“To tell you the truth, she’s been staying with us for the last little while. And I was afraid to leave her at the house alone.” Claire sighed. “I just don’t understand her. I always thought raising boys was harder. But Hope’s been a challenge since she turned twelve.”
Claire was a mother of three, two young adult sons and an eight-year-old daughter, Rosie. She was my go-to for parenting advice for my own daughter, Julie, so it surprised me to hear her sound so frustrated.
“I had really hoped that alternative school Ellen found might turn Hope around. But she’s nineteen now, and graduated, barely.” Claire described the special school her cousin had sent Hope to, in one of the towns east of Orinda, after some kind of trouble she’d had in regular classes. More behavioral than academic. To be honest, the “alternative school” sounded more like a boot camp.
“I seriously worry what’s next for her. But I guess I’ll worry about that at another time. Because there’re too many people here to let them see me cry.” Claire used a napkin from the table towipe her eyes and blow her nose. Without another word, she stood up and strolled into the crowd.
A few minutes later, I spotted a tall man I didn’t recognize. He was startlingly good-looking. His longish brown hair and dark eyes gave him a rugged vibe. I noticed a faded scar that ran down the left side of his face. Somehow it made him even more attractive. I couldn’t explain it.
Who is this, and why is he at Claire’s party?I wondered. My cop’s curiosity got the better of me. I went over to the man and introduced myself.
He pocketed his iPhone, took my hand, and shook it. “I’m Eric Snaff,” he said with a weak smile.
“How do you know Claire?” This caught him by surprise. Eric didn’t seem to recognize Claire’s name.
He said, “I’m afraid I don’t really know her. I’ve sort of crashed this party because I need to talk to Cindy Thomas, the reporter from theSan Francisco Chronicle,and I heard she’d be here. I’ll scoot out of here as soon as I speak to her.”
I sensed his embarrassment and appreciated his honesty. “She’s around here somewhere,” I said. I scanned the floor, then saw Cindy’s curly blond head across the room. She was chatting with one of the college-aged waitresses.Probably listening to the girl’s life story and offering encouragement,I thought.
To be on the safe side, I decided to walk the good-looking stranger over to my friend, and I stood by while Eric introduced himself.
Eric said, “I’m so sorry to intrude. I went to theChroniclelooking for you and happened to overhear two people saying that you were at Susie’s Café. I don’t think they meant for me to hear that.”
Cindy looked a little frustrated. “What is it I can help you with, Mr. Snaff?”
“I have a story I’d like you to investigate and write. An incredible story.”
“I’m sure your story will be just as incredible in the morning.” Cindy glanced around at the partygoers, locating her husband, Rich Conklin, then back at Eric Snaff. “This is hardly the time or place. You’d have to make an appointment and come by my office.”
Eric looked crestfallen. He nodded his head in an apology.
His response seemed to have gotten to Cindy. She sighed and said, “What’s the story about?”
“My seventeen-year-old daughter disappeared three months ago.”
CHAPTER2
I WOKE UPearly, with a slight headache. I refused to call it a hangover. Last night I’d had Joe drive us home because I was tipsy. But having a couple of drinks had never seemed to bother me before. I almosthopedI had the flu. No one likes to come to the realization that they can’t do everything they did when they were younger.
Joe was already out of bed. I glanced over to the corner of the room where Martha, my constant companion of many years, lay resting on a new dog bed our six-year-old daughter, Julie, had set up for her, thinking Martha could use a bed in every room of the apartment. This bed was just an old sheet over one of the couch cushions, but the geriatric border collie seemed to appreciate it.
Then I heard giggling from the kitchen. I looked at Martha and said, “What do you think those two nuts are up to?”
Martha’s tail flapped against the cushion. Then she got up gingerly and followed me to the kitchen, where we were greeted by a grinning little girl holding up a plate of misshapen pancakes, and a grown man with a goofy smile standing proudly behind her.
Julie was literally jumping up and down with excitement.“Mommy! We made these just for you.” Joe’s expression told me he didn’t expect me to eat the odd-shaped blobs on the plate. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“How did you know I wanted pancakes for breakfast?”
Julie’s grin was infectious. “Everyonewants pancakes for breakfast.”
It was hard to argue with someone who had a fact so firmly set.
The three of us sat in the kitchen eating pancakes bathed in syrup and chatting.
These were the moments I tried to savor. I love my job. I love helping people and stopping bad people from hurting others. But spending time with my family like this was the way I used to dream my life could be.
The problem was, I knew this would be the high point of my day. I looked at Julie’s beautiful face and imagined all the fun we’d have if I just blew off my job and stayed home today. Our relationship had grown tremendously since I’d started using some of the parenting tips I’d learned in therapy with my psychiatrist, Dr. Greene. He’d made me consider the idea that work wasn’t the only thing fulfilling to me—that it might even be keeping me from my best possible relationship with Julie.
