Page 23 of Last Seen

Chapter Fourteen

Halley makes one more call, to the Metro Nashville Police. She explains who she is and why she’s calling. She’s transferred around until she gets the voicemail of a detective named Mike Cooper.

She leaves a message asking him to call her, then, with the therapist’s warning ringing in her ears, gathers her things and heads to the Jeep.

She swings by the hospital to check on her dad.

He’s in jovial spirits, helped along by the morphine, no doubt, and she doesn’t share what she’s learned.

Until she has a better grip on all of this—and who are we kidding, she is having some trust issues—she doesn’t want to get into it again.

As far as he’s concerned, he could never talk about the murder again and be perfectly happy.

Can she? Is it even possible to put all of this aside?

No. No way. Not now. She has to find out more about Cat’s disappearance. About the place where she disappeared. She’d applied to the retreat regularly. Why? Was it that special of a place? Was it going to launch the literary career she so desired and start her life over?

She realizes her dad’s been prattling along and she hasn’t heard a word.

It doesn’t matter; he’s too high to have an actual two-way conversation.

He talks and laughs and makes no sense until he gets another dose from the pump and passes out again.

She is not going to get anything more from him today.

And honestly, what else can he really give her?

He’s not going to get into the details. Not the ones she needs, at least.

A physical therapist with a handful of resistance bands and a Fourth of July–colored belt stops her on the way out to share that they will be getting him up and using some crutches tomorrow so he doesn’t waste away, then hurries off before Halley can ask any questions.

She needs to change before dinner, so she heads to the house.

She’s feeling oddly isolated. In DC, there’s always someone around: the ebb and flow of the city, the lab, the short commute, the dog, her walks, the gym, the neighbors, all keeping her in constant motion.

Things are quieter here. Too quiet. And maybe she doesn’t want to admit that she is unsettled by the relentless calls for her to leave this situation alone.

Because how can she heed them? This is her life, her memories.

Who are these strangers to tell her what she should and shouldn’t do when it comes to something so very personal?

Theo isn’t a stranger. Damning herself for the constant urge to reach out, to pretend all is normal, she dials his number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

It’s the end of the day in DC, always a frantic moment at his job.

He rose through the ranks quickly, and when he’s at the office, anything that happens late in the day falls on his desk.

She hangs up without leaving a message, realizing that she really is disappointed not to have reached him.

She has so much to share. She wants to share it with him.

She swings the Jeep into the drive, gathers the mail and a package, and hurries inside, waiting for the familiar thuds from the staircase that herald the cat making a beeline for his dinner. The house is oddly silent.

“Ailuros? Where are you, lazy cat?”

Nothing.

Odd. He’s always been a greeter, comes right to the door when someone comes home.

She drops her bags and takes a look around.

Upstairs, in all his favorite spots, then downstairs.

Opens the door to the backyard—did he get out somehow?

Nothing. She calls for him again, getting worried now.

Back in the living room, she hears a thump, and a tiny meow.

It’s coming from the middle of the house. The basement.

The door is latched, like always; it’s an original, old door and doesn’t fit well in its frame.

It used to rattle and bother them—bother her; when she was little, she thought ghosts lived in the space and would get spooked every time the door rattled and shook—so her dad screwed a latch onto it to hold it in place.

She undoes it and opens the door, and the cat streaks past.

“How did you get down there?” She follows him to the kitchen, where he is already wolfing his food.

She looks at her watch—she left before seven, and it’s after four now.

She hasn’t been in the basement since she arrived in Marchburg; all that’s down there is the laundry and all the holiday decorations, old luggage, some other odds and ends.

And she certainly didn’t sleepwalk. So how in the world did Ailuros get locked in?

She pets his back and croons, and he gives her a furious look and stalks to his box, where she hears him scratching around. The reality hits her.

Someone locked him in the basement.

Someone was in the house.

“Oh, now you’re being silly,” she says out loud to dispel the concern.

They don’t have a security system—it’s Marchburg, nothing bad happens here—but she’s sure she locked the front door when she left. No one could have gotten in.

But the cat was locked in the basement somehow ... She needs to go down the stairs into the darkness, and that’s not at all appealing. But she has to be responsible and see what sort of mess the cat made. If he was locked in all day, he probably peed somewhere.

The steps are solid maple, built a century earlier, to withstand all manner of activity.

They have a runner to cushion chilly feet.

Her dad converted the string light bulb to a switch.

She flicks it, and the stairwell lights up.

Bright. Cheery. Photos of her and her dad on the walls, both of them aging as she goes down.

There’s never been anything to fear in the basement before, outside of the specters from her youth.

At the bottom step, darkness stretches into the corners, but the flick of another switch illuminates the space.

The musty scent greets her, but it’s not unusual; it’s hard not to have a little must in a Virginia basement.

The space looks as familiar and homely as always.

It’s organized, with her dad’s shirts hanging up above the washer and dryer, the color-coded boxes for their holiday ornamentation stacked against the far wall.

There are two chairs—one thick with fur, clearly where the cat spent his day. She doesn’t see any wet spots anywhere.

