Page 52 of The Vanishing Wife

“My mom. She found me.” A sniff enunciated those words. “I told her everything, about the bookstore and the photos. I showed her the messages. She must’ve saved them on her phone to keep the proof. But I was scared he might really kill me. That he would try to come after me again. So I deleted my social media accounts, and I made her promise not to go to the police. She begged me to change my mind, but she didn’t want to risk it either.”

“What did your mom say?” Leigh asked.

“That I shouldn’t worry.” Ava finally locked her gaze with Leigh’s, and a semblance of control returned in the girl’s expression. “That she was going to take care of it.”

Had Elyse followed through? Leigh’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, and she pulled it free from her blazer. Detective Moore. She answered. “Were you able to track down Samuel Thornton’s sister?”

“Not yet,” the detective said. “There’s been a development with Saige Fuentes.”

Leigh almost didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to have to tell Ava a friend she’d known for years had been added to the tally of ones she’d never see again. “What kind of development?”

“Saige is alive.” Detective Moore let that sink in for a moment. “She just walked through her mother’s front door.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Monday, September 23

1:17 p.m.

The Fuentes home looked a little worse for wear.

More dishes in the sink, on the table, uneaten food clinging to the plates. Takeout containers. Laundry unfolded and scattered across the back of the couch. As though Annalea Fuentes had frozen in the middle of putting away her youngest’s clothes. Evidence of a trauma rippling through the family home over the past two days.

Except Saige Fuentes was now sitting in the middle of it.

Detective Moore took the lead, notebook in hand. “Saige, can you tell us where you’ve been for the past two days?”

“I’m not exactly sure where. It was dark. Hot.” The perfectly plucked and shaped eyebrows Leigh had coveted from recent photos around the house weren’t so perfect anymore. A laceration cut through the left. The right no longer held down by styling product and left to fan out. Textured hair frizzed from the crown of her head to the ends. More wavy now than curly. There was an exhaustion Leigh couldn’t even begin to sympathize with in the girl’s eyes. Like she’d witnessed an entire lifetime of bad things that couldn’t be taken back. “I remember before.”

“Are all these questions really necessary?” Annalea Fuentes kept a tight hold on her daughter, obviously afraid for her fifteen-year-old to be taken from her again. “Look at her. Saige needs to see a doctor. She’s been through enough.”

“We have one en route. We thought Saige would be more comfortable here for the vaginal exam than in the hospital emergency room.” Leigh had insisted. To ensure the evidence wasn’t washed away this time, though she couldn’t fault Ava for wanting to forget the nightmare she’d survived. Ever. But more than 60 percent of the sexual assaults in the United States went unreported. Leading to guilt, worthlessness, depression. Suicide. She didn’t want that for Saige.

“Vaginal exam?” Annalea Fuentes’s gaze ping-ponged between Leigh and Detective Moore. Her half-hearted laugh didn’t reach her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Annalea, you’re aware both Poppy Slater and Ruby Davis were abducted and murdered. We’ve recently learned their killer also sexually assaulted them before their deaths.” Detective Moore’s voice indicated she’d reached a point in this investigation where she couldn’t get the puzzle together fast enough. For relief. For justice. For something real to hold on to. But in Leigh’s experience that kind of dissociative behavior would only lead to more mistakes. “In addition to another girl in their friend group.”

“Ava?” Saige’s spine stiffened straight. A sense of panic overwhelmed her expression, eyes wide, dry lips painfully cracked at the edges. “Wait. Is she okay?”

“My daughter wasn’t raped, Detective.” Annalea Fuentes framed both hands on Saige’s arms from behind, almost sitting her daughter taller in the process. Like a puppet who’d forgotten they were attached to a series of overhead strings. “She would’ve told me.”

“Saige?” Leigh watched for any change in the girl’s expression. For the shame or guilt or fear that’d plagued Ava on the bus. “Is that true?”

“Of course it’s true. She doesn’t lie to me,” Annalea Fuentes said.

Frustration slid past Leigh’s control. “Mrs. Fuentes, I’m sorry, but we’re going to need Saige to answer for herself.”

“I… don’t remember.” Saige swiped her palms down dirt-stained jeans with what looked like a new hole in one of the knees. Then again, holes were a hallmark of the current generation. The bigger and more widespread, the better. “My head is so fuzzy.”

Detective Moore shoved to her feet, tapping the end of her pen against her notebook. “Annalea, could I trouble you for a glass of lemonade in the kitchen? It would really help.”

“Right now?” Annalea Fuentes clutched on to her daughter even tighter.

“Yes, please.” The detective was biting her tongue. Or grinding her teeth. Leigh couldn’t tell save for the small muscles flexing and releasing in her jaw. “I’m feeling a little lightheaded is all.”

“Of course.” The mother patted Saige’s arm. “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

---