Page 6 of The Making of Marnie Jones

She sipped her shake.

“You don’t mind crying infants in the library?”

“We’re available to help all members of the community, no matter their circumstances. Loriana handles the babies.”

Interesting.

And something he’d love to delve into, but he needed to deal with a more pressing matter.

Olivia.

Focus.

“Where was I…?” He struggled, then latched on to their previous discussion topic. “Olivia dropped out of school a few months ago, and she and Lydia disappeared. Suddenly she showed up at the police station, trying to get her mother sprung. When it didn't happen, she walked out.” Briefly he closed his eyes. “Marnie, that was a week ago. She hasn't been home, and I can’t find her.”

A sharp noise rang out through the diner as a pan or something crashed to the floor in the kitchen.

Marnie jumped, her gaze darting around the restaurant. After a moment, when she seemed calmer, she met his stare and took a deep breath. “Did you tryhishouse?”

“Why would she—”

“Because it's all she knows.”

Chapter three

Momentsafterthatlittlebombshell dropped, Sarabeth returned with their food.

Marnie picked at her fries dispassionately as she half-listened to Jake talking to someone on the phone. Probably the cops. She popped her second-to-last fry in her mouth as he ended the call. “Police?”

“No. Just someone I trust.”

“You don't trust the police?”

He eyed his food as if it was a foreign substance. His sharp gaze came back to her. “I trust the police. Just, they can't hold her. They can't keep her safe.”

“And your friend can?” She shook her head, trying not to roll her eyes. “You obviously don't get this.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Then explain it to me, please. Why would she go back to that house of horrors? They’ve boarded it up and are planning to tear it down.”

Her hamburger—the best in town, and her biweekly cholesterol treat—lost its appeal, thanks to the man across from her. Or maybe it was the situation. “You have to look at it from Olivia's perspective. That building was her—” She waved her hands in the air. “—home, for lack of a better word, for those four years.”

“Didyouever go back?”

“No.” Sharp. Resonant. Definitive. She winced inwardly at her outburst. “But at times it tempted me. Jake, there's no logic to it.” He wasn't eating either, so she took a tentative bite. Oh good, it was still warm enough to be palatable.

He took the hint and followed her lead.

The silence wasn't exactly companionable, but neither was it uncomfortable.

Sarabeth removed their plates, and they were declining dessert when Jake's phone rang.

He scanned the screen. “I have to take this.”

She gestured her assent, and began to drink the remainder of her milkshake. The look on his face stopped her mid-sip. Strain in his voice was palpable, and a chill crawled slowly up her spine.

Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. The color fled from his golden-hued skin, leaving him a pasty white.

If ever there was the embodiment of pain—this was it.

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