Page 6 of House of Lies

Sloshing milk into my bowl of cereal, I take my coffee cup and bowl into the living room, staring at the mess I made last night with a sinking feeling growing inside me.

The sorting’s been done, but now I have to force myself to throw away the junk, and find a place to store the things I want to keep.

I really wish I could afford a storage unit, but that will have to wait.

Setting my breakfast things down on the coffee table, I take a sip of my coffee and then go to pick up the trash that fell out of my mom’s purse organizer. Sunday mornings at the diner are busy, but I’ve tried to work three shifts in a row before and it’s never been worth it. No one tips a tired, cranky waitress. I’m due in for the lunch shift, but that gives me a few hours to sort this stuff out.

I thought the piece of paper was just scrap, but it has a row of holes on one side, torn through like she ripped it out of the Filofax.

“What the…?” I unfold it and stare at my mother’s neat handwriting.

7pm 4/11

E Remington

@ Glenmont

My mind goes back to the name in the black leather organizer. I hunt through the trash box until I find it, pull it out, flip it open.

E. Remington

There’s an address and a telephone number beneath the name, but nothing else. It could be anyone…but it has to be someone important. My mother was a homebody. After she discovered online shopping, she barely left the house.

This looks like an appointment with E. Remington, whoever the hell they are, but more importantly…it was scheduled the same night my mother disappeared.

My spine snaps straight. I shake the piece of paper, eyes wide.

“This is it.” It starts as a whisper, but my words grow louder as I realize what I’m holding in my hand. “This is it!”

I pause only long enough to slurp down enough coffee to burn the roof of my mouth, and then run to the front door where I dropped my bag. I fish out my cellphone and stab in the number from the Filofax, my fingers shaking.

My thumb goes into my mouth, and I nibble on my cuticle as I wait for the call to connect.

“The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try your call again. The number you have dialed is not?—”

I end the call, and spend a good few seconds double checking that I typed in the right number.

“The number you have dialed?—”

“Shit!” I tap the side of my phone against my collarbone, and then quickly open up Google Maps as I walk back to the coffee table for another sip of coffee. The app takes forever to load, so while I’m waiting I crunch on some cereal.

I use street view to zoom in on the building at the address in the Filofax’s entry under E. Remington.

Parker Realties

A real estate company?

I look up, staring at nothing as my brain processes.

Was she…was she planning to sell the house?

Not like we could afford to live there anymore.

I got kicked out just shy of six months after she went missing—coincidentally, the same week Detective Lewis informed me they’d given up hope of ever finding my mother.

Okay, he didn’t quite put it like that. He kept going on about ‘active cases’ and ‘cold cases’ and shit like that, but that’s what it boiled down to. No new leads in over three months, and no evidence to support any foul play.

According to the cops, Mom must have packed up her things and left. It didn’t matter how much I tried to convince them she wouldn’t do that to me. That she loved me.

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