Strangers in the Night Page 5

  Emma nodded. “She shows me pictures and we say prayers every night. But you don’t look like the picture.”

  “Emma, shush.” Sending her sister an apologetic look, she added, “We look at pictures of you, Nana and Papa, and Tim almost every night and we pray for all of you.” Looking at Skye now, Abbie wondered if God had answered any of those prayers.

  Pops slipped by them and climbed the steps to the porch, where he picked up two of the suitcases. “I should help him.” Abbie released her sister and grabbed one of the bags.

  Once the suitcases had been set in the rooms that Emma and Abbie would occupy, everyone gathered in the living room, a large, light-filled room that looked over the sand, rocks, and the ocean beyond. The tide was in, coming almost to the base of the hill upon which the house stood. The décor was simple and beachy, with nearly all the pictures depicting the sea. One of them Abbie recognized as a painting she had done while in college. The walls were painted in light aquamarine and peach and seemed to bring the outdoors inside. There were a few too many decorations and knickknacks—lighthouses, salt and pepper shakers—for Abbie’s taste. She supposed her mother’s tendency to collect came from living so many years without a real home.

  Skye had settled herself in a hammock that hung from the ceiling. With blankets wrapped around her, she looked to Abbie like she was in a cocoon.

  Emma sat cross-legged beside her, rocking a baby doll and cooing, “It’s all right, baby. Mommy’s got you. It’s going to be okay.”

  Tears sprang into Abbie’s eyes. But she caught them and whisked them away with a tissue she fished out of her pocket. Her first instinct was to pick up her little girl and reassure her, knowing that when Emma loved on her doll, it was often because she herself felt frightened or insecure. But Emma was dealing well with whatever fears she had at the moment. Abbie would talk to her later.

  Abbie had so often said those very words to Emma—especially after they left Iowa. A curtain of guilt shrouded her as she remembered how brokenhearted Emma had been. She’d loved her grandma and grandpa Campbell and her uncle Daniel. Abbie had taken back her child, but in the process she’d stolen relationships that might have been.

  Lord, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt Emma. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

  Abbie pushed the guilt aside, knowing there’d be no going back and knowing she’d do the same thing again if she had to. She turned her mind toward the here and now.

  “How’s that coffee coming, love?” Pops sank into a huge leather recliner that went with nothing in the room, yet strangely went with everything. It sat directly in front of the television set, with other chairs of lesser import arranged in a horseshoe shape. From each chair, one had a view of the water as well as the television.

  Abbie moseyed into the kitchen, which was an extension of the living room, only at a slightly higher level so one could watch the sea while cooking. A long breakfast bar/counter separated the two areas.

  “What can I do to help you, Mom?”

  “I’m almost done.” Carlene pulled forward a cookie jar, from which she selected about a dozen cookies. “Oatmeal chocolate chip. Your grandmother used to make them for us all the time, remember?”

  Abbie nodded. Grandma Olsen lived in a retirement home nearby. “How is Grandma?”

  “Feisty as ever.” Carlene arranged the cookies on the plate. “You’ll see her soon. She comes to the house and bakes for me at least once a week. How do you want your coffee—still taking a little coffee in your cream and sugar?”

  Abbie chuckled at the old joke. “I’m down to two spoons of cream and one sugar cube.”

  Carlene lifted the cream from the tray and handed it, along with a cup, to Abbie. “I’ll let you fix your own and then you can bring the tray. I’ll take the cookies. My arm is acting up.”

  “Probably from carrying Emma. She’s not a baby anymore.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Guilt struck at Abbie again. She’d stolen time with Emma away from her parents as well. Maybe coming back would repair the damage.

  Unless Leah takes Emma and I go to jail.

  Stop it. She couldn’t let herself think that way. Jake had promised her it would work out in her favor. She had to believe that. Abbie poured herself some coffee, added the cream and sugar. After a couple of stirs, she placed it on the tray and joined the others in the living room.

