s their granddaughter.” His tone sharpened. “Or is it not them? Did you refuse to let them spend time with Sicily?”

“The issue hasn’t arisen.”

“But if it did?” he persisted.

“I suppose I’d let them see her,” she said slowly, reluctantly. “But not stay with them.”

“Why?”

She turned toward him and exclaimed, “What does this have to do with anything? You don’t have to know everything about us!”

“Yeah, I do. I never know what’s going to turn out to matter.”

“You don’t seriously think they stole her,” she said incredulously.

“Not now that I’ve met them, no, I don’t.” He sounded thoughtful. “Clearly that never crossed your mind.”

“Of course it didn’t.”

“As your mother pointed out, if they’d wanted Sicily they could have contested for custody.”

“No.” She had never in her life been so tired. She was afraid she sounded it. “They wouldn’t have won.”

Of course, he asked, “Why not?”

Some things she didn’t have to tell him. “Why would they? Rachel named me as guardian. I’m an upstanding citizen, a business and home owner.” She’d managed to inject a note of indignation. “I’m the logical age to raise a child. I live in one of the best school districts in the state. What grounds could they have used to persuade a court they’d do better than I can?”

Beth ached from holding herself so rigid. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that she’d been evasive.

“All good points.” He still sounded reflective. His mind was working, poking and prodding at her words, suspecting…something.

Turn this back to him, she thought. “Why are you here? Surely you don’t work around the clock.”

“Actually, I sometimes do when a case first breaks. With a homicide or a kidnapping, it’s best not to let people’s memories fade.”

She swallowed. “You really think…”

To her astonishment, his big hand found hers and engulfed it rather gently. “I do think.”

Fear swooped over her like a bald eagle descending on a tiny, cowering field mouse, so swift and black she couldn’t have done anything to save her life. The fear was even greater than her terrible sense of guilt.

“Nothing to say?” Detective Ryan’s hand was still gentle, but his voice had turned cold. “If you know something…”

She wrenched her hand free and stood up. “I don’t know anything,” she said, and turned to march down the beach toward the trailhead.

He fell into step beside her. He turned on his flashlight to light the way up the trail. Even so, she stumbled a couple of times. Before they reached the parking lot, he had a firm hand under her elbow to steady her. He steered her to the passenger side of his SUV. She tried to pull away.

“No,” he said, “You’re in no shape to drive. I’m taking you home. I’ll pick you up in the morning and bring you back to the park.”

“There’s no reason…”

“There’s every reason.” Now he sounded impatient, and she clamped her mouth shut. It was true that her head was swimming and her knees wanted to buckle. She felt ashamed of how desperately she wanted to curl up in her own bed and close her eyes.

Beth didn’t last that long. They hadn’t been on their way five minutes when she listed sideways in the big bucket seat, thinking, It won’t hurt anything if I rest my head against the door frame.

The next thing she knew, he was shaking her awake.

CHAPTER FOUR

KNEES TO HER CHEST, SICILY LAY curled on her side. The mattress was on the floor of the small, mostly bare room, and she clutched the too-thin comforter around her. Positioned so that she was looking at the door, scared and miserable, she waited. There wasn’t anything else she could do.

Practically the minute he—whoever he was—had left her alone, she’d leaped to her feet, wanting desperately to throw herself at the door and hammer at it. She was bewildered and terrified and her head hurt and she wanted Aunt Beth.

Thinking about Aunt Beth was what had stopped her. She was so different from Mom. Aunt Beth was always dignified and careful. She was super organized and thoughtful. You could tell she wouldn’t do impulsive or dumb things. If she were here, she’d stay cool.

I can, too. Even if my head does hurt.

Sicily had already figured out that she was more like Aunt Beth than Mom. That comforted her a little. After all the stuff Mom had told her about Grandma, Sicily had always hated the idea that she might be anything like her. But it was okay to be like Aunt Beth.

So instead of sobbing or screaming or anything useless like that, she inched carefully off the mattress and explored, shuffling her feet forward and holding her hands out in front of her. She’d never been anywhere that was utterly black. That was one of the scariest parts of all.

She hadn’t encountered anything until her hands flattened on a wall. It was just a regular wall, she thought at first, until she felt downward and came to a shelf that was really rough, and discovered that the bottom half of the wall was cold and rough, too. Concrete. Okay, that made sense, if she was in a basement. She and Mom had lived in a basement apartment in Portland for a year. It was dank and mold kept growing in the shower and it had only little tiny windows high on the wall. Sicily had hated it.

She groped her way around the room, hoping she didn’t touch anything really gross, like a big spider or a cockroach. She hated cockroaches. She reached a corner and discovered that this wall didn’t have the concrete part. So it must be an inside wall. Partway along it, she came to the door. It was cold to the touch and felt different from the way her bedroom doors had always felt. That was because it was metal, she realized, and fear stabbed at her. Why would somebody put this kind of door on a bedroom unless it was to keep someone prisoner? She stood there for a minute, breathing hard, trying to picture her aunt’s face, always calm, no matter what.

Aunt Beth would be looking for her. Of course she would be. Even though Sicily wasn’t sure she’d actually wanted a kid.

But that doesn’t matter. She’ll still look. Because…because I saw the look on her face at the funeral when she put her arm around me, stared hard at Grandma and said, “Sicily will be living with me.” Just like that. No question. As if saying, “Don’t argue with me, because there’s no point.”

Reassured, Sicily calmed her breathing and wrapped her hand around the knob. It turned, but nothing else happened. So there must be a dead-bolt lock, like Aunt Beth had on her front door—except doors usually locked from the inside. But Sicily hadn’t expected to be able to just walk out. After a moment, she slid her hand along the wall. The light switch was always right next to the door, right?