If she were alive, her grandmother would be sorely disappointed in Peyton’s actions. In the three years of silence she’d allowed between herself and Lilia. She owed it to her cousin to see if Sandra had information that could help them. “But I don’t have a choice, so let’s get it done.”
She reached for the door before she could talk herself out of it. Then paused. “Thanks for coming with me, Dawson. I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”
His mouth turned up into an endearing smile. “Does that mean you’ll stop arguing with me?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
His chuckle followed her out of the vehicle. The grass clawed at her boots, and the frigid wind whipped her hair. She paused long enough to grab the bag of groceries they’d stopped to buy along the way before heading for the trailer. Dawson followed a step behind.
The door to the trailer opened. Sandra stepped out, wearing a tattered bathrobe and two different slippers. Time and alcohol had ravaged her. She looked waif-thin, with deep hollows beneath her cheekbones. She clutched a mug in one hand. Sympathy stirred in Peyton despite everything. She knew her aunt suffered from addiction, that she needed help, but Sandra had abused the many opportunities offered to her. To make matters worse, she was a mean drunk. Even now, her watery eyes narrowed with calculation and nastiness.
“Look at what the cat dragged in.” Sandra’s voice was rough, as if she’d been smoking a pack of cigarettes for breakfast. “I must’ve won the lottery or something if Princess Peyton is here slumming it with the likes of me.”
She ignored the insult. “Hi, Aunt Sandra.” Peyton shifted the grocery sack. “We brought food. Mind if we come inside? I need to speak to you. It’s important.”
“Food, huh? What kind?”
Peyton listed a few items. Sandra's expression soured with obvious disappointment. “You didn't bring anything to drink, did you?”
“There's orange juice in the bag.”
Sandra scoffed. “That's not what I meant, and you know it.” Her gaze slid to Dawson, sizing him up before dismissing him and focusing back on Peyton. She sniffed. “At least Lilia knew how to show up properly.”
The implication stung. Lilia had bought her mother's attention with bottles and cigarettes for years. It was something Peyton and her cousin had argued about most bitterly. Enabling Sandra wasn't love. It was surrender. But standing on this rotting porch with her aunt's bloodshot eyes boring into her, Peyton understood the temptation. It would’ve been so much easier.
“I’ve got food and coffee,” Peyton said evenly. “And questions about your daughter. Can we come in? It’s freezing out here.”
“Suit yourself.”
She led the way inside. Dimly lit, the interior of the trailer was barely warmer than the outdoors. Threadbare carpet covered the living room, ending at the torn linoleum floor in the kitchen. A roach the size of her thumb scampered down the hall toward the closed bedroom door. Peyton shuddered. She struggled to find a clean spot on the counter to place the groceries among the empty bottles of booze and takeaway cartons. Moldy dishes sat in dirty dishwater. She nearly gagged.
“Give it to me.” Dawson tugged the bag from Peyton’s hand. His voice was low and non-judgmental. “Go talk to your aunt.”
Embarrassment heated the back of her neck. Dawson understood her aunt’s troubles, but it was still humiliating for him to see it firsthand. Especially after the warmth and happiness of his own family’s kitchen. Unable to meet his gaze, she fished out a ready-made sandwich before heading into the living room.
Sandra had settled herself on a broken recliner, a cigarette already in hand. A half-empty bottle of cheap bourbon rested on the coffee table. She gestured to it. “Pour me a drink, Princess Peyton. Might as well make yourself useful while you’re here.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” She offered the sandwich. “You might feel better if you eat something.”
“I’m fine.” Sandra grabbed the sandwich and tossed it on the table before grabbing the bourbon bottle. The liquid sloshed into her broken mug. “You always were a judgy thing. You think I don’t feel it? Your disgust. You always thought you were better than me and my daughter. And I told Lilia so time and time again.”
Peyton ignored the attempt to get a rise out of her. It was an old argument. She was tempted to continue standing for their discussion, but decided against it, perching instead on the stained couch. “When was the last time you saw Lilia?”
The sound of running water punctuated her question. Likely Dawson doing the dishes. Peyton had been wise enough to add some cleaning supplies to the grocery order. She wanted to tell him to stop—that it wasn’t necessary—but didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with it.
Sandra took a long sip of her drink before puffing away on her cigarette. “It’s been a minute.” She eyed Peyton with suspicion. “Is she in some kind of trouble? Them other cops came here, asking me the same question. Tried to trick me into talkin’ to ‘em by telling me my girl was missing.”
“She is missing.” Peyton planted her hands on her knees. “She called me two days ago. Said she was in trouble and begged me to meet her. When I arrived, I heard her scream. I was attacked. Shot at. The two men who came at me escaped, and we don’t know where Lilia is.” She looked at her aunt, letting all the urgency and worry plaguing her seep into her voice. “She’s in danger, and Aunt Sandra, I need your help to find her.”
Sandra blinked, as if her brain were processing the news slowly through the haze of alcohol. Then her mouth curled into a sneer. “You’re lying.”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
“Unless you were looking to arrest my Lilia and throw her in jail for something.” Sandra jabbed her cigarette toward Peyton, and ashes tumbled to the nasty carpet. “You can’t trick me.”
“This isn’t a trick!” Peyton’s voice rose as the hold on her temper snapped. She closed her eyes, frustrated with herself. Her aunt needed compassion, but she made it so difficult. Peyton silently asked the Lord for patience and then focused back on Sandra. “This isn’t a game. Or a lie. I’m deadly serious. Lilia’s life is in danger, and if you love her at all, then you’ll stop giving me the run around and start talking.”
Her tone was sharp and unyielding, and there must’ve been something in her expression that convinced Sandra, because her gray complexion paled. Peyton nodded, as if confirming her aunt’s silent question. “Now, I’ll ask again, when was the last time you saw Lilia?”
