Page 89 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

A sin that couldn’t be forgotten and certainly not forgiven.

* * *

Fourteen hours on the road.

Charity had to give it up for the night.

She’d considered staying with her aunt, but thought better of it.

Too many questions that she didn’t want to answer.

Instead, she pulled into the parking lot of a no-tell motel just outside of Oakland and rented a room just as dawn was breaking and the heavyset woman in the small reception area was refilling the coffee pots. The receptionist looked like she could use a shot of caffeine herself, as she kept yawning while she worked, straightening the baskets of fake sugar and fake cream nestled by a row of paper cups, one filled with stir sticks. “Just a sec,” she called over her shoulder as Charity, overnight bag in hand, waited at a laminate faux-wood-grained counter.

The receptionist finished her job and said, “What can I do ya for?” in that folksy manner that irked Charity. She wondered if she should have called her aunt after all and suffered through all of the nosy, busybody questions she’d have to have answered as Aunt Maureen grilled her. “Why aren’t you married?” “Don’t you want children?” “Really, a job as an investigative reporter? In the middle of nowhere? Are you kidding me?”

 

; No, it was better to be here.

“I need a room,” she said. “For two nights . . . possibly three.”

“A double-double?” the receptionist asked and slipped on half-glasses as she started keying in the request on an aging computer.

“Sure. Whatever.” Charity was going to elaborate that it was just her, but held her tongue, signed in, and got the key for a room on the second floor that turned out to be just what she expected: two beds with garish spreads, matching curtains, a desk on which a small flat-screen TV was mounted, and a closet without a door. The bathroom was tiny, but clean enough. And there was Wi-Fi, which she didn’t trust, but she didn’t have to. She’d brought her own hot spot with her.

Weary as she was, she spent the next half hour unpacking, setting up her laptop, and creating a work area.

Satisfied, she thought about tumbling into bed, but her stomach was rumbling, so she went downstairs, out the front door, and across four lanes of traffic to a diner that advertised “fresh made” pies and an “all you can eat” buffet 24/7. It wasn’t much and basically gourmet-negative, but it would have to do. She grabbed a breakfast sandwich to go, brought it back to the hotel room, scarfed it down, then took a quick shower and tumbled into one of the sagging double beds to catch up on a few hours of sleep, after which she would start her investigation. She’d spent most of the trip south thinking about how to tackle the Cahill family and had decided to start by visiting Cahill House, the home for pregnant teens, then drive to the family estate. Once she’d cased the place, she would try to contact friends and acquaintances who knew James. After that, it was Megan’s turn. The missing woman’s mother still lived in the area.

So far, Lenora Travers hadn’t returned her calls.

No worries about that. Thanks to the Internet and Charity’s well-honed detective skills, she knew exactly where the woman lived. If Lenora didn’t return Charity’s phone message, then Charity would make certain they met face-to-face, which would probably be a lot better anyway. Emotions could be hidden in texts and on the phone, but it was much harder to conceal reactions when looking someone directly in the eye. And Charity considered herself a master at reading people.

But why and how would Megan’s mother be involved in her daughter’s disappearance?

It’s true it was not likely.

Still, she might be able to provide answers about the people Megan knew, the places she might hide, about ex-boyfriends and who would want to do Megan harm, a little insight into the missing woman. Maybe something to break the case wide open, courtesy of Charity Spritz. Oh, yes.

CHAPTER 25

December 6

What the hell was she still doing here?

It had been over a day since she’d had the interview with the police, and Rebecca had yet to leave Riggs Crossing. She’d spent a sleepless night staring at the clock, punching the pillow and wishing she could sleep, but memories of her sister kept creeping into her brain: Megan crying on the first day of kindergarten. Megan falling off her bike and scraping a knee. Megan getting caught smoking cigarettes in junior high. Megan’s first heartbreak when some kid in eighth grade dumped her, and then the incredible highs and deep lows of her high school years, the high drama that was forever a part of her life.

And then, of course, the betrayal of James Cahill.

Leave.

Everyone knows you’re trying to find Megan: The police. James. Even the stupid press. So let it go. Just leave. You’ve made your point and done all you need to do, all you can do.

So get the hell out.

You can’t help Megan.

God knows, you’ve tried.

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