Page 31 of The Vanishing Wife

The woman pressing a tissue to her mouth and nose shook her head almost violently as she stood. She surrendered one hand to the detective like they were old friends. Judging on the first-name basis, Leigh guessed they were. Annalea Fuentes carried herself as a ballerina or an etiquette teacher might. Tall, straight as a pin. Thin shoulders and a dipped collarbone. “No. Nothing. I’ve called her, I’ve left voice messages and texted her. I even had Rick try to reach out. He hasn’t heard anything either. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Agent Brody, Annalea Fuentes. Saige’s mother.” Detective Moore motioned to Leigh as everyone took their seats on the matching overstuffed navy couches. “When was the last time you saw or heard from her?”

“Friday morning. I asked her to pick up Valentina from school that afternoon because I had to work late.” Annalea Fuentes clutched on to the tissue in her hand as if it would bring her daughter back through the door. “I got home around six, and I looked at my phone for the first time in a few hours. I had missed calls from the school. Valentina was still there. She’d been waiting in the office for her sister for hours.”

Movement caught Leigh’s attention from the next room over. A small thing. Hardly noticeable. But she made out the forehead and a set of great big brown eyes peeking out from behind the door frame of what looked like a sitting room. The younger sister, Leigh assumed. The girl couldn’t have been more than six, but an entire life lived in the somberness of her expression. She understood exactly what all this meant.

“I don’t understand. I didn’t get a truancy call from the high school. Saige must’ve been there for at least some part of the day.” Another shake of the head. Annalea leaned forward in her chair. “I called her at least a dozen times after getting Valentina from school. She never answered. I knew the police couldn’t do anything until she’d been gone twenty-four hours, so I kept trying to get a hold of her. I thought maybe she’d gone to a friend’s house, but none of the girls she hangs out with have seen her…” The tears took over again then.

Leigh returned her focus to the interview. “You said you had Rick, I’m assuming your husband, try to reach Saige?”

“Ex-husband.” Annalea Fuentes regained some semblance of control. Leigh imagined it was much harder than it looked. “Rick and I have been divorced for three years now. Ever since Saige found him passed out drunk here in the living room and couldn’t wake him up. I filed for divorce the next day. She thought she’d found her father dead. It gave her nightmares for months. It’s just us three here now.”

“Has Saige said anything about school recently? Any changes there?” Detective Moore’s voice softened slightly, revealing a whole other side to the woman who’d just begged Leigh find her niece’s killer. She felt for Annalea. Understood her on a visceral level she’d hoped she’d never understand someone, and Leigh’s heart hurt in response. Because she’d been there too. “Is there anyone she’s been seeing romantically?”

“You think she could be with a boy? No. No way. She would tell me, and she would never leave her sister like that.” Annalea Fuentes shook her head, instantly dismissive. “Besides, Saige doesn’t have time for a boyfriend. She barely has time for her friends. The only reason she and Ruby knew each other and spent so much time together is because of their AP classes. She would’ve told me if something was wrong or if she’d met someone.”

“Did you tell your parents everything when you were Saige’s age?” Leigh asked.

“Excuse me, who are you?” A flash of frustration burned across Annalea’s face.

“Agent Brody doesn’t mean any offense, Annalea. She has experience with this sort of thing.” Detective Moore secured both hands around a single one of the mother’s. “Anything you can tell us, any change in Saige’s behavior or grades, friendships, tastes—it all helps.”

Leigh wished she didn’t have experience in this arena. She wished there was a day she would be out of a job entirely. Then again, she wasn’t sure what else she would do with her life if crime suddenly stopped existing.

Annalea Fuentes took a deep breath of composure. “I don’t know what to tell you. Saige was just… Saige. I never have to worry about her because she’s usually the one worrying about us. Making sure to pack lunches in the morning, to get Valentina to school, doing her homework on time. I’m a single mother. I have to work in order to keep us in this house. I can’t be here all the time.” A fresh wave of tears streaked down the woman’s face. “But maybe if I had been, I would’ve seen something was wrong.”

“No. You are not at fault, Annalea. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Detective Moore caught Leigh’s gaze and motioned toward the rest of the house that way she did with her chin. “We’re going to do whatever it takes to bring her home to you.”

“Mrs. Fuentes, do you mind if I take a look at Saige’s room?” Leigh asked.

A sniff accentuated the grieving mother’s accent. “What for?”

“I’d like to get a sense of who your daughter was, her habits, her friends. Anything that might tell us where she would go if she were in trouble.” It was the small things—journals, interests, text messages—that provided the most information about a person. She needed all of it.

“Down the hall, last door on the right.” Annalea Fuentes made another pass beneath her nose with her tissue.

Detective Moore turned the mother’s focus back to her. “We’re going to get you through this. I give you my word.”

Leigh took the opportunity to peel herself out of the living room and follow the directions she’d been given. Valentina had vanished from her hiding spot, but a sense of being watched followed Leigh down the hall and into a room very much decorated by a teenager. Posters of LANY and Taylor Swift, clothes discarded in piles and over furniture, an unmade bed, and study books.

Shuffling let Leigh know she wasn’t alone, and she turned to find Valentina, the six-year-old sister in the doorway. “Hello.” She crouched to make herself smaller. She’d been told her entire life she was intimidating, most especially about the things she was passionate about: freeing innocent men from prison, protecting siblings who’d been abducted, exposing corruption, and Legos. But she didn’t want to scare anyone today. “We’re looking for your sister. Do you know where she might’ve gone? Or who she might be with?”

Valentina didn’t answer. But she didn’t ignore Leigh either. Crossing the room, she went to Saige’s dresser—the top drawer—and opened it. Then came back, a single item in hand. A photo. She handed it off.

“Thank you.” A sticky film outlined a rectangle across the top. Like it’d been stuck to a wall before hidden in a drawer. Out of sight from Annalea? Leigh studied a grouping of girls, mostly blurred due to poor photography. Wide smiles flashed brilliantly from the exposure. Bare midriffs paled in the glow, as did the half-empty bottle of vodka in Saige Fuentes’s hand.

But there was one shape that stood out from the rest.

The outline of a man, facing away from the camera. As if he hadn’t wanted to be photographed. His flannel work shirt and jeans wouldn’t help to identify him, but he was much older than the girls posing behind him. That much she could tell from the coarseness of his ear-length hair. Leigh pointed to the man. “Do you know who this is?”

Valentina shook her head. Then ran from the room. Like she’d given away a secret she promised not to ever reveal.

Leigh let herself take in the rest of the faces captured in a split second of time. Ruby Davis, Saige Fuentes, a girl she didn’t recognize. Then another she did. “Ava Portman.”

TWENTY-TWO

Gulf Shores, Alabama

---