Page 27 of Until the Sea Runs Dry

Three months.

How could someone disappear for three months with there being no sign of them?

A shiver ran down her spine. Suddenly cold, she curled herself closer to Loki. He squirmed, making sounds of delight, leaving the shoe alone for a moment as he attacked her face with kisses. She hugged him close, taking comfort from the simple act of having him near. He went back to his shoe, chewing it as if it were the tastiest thing he’d ever eaten.

She clicked on Megan Brown from Pittsburgh.

Megan was happily married with two young children and a stay-at-home mom. By all accounts, she was the kind of woman that other mothers wanted to be. Megan kept a beautiful home, was a devoted wife and patient mother, who was loved by everyone who knew her.

After dropping her kids off at school, she went to get her daily groceries, but her husband never heard from her again. They found her car across state lines a day later with signs of a struggle inside. Despite a thorough investigation, police had no clue what had happened, or where she had gotten to.

Megan had been gone over eight months.

Jane’s stomach started to churn.

On and on she read through stories of numerous women who disappeared one day only to never be seen again. She read through each name carefully and studied the photographs until their faces seared into her mind.

She read until her eyes grew tired, and the churning in her stomach turned into a growl.

By now Loki was upside down and fast asleep. His bright pink tongue hung out of the corner of his mouth. Every now and then, his oversized paws paddled the air, but he didn’t wake.

Carefully, so that she wouldn’t disturb him, she carried him to the sofa where she set him onto a wool throw, arranging the cushions around him so he wouldn’t fall off if he were to startle awake.

Moving into the kitchen that overlooked the living area, she took in the butler sink and a giant gas stove set into a strategically placed island. A large bowl of fruit of seemingly every type sat on the island, as well as a basket of fresh bread beside another stunning flower display.

She opened the fridge to find it stocked completely with food. The bottom drawer contained a wide variety of meat and fish, from wagyu steaks, to fresh caught tuna. There was even a lobster if she felt so inclined.

She didn’t — much of what she was seeing seemed far too rich and fussy. She moved to the crisper with its rainbow of vegetables. There was a shelf of deli meats and cheeses, tomatoes and peppers marinating in garlic oil, and a row of fresh, cold-pressed juices.

And those were only the raw ingredients.

There were also two full shelves of ready meals, but she didn’t recognize the label: it looked as if the meals had been freshly prepared by a chef. The range was extraordinary.

Behind her, there was a wine rack filled with quality picks.

Her stomach rumbled again, not as impressed with the array of food on display as she was. Nice as the choices were, she only wanted something very simple. She decided on eggs.

Quick, simple, fast.

She thought it a sensible choice. Considering that she wasn’t sure if she even knew how to cook, it seemed the best option.

Finding a cast-iron pan, she set it on the stove to heat as she cracked open an egg into a bowl before she had to stop.

What kind of eggs did she like?

Guess there was no time like the present to find out.

Breaking two eggs into a bowl, she whisked it up while a knob of butter melted in the pan. She scrambled the eggs quickly and assuredly. Just before they were cooked through, she took them off the heat and let the heat of the pan finish the eggs. Without bothering to dish it up, she ate a forkful, then another.

While the eggs were cooked very well — they were soft and creamy, still glistening with moistness — she wanted to see if there was another style she liked better.

Dumping the rest of the uneaten scrambled eggs onto a plate, she rinsed the pan and started again. She made a plain omelet while she set a pot to boil.

She liked the omelet much less than the scrambled eggs.

When the water was ready, she whisked the water until a whirlpool formed in the water. Then she dropped in an egg as the swirling water wrapped the wispy strands of egg around itself until the poached egg was done. Next, she tried frying eggs over easy, medium, and hard. When they were done, she hard boiled another.

By the time she was finished, the counter was covered with ten styles of egg.

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