Page 77 of Long Gone

I knocked on my mother’s back door, but when she didn’t answer, I turned the knob to go inside, surprised it was locked. Maybe she’d locked it when she saw Malcolm getting out of my car. I hadn’t brought my keys with me, and I considered going back up to get them, but I was half-worried Malcolm would already be naked, so instead, I found the fake rock my mother kept behind an azalea bush and dug out the spare key. The rock was an obvious fake, but the bush was dense enough to hide it.

“Mom?” I called out as I let myself in the back door. The house was quiet except for the tick-tock of her grandfather clock in the entryway. Where was she? Other than her occasional meetings, she was a homebody. Her car wasn’t parked in the driveway, but she always parked in the garage under my apartment.

I headed to the guest bath and took a quick shower, washing my hair with the shampoo my mother kept for guests. I smelled a lot more feminine than usual, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Especially if I stumbled across another dead body.

God forbid.

After I’d dried off, I realized my fatal mistake—I hadn’t brought a change of clothes. There was no way I was streaking across the backyard in a bath towel, even if it hadn’t been in the upper thirties and rainy. I wasn’t about to let Malcolm think I was trying to seduce him. Which left me with no choice but to search my mother’s closet for something to throw on.

I dug through my mother’s dresser drawers, looking for the joggers and top I’d seen her in weeks ago when she’d told me that Ava Peterman was missing. (I hadn’t seen her in them since.) They were in the third drawer I checked. As I started to put it on, minus underwear and a bra, I noticed that my mother’s closet door was open, and her suitcase was missing.

I wasn’t prone to snooping in my mother’s closet, but I’d had to get something for her a few weeks ago, and the suitcase had been in the bottom left corner. Now it was gone. So was she, it would seem.

After I snatched up my clothes from the bathroom floor, I dumped them in the washing machine and started a sanitize cycle, then headed out to the garage. My father had installed a keypad, so I entered the code—my mother’s birth month and date—and squatted to peek inside the garage as the door opened.

Her car was missing.

Where had she gone? Her parents were dead. She didn’t speak to her sister, and all of her friends—if you could call them that—were here in Jackson Creek.

I pulled out my phone and called my father.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he said, trying out a new nickname for me. As part of his attempt to make things right between us, he’d been trying out different terms of endearment. It was a sweet gesture and not totally unappreciated, but he had yet to settle on a nickname either of us really liked. “Ehh…” he said. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Harper,” I said. “You’ve called me that for thirty-six years, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“I heard you’re working a P.I. case for Mitch,” he said. “I didn’t know you got your license. We should have celebrated.”

Celebrating something that felt like it was ten steps below my previous job felt pathetic, but I kept that thought to myself. “No big deal, but back to why I’m calling?—”

“No big deal?” he protested. “Of course it’s a big deal.”

“You know what was a big deal, Dad?” I said, sounding snottier than I’d intended. “When I graduated from college. And the police academy, and then when I passed the detective test. Those were really big deals.”

He was silent for a long second and I felt like an ass. He’d already admitted that he’d fucked up—he’d admitted it multiple times—so why did I feel the need to keep bringing it up? “Dad, I’m sorry.” I rubbed my hand over my eyes to alleviate the burning. “That was uncalled for.”

“I disagree,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t around for any of that, and I know I screwed up. But you’re right. We should have celebrated all of those things. I’ve let you down in countless ways, Harper, and all I can say is I’m sorry, and I’m trying to do better.”

“I know you are,” I said, sagging against the door frame. “But again, there’s a reason I’m calling you in the middle of the day, and it’s not about the case I’m investigating.” I took a breath. “Do you know if Mom was planning on taking a trip?”

“A trip?” he laughed. “Your mother doesn’t travel. I used to practically have to force her.”

“Well, her suitcase and her car are gone.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I hadn’t seen her for a few days. I hadn’t noticed the lights on in the house, but I’d been coming home after she usually goes to bed, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“No. I thought you should.”

“Harper…”

“If I call her, she’ll be less likely to answer, and if I ask one of her friends, she’ll be pissed that I stirred up trouble.”

“Agreed.” He was silent for a moment. “Have you two been arguing?”

I snorted. “When aren’t we arguing? But I have to admit we’ve been getting along better than we usually do. She asked me to go to a historical society meeting during my lunch break a couple of days ago, but I had to cancel because Mitch gave me this case. I haven’t talked to her since.”

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