  Abbie served her father first, then Skye, thinking it should be the other way around. Pops wouldn’t have minded in the least, but that was how things were done. Emma scooted over to the coffee table where Abbie set her fruit drink and cookie.

  Carlene picked up her own mug and settled into a cushioned rocking chair, which sat parallel to her husband’s. Abbie imagined them sitting there in the evenings watching their favorite television shows. She picked up her cup and took a chair between her mother and Skye.

  Once they had their goodies, the room fell silent until Pops asked about the trip and how things were in Grand Forks. Did she like it there? Had she and Jake had a good trip?

  Abbie answered each question in turn, wishing she could ask a few questions of her own. The family tiptoed around the issues that had brought them all together and they did it quite well. Years of practice, Abbie supposed. For now it was a good thing. Emma didn’t need to hear about their problems.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Abs.” Skye managed a smile, though it seemed to hurt her mouth.

  “I am too.” Abbie patted her sister’s bony hand then tore her gaze from Skye’s gaunt face to her cream-diluted coffee.

  How are you? Are you eating? Have you stopped drinking and taking drugs? Are you dying? All questions Abbie wanted to ask but didn’t.

  “So”—Mom eased out of the awkward silence—”how is Margie?”

  “Good. She says to tell you hello. I think our being with her these last couple of years has been good for her. For both of us.” Abbie smiled. “She has a friend, Charlie, and I think they’re pretty close to being a couple.”

  Another silence.

  “Did Jake take you to see the property on your way into town?” Pops asked as he lifted his hand-thrown pottery mug to his lips.

  “No. He thought about it, but we both agreed it would be better to wait. I wanted to settle in here and he…” She frowned. “His partner seems to be missing.”

  Her mom perked up. “Barbara?”

  Abbie nodded. “He’s been trying to reach her for days. But she’s not returning his calls. I don’t suppose either of you have seen her?”

  “As a matter of fact, we have. Jake had already left for Iowa and we wanted to see the property again. “ Pops smiled. “We’re still pinching ourselves. Doesn’t seem possible we could find such a great place.”

  “Barbara was kind enough to take us out there.” Her mother pursed her lips. “She seemed fine. Said she wanted to go anyway— something about having another look.”

  “The last time we saw her was when we’d finished looking around. She got in her car and followed us out to the highway.” Pops frowned. “She’s a nice lady, sure hope she’s okay.”

  “Do you remember what day that was? Jake says he hasn’t heard from her since the twenty-sixth of May.”

  “It was before that,” Mom said. “The twenty-fifth.”

  Abbie made a mental note to let Jake know about Barbara’s visit to Cold Creek. She couldn’t help but wonder if that visit had had something to do with the Realtor’s disappearance.

  Emma had fallen asleep on the plush seafoam-green carpet, and Mom reached into an old wooden trunk near her chair and pulled out a crocheted afghan—probably one Grandma Olsen had made. She tucked it gently around Emma, pausing to lean forward to kiss her cheek.

  “It’s been a long day.” Abbie sighed.

  Skye untangled herself from the cocoon. “For me too. I need to take my meds and maybe get a nap before dinner.” She smiled. “I didn’t sleep much last night. All I could think about was where you might be and when you m
ight come and—”

  “She was like a little kid,” Pops said. “Remember when you guys were little and you used to ask, ‘Are we there yet?’ About drove me crazy.”

  “I remember,” Abbie said. “Some of those trips were excruciatingly long.”

  “I know, but we had fun.” His smile widened. “We used to sing songs to make the time go by faster.”

  Carlene nodded. “We also sang them as practice for our performances.”

  “They were good times.” Abbie squeezed her mother’s hand.

  Pops shifted in his chair. “We were family.”

  “What are we now, Pops?” Skye challenged, her tone taking on a sharp edge.

  “It was different. We didn’t have kids on drugs and alcohol.”

  “Didn’t we? You drank, Pops. Every night. And you took uppers so you could stay awake.”

  “So you’re blaming me for all this trouble you’ve gotten yourself into?”

