Mariah Stewart - Cry Mercy

“I ran a search for all the students, faculty, and former students back three years whose initials are D.S.,” Debra told her. “There are twenty-two names.”

Emme scanned the lists.

“Debra, this is perfect.” She smiled at the girl. “You'd make a good cop.”

“Thanks.” The girl beamed, evidently pleased at having done something that might help find her roommate. “I wish I could do more.”

“I wish she'd have left something behind to guide us. Her computer would have been nice. I wish she hadn't taken it with her.”

“Uh-uh, she didn't take it.”

“Chief Dietrich thinks she did.”

“Nope.” Debra shook her head.

“Are you positive?”

“It was on her desk when I got up. That was around ten thirty. The cover was open, but the screen was dark, like it had gone into suspend mode? She used to do that all the time, turn it on and then forget and leave. I always told her she was lucky I wasn't a nosy person because I could read her email when she wasn't looking. Didn't seem to bother her, though”-Debra shrugged-“because she did it all the time.”

“The police are under the impression that she took it. Why would they think that?”

“When they asked me if I knew where it was, I said no. It had been on her desk earlier in the morning but it wasn't there later. I guess they just assumed that I meant she'd taken it. Maybe she did come back later and pick it up-who knows?”

“What do you think the chances of that are?”

“Probably not so good,” Debra admitted.

“So if it was still there after she left, and she didn't come back for it, what happened to it? Where is it?”

Debra shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Did you notice anyone in the house that day… someone who didn't belong here?”

“I was out all afternoon. There was a big basketball game and a bunch of us walked down to the gym together. After the game, we stopped in town for dinner so we didn't get back here till around eight thirty or so. Then we all got changed and went to a party, so I wasn't around much.”

“Did you notice if the laptop was there when you came back after dinner?”

“I didn't. I'm sorry.”

“I guess it's too much to hope you lock your doors when you leave?”

Debra blushed. “I didn't think about it. We almost never lock the door unless we're both leaving for the entire weekend.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Do you think someone came in and stole it?”

“I'd say that's as good a guess as any.” Unless it sprouted legs and walked out on its own . “How many ways in and out of the house are there?”

“There's the front door here, and the terrace door around the corner.” Debra pointed to the left side of the house. “There's a door out back that goes into the kitchen, and one of those outside doors that go down to the basement.”

“Are any of the doors left unlocked during the day?”

“The front door, but I don't know about the others. I guess it depends on what's going on.”

“How about that Saturday? Anything going on that might have made it necessary to leave the doors unlocked?”

Debra thought it over for a moment. “I don't know.”

Emme stood. “Debra, if you think of anything-anything at all, doesn't matter how small or silly it might seem to you-get in touch, all right?”

“I will.” Debra stood also, and when Emme began to walk toward the steps, she followed along. “Do you think you'll find her, Ms. Caldwell? Do you think she's still alive?”

“I hope so.”

“So do I.” Debra corrected herself. “So do we… all of us. We all miss her, and we worry about her. We pray for her every night.”

“You just keep on doing that,” Emme told her as she turned to leave. “Every night until we find her…”

Nick had remained standing on the walk while Emme backed out of the parking spot. He'd walked her outside mostly to satisfy his curiosity about her ride.

He'd figured her for a turn-of-the-century smallish sedan that had good gas mileage but not much under the hood. He permitted himself a smug smile as he watched her drive off in her 2001 Honda. That had been way too easy a call.

A pity. A woman that beautiful should be behind the wheel of something with more style, something small and zippy-maybe a Z or a Saab convertible. Then again, she hadn't seemed too interested in cars. Didn't know a classic Porsche when she saw one, but then again, to be fair, how many people did?

The understated sedan fit her to a T in some ways. She'd been pretty understated herself-rich, reddish hair pulled back in a simple elastic, and not much makeup, even on her eyes, which seemed to be where most women wore the most color. Her eyes had been the first thing he'd noticed about her. They were green-not almost green, but green-green-and flecked with gold. She had skin fair enough to burn if too long unprotected from the sun, he'd noticed that, too, and small hands that seemed to be moving all the time. An image flashed across his mind, Emme handing him the photocopy from Belinda's datebook. No rings on either hand. He was surprised that he hadn't picked up on that at the time. His fingers toyed with her business card. He knew he'd be calling her.

After she'd left, Nick had gone back to work and tried to keep his focus on the Porsche, but he was distracted thinking about the boxes of Belinda's belongings that had arrived at the farmhouse in Liberty Creek when the new semester had started. Back in February, the housemother had called with concern, but the bottom line was that she felt it would be better for everyone-especially Belinda's roommate-if his niece's things were removed from the sorority house. If he trusted her to pack for him, she would be happy to do that, and would she like him to ship them directly to his house. Her way of making sure it was done and done soon, he'd thought at the time. He'd opted to have everything sent to the farmhouse, since his place was small and he had no intention of unpacking her things and putting them away. The cartons could sit out there until she came back for them… or not. He'd given little thought to the call until Herb Sanders, whose property bordered the old Perone farm, left him a message saying that a whole lot of boxes had been delivered to the back porch and he'd put them in the barn for safekeeping. That had been sometime in March, Nick recalled. He'd kept telling himself that Belinda would be back and she could see to her own things, but that had proven to be just so much wishful thinking.

Nick rubbed a smear of grease from the back of his hand and turned off the spotlight he'd trained on the engine. It had been months since he'd been to Liberty Creek. Today was as good a day as any to go back.

The drive through the Maryland countryside was an uneven one, here an acre-sized lot sporting a trailer, there a breeding farm of thoroughbred horses or a herd of bison, then suddenly, a small town would appear as if by magic, like Brigadoon. It was only a forty-five-minute drive, but Liberty Creek was worlds away from Khoury's Ford.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone there without Belinda. Upon her mother's death, the property had passed to her. It suddenly occurred to him that if the worst had happened to his niece-he could not bring himself to even think the words If Belinda was dead -the farm would be his.

That was a sobering thought.

Not that Nick hadn't wanted it-he had. Still did, if he were to be honest with himself. He'd spent the happiest days of his life there when his grandparents were alive. There were a lot of surprised faces around Liberty Creek when it became known that Wendy, not Nick, had inherited the property. Back then-ten years ago, now-Nick hadn't minded. All he'd really wanted was his grandfather's garages and what they held. As long as he had those-and he did-Wendy and Belinda were welcome to the house and all the property that went with it.