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Olivia chews a hangnail. “The dress looks fine.”

“But does it make me look good?”

Charlotte’s vulnerability becomes more apparent as it navigates across the terrain of her cheekbones and jaw, softening her skin. She looks young for her age. She’s fifty-seven but can easily pass for midforties. Olivia sighs. “You look beautiful.” She can only hope she looks half as gorgeous as her mom at her age.

Charlotte turns back to the mirror. She adjusts the clasp on her belt, taking it in a notch. Her eyelashes dust her cheeks and she smooths the front of the dress, flattening the creases that formed during her drive here.

“What is it?” Olivia asks gently, sensing Charlotte’s mood shift. Is it sinking in she just met her grandson? Is she finally registering something could be seriously wrong with her youngest daughter? Olivia glances at the clock. She and Josh need to get going.

“I think your father’s cheating on me,” Charlotte whispers as if Josh can hear them from the kitchen.

Olivia yanks off the cuticle with her teeth. “What makes you think that?” Again. This isn’t the first time Charlotte has suspected Dwight’s having an affair. She grows edgier the longer he’s away. Olivia wonders as she always does why Charlotte hasn’t left him yet. They haven’t gotten along for years.

Her thumb stings. She kisses the tip and presses her tongue to the bead of blood.

“He’s not returning my calls.”

“It’s conference season. He’s busy,” she says, coming to her dad’s defense. “When is he due home?” Between clients and exhibiting, Dwight’s been on the road for over a month. Olivia had lunch with him the day before he left. When he’s not traveling, which isn’t often, they meet for lunch once a week. He’ll call her several times a week while on the road. He’ll probably call her today or tomorrow.

“The last time we talked he said this week. But he keeps changing the date on me.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s sleeping around.”

“But we didn’t have sex the last time he was home, and it’s not like I’m unattractive. I work hard and pay good money to look this nice at my age.”

Money they don’t have, Olivia notes.

Charlotte takes a breath. “Your father should appreciate what I do for us. I have a perfectly healthy libido, too. My vagina isn’t dry like Nancy’s. Did you know she has a subscription through Amazon for vaginal lube? It comes every two months, like clockwork. I wonder what she needs it for. It’s not like she’s hosting Tupperware parties for Magic Mike. Anyway.” She waves dismissively. “I have needs and your father’s been neglecting them.”

“God, Mom. Stop!” Olivia smashes her face in the pillow. That was way too much information. An image of Nancy and Bruce Merriweather getting it on in every room of their house shines overly bright in her mind.

Charlotte glances at her watch again. She gasps. “I have to go. Talk later?”

“Mom, Josh ...” She follows Charlotte out of the room.

Charlotte opens the front door and stops. She turns around and her eyes hold on to Olivia’s. Fear ripples through them before she blinks away the emotion. She grasps Olivia’s wrist and lowers her voice. “I’mworried about Lily, too. But don’t tell your father about Josh. He can’t know he’s here.”

Goose bumps speckle her arms. “Why not?”

“Please, Olivia. Don’t press me. Trust this is for the best.” Charlotte’s phone chimes. She checks the screen. “It’s Nancy. I have to take this. Hello, darling,” she says, walking to the car. “I chose the St.John. Yes, it’s stunning, perfect for brunch. You’ll love it.”

CHAPTER 13

“I need to report someone missing,” Olivia tells the clerk at the police station an hour after Charlotte rushed off to brunch. After Charlotte’s announcement, she debated following her mom outside. Olivia and Dwight are close. He calls her at least a couple times a week. He takes her to lunch on Thursdays when he’s not traveling. How’s she supposed to keep him from finding out about Josh? More so, why?

With any luck, she won’t have to worry about it. Josh will be back with Lily before Dwight returns. Olivia doesn’t know if Lily is missing or dead, but she can’t spare the time and wait for her sister to make an appearance.

“Adult or child?” the man with the short-sleeve dress shirt buttoned to the collar asks. He barely looks up from the paperwork fanned across his desk.

“Adult. A woman. My sister.”

“How long has she been missing?”

“At least thirty-six hours.”

“Name?”

“Lily Carson. She’s thirty. No.” Olivia calculates on her fingers. “Twenty-nine years old.”

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