Page 51 of Last Seen
“We were at Joe’s last night. Playing pool.”
The nurse—her name badge says “Triss”—smiles conspiratorially and stage-whispers, “Might be the margarita flu.”
“It might,” Halley agrees. “We let loose.”
“She usually calls, though. She’s very responsible.”
“I’ll swing by her place on my way out of town, see if I can roust her. Have a good day. Don’t let my dad give you any hell. He’s pretty fired up right now.”
“I won’t. He’s a good guy. You should listen to him.”
Halley frowns. “You were eavesdropping?”
“Not on purpose, y’all were shouting. He’s been pretty stoned, Halley. He talks to us like we’re you sometimes. He’s mentioned your mom. How she died. I’m really sorry. That must be hard.”
Halley shoves her hands into her jeans pockets, protecting, withdrawing. She’s not ready to discuss her mom with strangers. “Thanks. I’m not sure how I feel yet. What else has he said?”
“Nothing much, just that he’s worried about you. Like, really worried.”
“I can take care of myself.”
The nurse smiles. “Of course you can. But he’s your dad. He only wants what’s best for you.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” Halley flees before the nurse can push it further. She’s getting really tired of everyone trying to protect her. No one can possibly understand how this feels. The terror, the flashbacks, the sorrow. She’s losing everything, and it’s too much.
Leaving the hospital, she’s tempted to call Theo but reminds herself they are separated, and besides, he’s on a plane to Texas and will be out of touch until the case is wrapped. Being married to someone who gets sent off at a moment’s notice to any number of dangerous places and situations has always been hard for her to swallow. It was something they talked about in the beginning, before she took the job at NISL, the stable job, instead of one of the alphabet agencies, because she knew their relationship wouldn’t stand the constant fractures of never having a regular schedule. Never knowing if the other will be home for dinner? What state, or country, they’re in at any given time? She has friends who were in these situations—med school and military, two different agencies with separate deployments—and the strain on their relationships was palpable, and eventually, broke them. If a long-term situation is going to work, eventually, someone has to give up and holddown the fort. Usually the woman, since she’s in charge of birthing and raising the kids. And Halley made those decisions happily, not expecting him to give up his career to raise a family. Of course, then it all backfired on her. A few missed dinners seems like nothing in comparison to what she did for him.
There it is, that spark of anger at the situation.Don’t forget why you left, Halley. It was about more than the babies. It was about everything you gave up for him, too.
The Jeep is a good road trip car. She puts on some music as she winds down the mountain. It’s not a complicated drive. Over to I-81, then straight down to the Tennessee border, turn east when she hits Bristol. Brockville is an hour off the highway, in a valley not unlike the one she’s driving into now at the base of her own mountain.
She has to pass Kater’s house to get to the highway; it’s right at the crossroads. West, you head into Jasper. East, the highway. The rain is letting up as she reaches the drive. It used to be Kater’s grandmother’s place; she left it to Kater, who moved in after she passed. It’s a sweet little cedar shake saltbox with flower boxes in the windows and black shutters. A white picket fence. She parks the Jeep, walks to the front door, rings the bell.
No answer.
She walks to the back through a tidy garden, pink azaleas in bloom, grateful for the flagstone path. It’s muddy out here after the storm. Kater’s car is in the carport, and Halley shakes her head in rueful amusement. She can’t imagine Kater being so hungover that she couldn’t get up and go to work, but clearly she’s still zonked out. She glances in the car as she passes, just to be safe. Nothing.
The back door has a glass-panel inset with a curtain over the bottom half, so she has to get on tiptoes to look over it. It opens into the kitchen, and there’s a mess. Kater’s purse is on the table.
Halley pulls out her phone and calls. Hears the phone ring, ring, ring. It’s in the purse; the brown leather is shimmying on the table.She waits for Kater to come, bleary eyed, to the table to retrieve it, but nothing. There is no movement.
She puts her hand on the knob, and it turns easily. She steps into the silent kitchen.
“Kater?” she calls loudly. “You in here?” Nothing. She moves farther into the house. “Kater?”
The living room has an open book on the couch and an afghan wadded up. A half-full glass of water sits on the side table.
Halley gets the strange sense that she’s walked into a scene interrupted. It seems Kater came home, threw her stuff on the table, grabbed some water, and curled up on the couch to read. A normal night, probably. Says she wasn’t too drunk to drive home and settle in with a book, so that’s good. But something feels off.
She calls down the hallway. All the doors are closed. This is a small house: kitchen, living room, two bedrooms that face the front driveway, and a bath at the end of the hallway. She opens the first door. Nothing. The second. This is Kater’s bedroom, and it looks like a bomb went off. No Kater.
The bathroom door is shut, but she can hear water running. Halley feels a chill, but knocks. “Kater?” No reply. She tries the knob. The door opens. The water in the sink is turned on. Kater’s neon-pink toothbrush lies in the sink, the water rushing over it frantically. The small bathroom is empty.
Halley carefully turns off the water. Now she’s really starting to freak out. Something is very wrong. Her analytical, forensically trained brain says, “Photograph and catalog.” She doesn’t have a camera, and her notebook is in the car.
The second voice says, “Call the police.”
So she does. She backs out of the house, stopping at the kitchen door to look closely at the lock. There are scratches in the paint by the brass plate. Someone forced the lock. Heart pounding, she calls 9-1-1.
