Neighbors clustered on the sidewalk and across the street. So much for Rowan not wanting to wake them. They pointed at Rowan's house, covering their mouths in shock, dismay, and morbid curiosity.
Several officers strode up the sidewalk. A moment later, the doorbell rang.
Rowan disentangled herself from Chloe, glided to the foyer, and opened the front door. Three uniformed police officers entered, followed by a man and a woman in plainclothes. Theyspoke with Rowan at the door in hushed tones, then entered the living room.
"I'm Detective Judah King," the man said. "And this is my partner, Detective Sarah Callahan."
In his forties, Detective King was a mountain of a man. Dressed in a camel-colored overcoat, his broad shoulders filled the entryway, and his grizzled black beard and dark eyes carried an air of quiet authority.
The female detective was also in her forties, with her red hair cut short in a pixie style, a spray of freckles across her nose. There was a sharpness about her face, a canniness, like a fox.
Detective King spoke first. "We're so incredibly sorry for your loss. We're here to talk to you about your friend Leah and how she died, okay?"
Peyton and Zara seemed to shrink further into the sofa. Against the wall, Alexis stiffened. Chloe's eyes widened in trepidation. Whitney squeezed Peyton's shoulders. Mia didn’t move, her gaze on the detectives.
To my right, movement caught my eye. I glanced across the living room, through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan, to where a half-dozen police officers and a few EMTs milled in the backyard. Some officers wore PPE gear, including disposable suits with gloves and booties. One carried a medical bag with him. The medical examiner.
Several officers descended the bluff. Two of them carried a stretcher between them with a body bag on top of it.
My stomach lurched. Leah was still out there. On the bluff.
No, not Leah anymore, but a body.
Detective King turned toward the girls. His baritone voice was steady, measured. "About what happened last night?—"
"We were all sleeping!" Peyton burst out. "We don't know what happened. She was in her sleeping bag when we went to bed, and then when we woke up, she wasn't. That's all we know."
"She must've slipped and fallen," Chloe said through her tears. "She fell, and none of us saw it."
Callahan turned to Rowan. "May we look at the basement where the girls were sleeping? It's standard procedure."
Rowan nodded numbly. "Of course, officer. Anything we can do to help. Please go ahead."
Camille's head snapped up. She'd been staring at her daughter, Zara, with a distant, dazed look on her face. "You don't have to let them look, Rowan. In fact?—"
"It would just be a quick walk-through," Callahan said, "to gather Leah's things and see where she spent her time last night."
Camille opened her mouth to protest again, but Rowan waved a hand. "This was a horrible accident, nothing more. Vivienne and Daniel are our dear friends. Of course, we want to aid the police however we can. The stairs to the basement are down the hall to the left, off the living room."
Callahan and a male officer made their way to the hall and disappeared. King turned to the girls again.
Before he could ask another question, Rowan's front door burst open. A woman rushed inside, dressed in a long-sleeved nightgown with lacy frills at her wrists and collar. Her bare feet tracked grass and dirt inside Rowan's pristine foyer.
Vivienne Cho's whole body convulsed. Her jet-black hair, normally styled in a sleek bob to her chin, was in disarray around her head like a dark corona, her pupils blown with fear and panic.
Her frantic gaze swept the room, searching, desperate. "Where's Leah?" she cried. "Where's my baby?"
Chapter Three
Vivienne Cho sagged as if her body's internal structure had collapsed, and she could no longer hold herself upright. Rowan rushed forward and gripped Vivienne's arm to keep her on her feet.
"Where's Leah?" Vivienne screamed. "Take me to my baby! Please! Take me to her!"
Everyone watched in horrified silence as Detective King strode across the room and placed his hand gently upon Vivienne Cho's other arm. He leaned in and spoke gravely to her in soft, comforting tones, his head bowed.
"No, no, no!" Vivienne moaned as the detective and Rowan led her to the dining room and helped her sit down. Her face blanched. She kept shaking her head, denying the awful news that her beloved only child was dead.
She bent in on herself, clutching her stomach. Her petite frame trembled violently as Rowan rubbed soothing circles on her back. A low broken sound escaped Vivienne's throat, a keening cry of strangled grief, the sound of an animal caught in a trap.