  “Shush.” Carlene pushed out of her chair. “Come on, you two, let’s not argue. Not today. Not in front of Abbie and Emma.”

  Abbie’s gaze flickered over Skye and her father. “It sounds like we need to talk, but Mom’s right. Not now.”

  “Not ever, if Pops has anything to say about it.”

  Their father said nothing as he left his chair and walked out the front door.

  Skye rose and shuffled across the floor. Clinging to the banister, she slowly and painfully ascended the stairs.

  “We offered to give her a room down here.” Her mother lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She refused.”

  Abbie nodded. “Always the stubborn one.”

  “Takes after her father.” Carlene sighed. “He’s taking this so hard. Blames himself for not being stricter with her in high school when all this started.”

  “And what about Skye’s accusations?”

  Mom shook her head. “He drank some—but he was never drunk or mean. She’s wrong about Dad taking drugs. All he ever took back then was pills to lower his blood pressure, and sometimes he took pills the doctor gave him to help him sleep. He was never an addict.”

  Abbie never remembered her father being a user, but Skye had gotten the notion somewhere. A lot of performers used drugs and drank heavily. It was part of the culture. “Even if Pops never took street drugs, Skye had a lot of role models.” Abbie wanted to know more, but she also wanted to change the subject. “How’s Tim?”

  “Good. He’s hoping to get a job with the state police in this area, and if he does he’ll be moving back home for a while.”

  “That’s what Jake was saying.” Abbie helped her mother take the cups and tray back into the kitchen.

  “How do you like our Jake?”

  Our Jake? “He’s very nice.”

  “Oh, he’s more than that.” Mom gave that knowing smile.

  Abbie would have commented, but Emma had awakened from her nap. “Looks like this might be a good time to unpack and get settled in.” She picked up her daughter and headed for the stairs.

  “I’ll walk up with you,” Mom said. “Make sure everything is to your liking.”

  Abbie and Emma would be staying in two of the four upstairs bedrooms, which connected via a large European-style bathroom. Emma’s room looked as though it had been newly decorated in pinks, of course, and hints of other pastels. The bed, dressed in princess-style ruffles and eyelets, had a canopy with yet more ruffles. The furnishings, a dresser and vanity table, had been painted white with gold trim. Very elegant and very much appreciated by her highness.

  A new set of Barbie dolls with a wardrobe sat next to an overflowing toy chest with stuffed animals and toys and building blocks. Everything a little girl could want.

  Emma squealed with delight and dove into her treasures. “Mommy, look, Nana bought me books too.”

  “I see.” Abbie chuckled. “We’ll have a lot of reading to do.” Turning toward her mother, she added, “Mom, you didn’t have to do all this.”

  “Of course we did.” Carlene placed a hand on Abbie’s shoulder, slipping up beside her. “Grandchildren are so precious, and we want to make her happy.”

  “You’ll spoil her.” Abbie couldn’t have been more pleased. She circled her mother’s waist and hugged her.

  Abbie spent a few minutes hanging up Emma’s dresses and tucking her shirts, pants, and underwear into the dresser before moving into her own room.

  She paused at the doorway to the bedroom. Her mother had decorated in there as well. The walls were white and the bedspreads floral, with various pillows that picked up the colors in the flowers: pink, rose, cream, pale green. A white wooden rocking chair sat in front of a window that looked out over the ocean. While Emma made herself at home with her toys and dolls, Abbie tucked away her own things in the large closet.

  The unpacking reminded her of the day she arrived at Margie’s. She’d come with little and had left with slightly more. About the only real purchases she’d made had been pillows, linens, and art supplies. In Grand Forks, she’d bought an extra suitcase for those things. They’d planned to rent a trailer, but in the end realized everything she and Emma had would fit in Jake’s car.

  Abbie sighed. There was something pathetic about a twenty-eight-year-old woman who could pack her whole life into three suitcases. She did, however, have an easel and her art supplies, along with a portfolio of watercolors she’d done at Margie’s. She’d had to leave her original equipment along with her portfolio in Iowa when she fled.

