Page 58 of The Perfect Divorce

“What’s your take, Sheriff?”

“Most obvious and simple explanation would be that someone came in to rob it, not expecting anyone to still be here. There was a struggle, chaos ensued, someone got hurt, maybe she stabbed the perp with a pair of scissors...” I walk around the overturned chair, careful not to track through any of the blood. Set on top of the cabinet beneath the smashed mirror is a straight razor. The blade is stained red. “Or a razor. Then whoever was hurt fled out the back.” I continue scanning the salon, not fully believing my own explanation.

“That’s what I figured,” Nagel says.

I scratch my chin. “This wasn’t a burglary gone wrong though.”

“You think?”

“I know. If it were, Carissa would be here—or at least her body would.”

“Maybe whoever did this took her,” Nagel posits.

“Burglary to abduction is a big leap, and they didn’t even take her purse or cell phone.”

“So, you’re thinking it was an abduction?”

“Possibly. What do we know about Carissa?”

Lieutenant Nagel doesn’t reply right away, so it’s clear we know nothing yet. “Put out an APB on her and pull a background check. Assign a couple patrol deputies to talk to her friends, coworkers, and any family she has. See if there’re any working security cameras in this shopping strip, and if there are, have a deputy start reviewing the footage. And I want lab results from the scene expedited, so we can figure out exactly what we’re dealing with here.”

“Yes, sir,” Nagel says. “Want me to pull in BCI?”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, may as well.”

“What’d I miss?” Olson calls out. I turn to find her sidestepping over broken glass and snapping on a pair of latex gloves as she surveys the scene.

“Possible abduction.”

Her brows shove together. “Another one? Think they’re related?”

“Who knows? It’s just one thing after another,” I say, shaking my head.

Stevens is dead, murdered by God knows who. Stacy Howard is missing by possible abduction. And now, we have another missing woman. Plus, I’ve got the Kelly Summers case being jammed down my throat by the public and the media.

Something catches my eye at the check-in desk. The entire place is turned upside down, but on the counter sits the appointment ledger, untouched, in its rightful place. I walk to it, skimming over the list of appointments from the past week until I reach the very last one from yesterday evening at eight p.m.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I say.

“What? What is it?” Olson asks.

“You’re never going to believe who had the last appointment yesterday.”

Nagel and Olson exchange a confused look and then meet my gaze.

“Bob Miller.”

THIRTY-TWO

SARAH MORGAN

The knife slices through the meat like butter, blood pooling from the middle of it. I stab my fork into the severed hunk and bring the piece of steak to my mouth, chewing it slowly to savor the flavor.

Bob sits across from me, sawing his steak into several smaller bites. He spikes his fork into a piece of meat and dunks it into his mashed potatoes before shoving it into his gullet. A heaping bowl of mac and cheese is positioned in front of Summer, who sits to my left. I made it especially for her because it’s her favorite. Steak and mashed potatoes are Bob’s favorite. And the Paso Robles Cabernet heavily poured in my and Bob’s glasses is my favorite. I figured since the topic of conversation wouldn’t be enjoyable for any of us, at least the food and drink would be. It’s a last supper of sorts for our family because Bob and I are finally going to tell Summer about our divorce—before things get any worse than they already are.

“How was your day at school, sweetie?” I ask.

“Good... but not as good as this mac and cheese,” she says with a mouth full of food. I’d tell her to mind her manners but now isn’t the time.

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