Margaret Daley - What Sarah Saw

“Why?” That meant spending even more time with Sam.

“We always made a good team,” Sam said.

They had worked well together until that last case, when everything fell apart. The one person she’d needed to read was Sam, and she had failed. But she’d have to help Sam in order to find her missing friend.

In less than a week her peaceful existence had shattered. Her past had walked right into her present, rousing memories of her time in New Orleans. The cold embedded even deeper into her bones. Would she never be rid of the feeling of being lost?

WITHOUT A TRACE: Will a young mother’s disappearance bring a bayou town together…or tear it apart?

What Sarah Saw—Margaret Daley January 2009

Framed!—Robin Caroll February 2009

Cold Case Murder—Shirlee McCoy March 2009

A Cloud of Suspicion—Patricia Davids April 2009

Deadly Competition—Roxanne Rustand May 2009

Her Last Chance—Terri Reed June 2009

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feels she has been blessed. She has been married more than thirty years to her husband, Mike, whom she met in college. He is a terrific support and her best friend. They have one son, Shaun. Margaret has been writing for many years and loves to tell a story. When she was a little girl, she would play with her dolls and make up stories about their lives. Now she writes these stories down. She especially enjoys weaving stories about families and how faith in God can sustain a person when things get tough. When she isn’t writing, she is fortunate to be a teacher for students with special needs. Margaret has taught for over twenty years and loves working with her students. She has also been a Special Olympics coach and participated in many sports with her students.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Margaret Daley for her contribution to the Without a Trace miniseries.

Exalt the Lord our God, and worship at his holy hill; for the Lord our God is holy.

—Psalms 99:9

To the other authors of the Without a Trace series:

Robin, Shirlee, Pat, Roxanne and Terri.

Y’all were wonderful to work with. Thanks!

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

A patrol car was parked on Main Street in front of Farley’s Pawn Shop. Approaching her office across the street, Dr. Jocelyn Gold shivered in the cool January air, remembering the same scene only five days before—when Earl Farley had been found dead, an apparent suicide, in his office right below his apartment on the second floor.

Was the sheriff’s department completing its investigation into Earl’s death? Sheriff Bradford Reed hadn’t been very supportive when Earl died, but then the Farleys didn’t belong to the elite of Loomis. After the deputy left, she’d call Leah, Earl’s wife, to offer to come over if she needed someone to talk to.

Jocelyn pushed her office door open and entered, hoping everything was all right with Leah, who had instantly renewed their friendship from high school when Jocelyn had returned to town nine months ago. Quickly, she crossed to the window and opened the blinds to allow sunlight to pour into the room. After being gone for two days to speak at a conference in New Orleans on counseling children who were victims of crime, she was accosted by the musty smell of the closed office.

The blinking light on her phone drew her attention. When she played her messages, Leah’s voice blared from the speaker. “Jocelyn, I need to see you. I’ve made a mess of everything. I’ll catch you when you get back tomorrow.”

Her neighbor’s frantic tone heightened Jocelyn’s concern. She placed a call to Leah’s apartment. What was going on? A new development in Earl’s death?

Please, Leah, pick up.

On the fifth ring a gruff-sounding man answered with, “Hello.”

The rough voice snatched any words from Jocelyn’s mind for a few seconds.

“Who’s this?” the man demanded.

She tightened her hand around the receiver. “Dr. Jocelyn Gold,” she said with as much authority as she could muster.

“Sheriff Reed. Why are you calling, Dr. Gold?”

“Leah’s a friend. What happened? Is she all right?”

“We don’t know. She’s disappeared.”

Jocelyn jerked up straight. “Disappeared? When? I saw her on Friday right before I left.” Her friend had urged her to go and speak at the conference, that she had Shelby and Clint to support her while Jocelyn was gone a couple days.

“She’s been gone hardly a day.”

“Foul play?”

“Don’t know. Her brother seems to think so.”

Jocelyn instantly thought of Leah’s three-year-old daughter. “Where’s Sarah?”

“Clint Herald has her.”

Leah’s brother had her daughter. Relief trembled through Jocelyn. “You might want to come listen to my recorder. She left me a message. She sounded frightened.”

“You’re at your office?”

Jocelyn sagged back against her oak desk, all energy draining from her. “Yes. I’ll be here catching up on some paperwork.”

“I’ll stop by after I’ve finished up here.”

Even after the sheriff hung up, Jocelyn held the phone to her ear for a few extra seconds. Where’s Leah? Is she okay? Does this have something to do with Earl taking his own life?

In spite of Leah’s urging, I shouldn’t have gone. If I had been here, maybe she wouldn’t be missing. I let her down.

She’d come back to Loomis to get away from crime. When she’d worked with the New Orleans police as a consultant dealing with traumatized children, the stress made her long for a more laid-back place to live and a job where she wasn’t bombarded constantly with the horrors people could inflict on children.

Memories she had previously refused to think about inundated her with the suddenness of a summer thunderstorm sweeping in from the Gulf of Mexico. She couldn’t hold them at bay. Legs quivering, she slid down the front of the desk to the hardwood floor.

I let someone else down and he died. Please don’t let it be happening again. A tear slipped from one eye and rolled down her cheek. She swiped it away, determined not to revisit her past. But the images of the lost child—and of her friend Leah—haunted her.

Several hours later, Jocelyn dropped her pen, her hand aching from writing up her clients’ notes in their files. Glancing toward the window, she saw the patrol car still in front of the pawnshop. She stood, stretching her arms above her and rolling her head to ease the tension in her neck.

A knock sounded and sent her whirling around toward the door. She stared at it, not moving an inch. This time someone pounded against the wood, prodding her forward. She hurried from her office into the reception area and peered out the peephole. The sight of Sam Pierce stunned her. She hadn’t seen him in months—not since she’d worked that child kidnapping in New Orleans with him. It hadn’t ended well, and they hadn’t parted on good terms.