Which meant, of course, that she hadn’t gone straight home. What was she doing on the west side? Was she looking for something? Or someone? My book felt heavy in my purse.
Pullman continued. “She was out and about for a while, it seems. Yet her bike was at your father’s house when we arrived on the scene.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning shedidmake it back home. And later than we thought. So it’s more likely something happened to her there. And it really tightens the window ofwhen. The events of the evening are all feeling a lot closer to when your father got off work …”
“He’s herfather,” I snapped. “He would never.”
“You wrote an entire book making the case for a father killing his own daughter,” Pullman reminded me.
I was at the end of my patience. I’d spent a decade defending Will to the entire world; I was not going to sit here and do the same for my father. Our family had been through enough already.
I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, letting the metal chair scrape across the floor as I stood up.
“I’d like to discuss a few more things with you. I am just trying to help—”
I cut him off. “Am I under arrest or am I able to leave freely?” Walter Durham had spent the first month he worked with Will and me on appeals making sure we knew what to say if we ever needed to speak to the cops again. But this was the first time I’d had to actually use one of those phrases.
“Rose …” Pullman said my name gently, as if I were a friend. “Your sister has been missing for over forty-eight hours. No one has found anything. Don’t you think it’s time we take a closer look at those around her?”
I ignored him and reached for the heavy door handle, pleased to find it wasn’t locked. I wrenched it open and let it slam behind me. I didn’t wait to see if Pullman followed me. I was moving so quickly I almost didn’t notice my mother in the lobby. She was still sitting in one of the chairs, clutching at her Michael Kors bag. Her eyes were red and wet again, but the rest of her face was blank. The moment I walked out, she stood and approached me.
“Are you finished?” she asked frantically, her eyes darting back to the hallway where Detective Pullman now hovered, watching us.
“Oh, I’m done,” I said, following her sight. She lowered her voice. “Your father is still in there with Detective Newbury.” I could tell from her tone that she was unnerved.
“Did they ask you about Dad?” I whispered.
The look she was giving me confirmed the answer. It was different from the way she had looked at me these past few days. The usual fierceness was there in her dark blue eyes, but it wasn’t directed toward me anymore.
She shook her head. “Not here.” She looked at the cops lingering around us. “Are you hungry? Maybe we should get some pancakes.”
I wasn’t hungry, plus it was 7 p.m. and a really weird time for pancakes, but I wanted to hear what she had to say.
“Sure,” I agreed. “Let’s do it.”
16
Denny’s was one of the few places in town that hadn’t been remodeled yet. My mother and I sat in a worn, red leather booth that I remembered from so many late nights in my youth. We ordered pancakes and coffee, then sat in silence.
“Mom,” I said, finally. “What are we doing here?”
She took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about what the detective said. Privately.” She spoke quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear. “Detective Pullman seems to be convinced that your sister …” Her eyes welled with tears. “Well, that something very bad has happened to her.” I watched a tear slide down her cheek. She was straining to keep it all in. I couldn’t help but feel pity. She had said and done a lot of things over the years I didn’t agree with, but at her core, she was a mother who was missing her child.
“I know,” I told her, my defenses melting a bit.
“He said that to you too?” she asked, moving her wrinkled hand across her cheek.
“Yes. And I told him to eat shit.” I knew she didn’t like my language but this time she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she took a sip of coffee. I noticed that her hand was shaking.
“I don’t want to believe it,” she said, her voice cracking. “But your father and I are starting to worry that she isn’t coming back.”
“It’s only been a couple of days.”
She nodded. “I know that, and I am hoping and praying to god that this is all some big misunderstanding and she’s on her way home, but I also need to be realistic. I need to be prepared, unlike last time. I saw what the Hopelys went through, and what happened to us … and that willnothappen to me again.”
“So you think someone killed her?” My lip starting to tremble despite my protests. I didn’t want to cry. Not in a Denny’s. Not in front of her.
