Janice Johnson - Making Her Way Home

“I was aware of that. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” Rowena murmured.

“Did you know that your daughter Rachel intended for her sister to raise Sicily in the event she herself was unable to?”

“No, we did not,” Rowena said crisply. “I’m sure it goes without saying that we would have welcomed our only grandchild into our home.”

Funny how sure he was that she hadn’t cared one way or another. Mike couldn’t remember meeting a chillier pair of people. Certainly explained Beth’s ice-princess mode.

Laurence made a sharp gesture with one hand. “We’ve been more than patient. Why the questions?”

“Beth took Sicily to the beach today. Just before midday, your granddaughter disappeared. Search-and-rescue volunteers turned up no sign of her at the park. We must now consider the possibility that she was abducted.”

After a pause, during which both looked startled, Laurence snorted. “I suppose we can expect a ransom call then.”

Mike raised his eyebrows.

“Well, why else would anyone want her?”

“Unfortunately, men who abduct young girls are most often sexual predators.”

“Do you have any reason to suspect such a thing, or are you merely trying to alarm us?”

Mike schooled his expression with an effort. No wonder both daughters had apparently been estranged from their parents. “I wouldn’t think I’d have to alarm you,” he said mildly. “The fact that Sicily has been missing for eleven hours now seems to speak for itself.”

“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.