  Maybe someday she’d go back and get them. Though knowing Leah, they’d have gone out with the trash and been burned. She shoved the unkind thought aside, along with memories of Leah. She was home and it was time for celebration—not despair.

  CHAPTER 8

  After dropping Abbie off, Jake headed straight to the office. He hesitated before opening the door, worried about what might be waiting for him. Then, taking a deep breath, he went ahead.

  “Jake!” Sandy eased her large frame out of the chair and waddled over to give him a welcome-home hug. “I am so glad you’re here. The phone has been ringing off the hook. We have a lot of unhappy clients. Barbara didn’t show up for any of her appointments and—”

  “You still haven’t been able to locate her?” Jake headed for his desk. The office was a single large room with a small storage space, a conference room for meeting with clients, and a restroom. This room held three large executive desks. Sandy’s was situated just inside the entrance. Barbara and Jake’s desks faced the door as well. The desks formed a triangular arrangement.

  Sandy shook her head. “Not a word. The police are finally starting to take her disappearance seriously. A police officer was here this morning asking questions about you.”

  “About me?”

  She sighed. “Yes, well, it appears that since Barbara went missing about the same time you left, you are their primary suspect.”

  Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Great.” He paced to the door and back. “Did they give you any particular reason why I might want to get rid of my partner at a time when I needed her to take over for me?”

  “Money?” Sandy looked up at him, her brown eyes brimming with tears. “I had to tell them that if something happened to her you would get any commission she might make.”

  “Wonderful. And I suppose you told them about how great Barbara and I get along.” Barbara was a good worker, but they’d had plenty of disagreements. Since he was the senior partner and the broker, he’d gotten on her case a few times for not following through. She worked hard but didn’t seem all that invested in the business.

  “I told them you got along okay.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “I’m sorry, Jake. I didn’t offer them any extra information. I just answered their questions.”

  “It’s not your fault.” He dropped into his leather executive chair and started going through the papers. “I suppose they want to talk to me.”

  Sandy nodded. “As soon as possible.”

&n
bsp; Focusing on the stacks of paper in front of him, Jake said, “Walk me through this, will you. Tell me if there’s anything urgent I need to deal with this minute.”

  “I took care of most of the calls, but there are a couple of people you need to talk with. One is Douglas Perkins. He’s been working with Barbara on the Cold Creek Property. He’s saying he put an offer on it before the Grants did.”

  With elbows on the desk, Jake held his head in his hands. Could things get much worse?

  He’d been afraid Perkins would pull something like this. It was true that Barbara had shown the property to him first, but he’d already gotten a yes from Lyle Grant before Perkins called with his offer.

  He didn’t feel up to talking with the guy, but he should at least acknowledge him. He stood and took the note to Sandy. Placing it on her desk, he said, “How about calling Mr. Perkins for me and setting up an appointment for tomorrow—say around ten?”

  “Will do.” Sandy picked up the receiver and began dialing.

  “Did the police officer leave a card?” Jake asked.

  “Um, yeah. It’s around here somewhere.” She shuffled through the stack of papers on her desk, found the card, and handed it to him. “Detective Meyers. He’s with the state police and said he had to go back to Portland this afternoon. Said you could just call the local police. He mentioned Jeff’s name.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Jeff Stuart was an old friend who worked as a detective for the Oceanside Police Department. Jake had sold Jeff and his wife a house up north in Road’s End. Jake pulled his suit jacket off the back of the chair and flipped it over his shoulder. “I’d better go talk to him. Get this thing straightened out.”

  A few minutes later, Jake walked into the police station and asked to talk to Jeff. He spoke briefly to the receptionist and was told to wait. Jeff showed up about two seconds later.

  “It’s about time you got here, buddy.” Jeff clasped his shoulder. “Let’s go get some coffee. Have you had lunch?”

  “Coffee sounds good. Lunch too, for that matter.” He and Abbie had stopped in Portland for a late breakfast. Eating on the road had turned his meal schedule upside down.