Page 10 of Hidden Falls

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Harry met Lei and Marcella with a wave at the end of the driveway of a modest, older two-story home in a serene, pastoral area not far from Iao Valley. She’d stripped off her weapon, badge, and blazer, and was trimming a hedge with a pair of pruning shears when they arrived, the movements fast and jerky.

She walked ahead of them up the driveway; Harry carried herself like a cop, with a rangy stride and arms held away from her body so as not to catch on the typical accoutrements of a duty belt—a habit that, once gained, never entirely disappeared in Lei’s observation, whether or not those items were ever worn again.

“This is Special Agent Marcella Scott.” Lei gestured to Marcella after they exited the truck. “I worked with her back in the day, and we’ve been friends for years. She’s one of the Bureau’s finest.”

The women shook hands and appeared to be taking each other’s measure. “Lei tells me you’ve known each other a long time, too,” Marcella said.

“Yes, but we lost touch until I transferred to MPD,” Harry said. “But she was with me when I adopted Malia, so that’s a special connection.”

“Nice that you get to work together.”

“It’s been good, until now. Let’s go around the back,” Harry said. “My daughter Kylie doesn’t have COVID, thankfully, but she is sick, so I’d prefer if we stayed outside. She won’t be able to overhear that way either. My husband Peter will be joining us.”

“You know we’re going to have to search Malia’s room,” Lei said.

“Yes, I know. I’ve already been through it myself.” Harry led them around the side of the house to a weedy backyard that looked like it hadn’t been mowed in a while. A wooden picnic table butted up against a tiny back porch landing. “Let’s sit here.”

Peter Clark, a blond man with a nice smile and kind eyes, stuck his head out the back door of the house to address them. “Do you ladies need anything to drink before I come join you?”

“Some cold water, please,” Lei said. “We were just at the impound lot taking a look at Malia’s car. Thirsty work.”

Peter’s smile disappeared at the mention of his daughter’s car, and his head withdrew inside.

Harry rubbed her eyes as if they were gritty. “He didn’t take the news well. Thinks Malia’s disappearance has something to do with my work.”

“Well, it’s possible.” Lei made a gesture encompassing the weedy yard and rental house. “Pardon me for saying so, but your family isn’t a likely target for a ransom demand.”

“Obviously,” Harry said. “I’ve been racking my brain, but I don’t have any hot cases. Peter doesn’t, either. We’re coming up dry on motive.”

As if on cue, her husband appeared, carrying a tray loaded with four glasses of iced water. “Got to stay hydrated when under stress.”

“We’re so sorry for what your family’s going through.” Marcella rose to take the tray from him and set it down on the table. “Special Agent Marcella Scott. Thanks for the refreshment.”

“Glad the FBI is involved,” Peter said. “What can we do to help?”

“First of all, we need as much information as we can get on Malia’s friends, contacts, and especially anything related to her role as a confidential informant,” Lei said, after she’d taken a long sip from her glass of water. “I hadn’t met with her recently enough to know what she was currently working on. I’d wait to hear from her when she had something of interest.”

“Let me run inside and get you Malia’s laptop.” Harry hopped up and hurried into the house. Nervous energy vibrated around her like a force field; Lei’s teeth seemed to tingle with it when her friend was close.

Marcella took out a small device. “Mind if I record this? Saves time later.”

Peter smiled. “I’m an attorney. I know what it saves.”

“Do you refuse permission?” Marcella’s eyebrows rose.

“Of course not. I’m cooperating one hundred percent with any attempt to find my daughter.”

Harry came back out carrying a slim silver laptop and a yellow legal pad, and she handed the items over to Lei. “I wrote a list here of all of her friends that I can think of—she doesn’t have that many—and their contact numbers and those of their parents. This is her laptop. I already scrolled through her email; she was working on a post on Wallflower Diaries about a drug ring in the schools. She received some threats and hate mail she hadn’t told anyone about.”

“Is the laptop password-protected?”

“Malia had to keep me updated as part of our agreement that she could keep the blog going.” Harry tapped the yellow pad. “Her usernames and passwords are all here too.”

“What about her phone?”

“I wrote down the passcode to that, too.”

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