A fluke. She must have knocked the door loose and it swung open. She was buzzing around like a bumblebee in a jar this morning.

She runs up the stairs two at a time for a little exercise, then flicks off the light and latches the door well.

“Sorry, buddy. What a good boy you are,” she calls to the cat, making him an extra-large helping of tuna in apology, then heads upstairs to change. She must steel herself to see all the people she’s escaped from. All the people who never escaped.

Taco Joe’s smells divine, and Halley’s mouth waters as she enters the eclectic space.

She hasn’t been here in ages. And despite its being old, with its wood-topped tables sticky and soft from many coats of polyurethane shellac, and loud, with its combination of Mexican and American rock, and its admittedly questionable commercialized decor from years of Cinco de Mayo celebrations past, the place has the best queso she’s ever tasted. It’s a popular choice.

Kater sees her enter and waves her over.

There are a few people she recognizes, and standing relaxed against the bar as if he wants to be seen is Aaron, wearing a baseball cap with a large M on the front—his dad owns the tractor-supply company in Jasper; it’s their logo.

He smiles widely at her, and she can’t help but put a mental image of Theo right next to him.

Nope. Aaron doesn’t stand a chance. He’s cute, but Theo eclipses him in every way.

It’s like comparing a man to a boy. Not that Aaron isn’t a man; he’s just more like a greyhound, and Theo is built.

She likes built. He makes her feel delicate.

Safe. She’s not that small, is really normal height, five-seven in her sneakers.

He’s big enough she has to tilt her head up to look into his eyes, and he can lift her with ease.

Come on, Halley. You’re leaving the man. Give it up already.

She flows into the group, hugging, chatting, catching up, eating queso and drinking a spicy jalapeno margarita, until Kater takes her aside and says, “Okay, I want to hear it all.”

“All?” The tequila is making her feel a little loose.

“The whole story about your sister and your mom. Did you find out anything today?”

“Oh, I found out a lot. My sister was married to a real jerk. Once he heard I didn’t know where she was, he couldn’t have cared less about the situation.

Talked to a friend of hers, too, who did the missing persons report.

She assumes there was foul play, but she didn’t think the husband was involved.

And then I talked to a therapist who used to see her in Boston.

She couldn’t tell me anything, but she did warn me to stay away. ”

“Which you absolutely should. We don’t need you showing up on Forensic Files .”

“You watch that?”

“Girl. I am obsessed.”

And they’re off, talking about the goriest and bloodiest and strangest cases that they know of, until Halley goes for another margarita and sees a man across the room staring at her.

He has dark hair and dark eyes, and she feels like she should know who he is.

He’s not being subtle about looking at her, and with everything going on, that makes her uncomfortable.

She turns her back on him and shifts to the side but can still feel his eyes on her. She glances over her shoulder, and he’s gone.

“Did you see that guy in the corner?” she asks Kater, who shakes her head.

“You know him?”

“No. I’ve never seen him before. I gotta pee, will you go with me? Just in case he’s lurking?”

“Sure.”

She doesn’t know why the stranger made her so uncomfortable, but with Kater by her side, it all seems fine again.

She’s a fun girl, always has been. Smart and protective.

Halley used to love spending time with her when they were younger.

She tells a naughty joke, and Halley forgets about the stranger.

Forgets about most everything troubling her.

When they rejoin the group, she switches to water and has a couple of tacos, enough to stop her head from swimming.

She chats with Aaron for a little while, and a few other friends, then finally decides to call it a night.

She still feels bad about Ailuros and wants to make it up to him with some extra snuggles.

“Going so soon?”

The deep, sardonic voice is attached to the stranger who was staring at her, and he’s blocking her way out.

“Yeah. Long day. Excuse me.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Halley looks closer, but no, she doesn’t.

He seems to enjoy her gaze, doesn’t shy away or allow his eyes to drift, just drills her with his own stare.

His hair looks freshly cut, and his eyes are so dark they could be black.

They aren’t brown, though; she thinks they’re a dark blue.

He has a three-day scruff of dark beard that some women would find sexy.

He wears jeans that look well broken in and a black T-shirt that shows off sinewy muscles.

She sees a black leather jacket on the stool behind him, notices he’s also wearing black biker boots.

He’s older, midforties. He’s familiar in an uncomfortable way, but she doesn’t ever recall meeting him. She shakes her head.

“I’m sure we’ve never met. What did you say your name is?”

“I didn’t. You have a good night, Halley.” He turns and strides away, disappearing through the throng. The bell on the door lets out a merry jingle, and he’s gone.

“Who was that?” Aaron is standing next to her now, a look of distaste on his face.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, he certainly seemed to know you. Do I need to beat him up?”

This is said without irony, though the stranger looks like he would be a feral fighter, no holds barred. Maybe a knife tucked into the jeans pocket.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“You’re heading out? Why don’t I walk you to your car.”

“That’s nice of you, Aaron. Thanks.” She waves at Kater, who is playing pool in the back. Kater blows her a kiss and shouts, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Halley picks up her bag and immediately realizes something is wrong. It’s lighter than when she came in. She rips it open and gasps aloud.

The file on her mother is missing.