Gabriel takes me by the shoulders. “Honey, we need to move on, to?—”
The sound of glass exploding somewhere in the house cuts him off mid-sentence, and Coco barks sharply. She skids across the hardwood as she races from the kitchen toward whatever caused the crash.
Gabriel and I freeze, staring at each other before snapping into action.
My bare feet slap against the floor as I race toward the guest bathroom. Behind me, Gabriel’s heavier footsteps thunder down the hall.
“Judy!” His voice cracks from Sadie’s room only moments later.
My body is stiff as I walk through the door with a cardboard sign that readswelcome to the mermaid room, in Sadie’s handwriting.
The moment I step over the threshold, the midday sun catches on something glittering across the peach carpet, hundreds of glass fragments winking like stars. A fist-sized rock lies in the center.
A breeze comes through the jagged hole where the glass used to be, carrying the clear scent of salt and sunscreen into the room.
My throat closes as I crouch down, fingers hovering over the red letters on the stone that smell faintly of what I think is nail polish.
STOP.
NINE
I stand in the middle of my daughter’s room, glass shards glinting around the sharp rock.
S-T-O-P.
I repeat the word in my head, letter by letter, the way I used to make Sadie spell hard words when she was little, with the help of alphabet flashcards.
Two things crystallize with terrifying clarity.
Staring at the rock, a horrifying thought lands and I turn to Gabriel, tears welling up in my eyes. Whoever sent me the photo wants to send another message.
“What if Sadie really didn’t drown?” I say to my husband. “What if she…what if she somehow survived but the current carried her far from the camp’s shore?”
“What are you saying?” Gabriel picks Coco up and carries her out the door, closing it so she does not get near the broken glass.
“Gabriel, I think our daughter was washed up on shore and someone found her…kept her.” I let out a loud sob. “And now they want money from us. That’s why they sent that photo.”
A sick twist tightens in my stomach. What if the person I thought was watching me is the kidnapper or someone workingwith them? What if he was waiting to see how far I would go to get answers?
“But they didn’t ask for money,” Gabriel says, approaching the rock.
“Not yet. I think this is just the start, a test, and they plan to send another photo, making their demands. They waited,” I whisper. “They waited until the press died down. Until people stopped looking.”
Gabriel stares at me for a long moment, something troubled flickering in his eyes, before he bends to grab the rock, and I shout for him to stop.
“Don’t! What are you doing?” I snap.
“We need to get rid of this.” His fingers are a few inches from the rock. His voice is clipped, decisive, the way it always is when he’s already made up his mind.
I grab his wrist, feeling his pulse hammer against my thumb. “That’s evidence. You can’t touch it. You’ll contaminate it.”
He stares at me. “What do you mean? What do you want us to do with it?”
“This is a crime, Gabriel. What we have to do is call the police and they will decide what to do.”
I turn and head for the kitchen, where my phone is in my handbag on the counter. “I’m calling them now.”
Before I can dial, Gabriel’s fingers close around my wrist. He yanks me toward him, the motion so sudden I release a sharp breath.
