Page 43 of The Midnight Garden

It’s a selfie of Hope, her face raised to the camera as Brandon squishes his lips to her cheek. A locket with a glittering diamond center rests delicately in the hollow of Hope’s throat. It looks expensive.

My mother’s office chair creaks as I lean back and interlace my fingers over my eyes.

Vicky claimed Ashley gave her ring to Maeve, that Maeve never asked or demanded payment. But if I learned anything from my years in LA, surrounded by people who were always trying to get something from me, there’s a lot more to a hustle than what’s said out loud.

Getting closer to Hope as she gets closer to Maeve could help me figure out what Maeve’s really after. It could help me understand why my mom left—and what might convince her to come back.

It could also blur a line I need to keep bold and defined if my plan is to leave.

I do what I should have done the moment Delilah told me my mother had gone off the grid. I call a private investigator who movedto the East Coast after he got tired of being paid to watch my agent’s ex-wife.

He answers just as I’m about to hang up.

“Hey, Will. What’s up?”

I look down at the receiver in my hand. The caller ID should have displayed “Kingsette Inn.” “How’d you know it was me? I never told you where I’m from.”

“Aah, it’s my job to know, don’t you know?” He makes a clicking sound, like he’s pushing a hard candy against his teeth. “I assume this isn’t a social call, so ...”

“Right. I need your help.” I explain about my mom, Maeve, and the voice mail claiming she needed to get in touch with herself. “Something’s not sitting right.”

“So, what’s the job? You want me to find your mom or look into Maeve?”

I hoped to have that question answered for myself too. “My mom. She—I just need to know where she went.”

“You got it. As long as I get paid, it’s all the same to me.” Knuckles cracking join the clicking sound his mouth is making. “Send me copies of your last exchanged messages, bank statements, credit card bills, anything like that.”

“She hasn’t used her credit card since she went off grid.”

“What about bank statements? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Yes, but ...” My mind trips over the question. “No. There are some discrepancies with the Inn’s accounts, but that’s not ... my mother wouldn’t take the money for herself like that. Not from the business.”

She loved the Inn more than anything. Growing up, it felt like keeping the Inn going was the most important thing in the world. More important than her happiness—our happiness.

“People do strange things when it comes to money. You’d be surprised how many family members steal from each other.”

Terry’s accusation darts into my thoughts, and the instinct to bat it away makes me dizzy. The private investigator asks a few more questions that I distractedly answer, and then he tells me he’ll be in touch.

“Wait, before you go ...” I stand and rub the back of my neck with my hand. “I just wanted to ask your advice.”

“Okay,” he says, drawing out theo. I can almost hear his eyebrows rising.

“Just ... it’s for a new show I’m working on about addicts. What would you ...? How would someone, a regular guy, let’s say, find someone who’s on a bender? What would you do first?”

He breathes a laugh. “A new show, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Can’t be stuck in small-town life forever.”

“I hear that,” he says and sighs. “I guess, if I’m a regular guy ... the first thing I’d do is try local bars, the seedier the better. If not, maybe the police station or hospital.”

“Hospital?” My mouth goes dry.

“That’s how these stories go, my friend. Unless you’re trying to dream up a surprise ending.”

My finger hovers over the hospital’s phone number lit up on my cell phone.

Press call.

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