Page 11 of Our Daughter's Bones

“Mrs. Correia,” she said gently, “Erica and Abby disappeared one year apart. Do you not see the connection there? I am trying to do my due diligence.”

“Then send the detective on her case to ask me these questions.” She slammed her cigarette into the ashtray. It tipped over the table’s edge and fell to the floor between them. Neither of them moved to pick it up. Hannah rolled her eyes and slumped back on her chair.

“I’m trying to help you,” Mackenzie reminded her.

The corners of Hannah’s mouth quivered. She stroked her chin with her bony finger. “Erica’s mother got her status by sleeping with the right men. A high-end escort, if you ask me. Her father brings so much money to this town that no one cares about his filth. I didn’t want Abby to be surrounded by entitled brats like Erica. I didn’t want her to get any ideas.”

“I understand.”

She looked at her sharply. “Do you?”

“May I see her room now?”

“Upstairs. The first room on the right. If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay down here for a smoke. Take whatever you need.” She waved her hand dismissively.

Upon reaching Abby’s room, Mackenzie paused and put on gloves. The door looked different from the others; freshly painted, with a flowery pattern carved into it. She traced her fingers over it. The work was sloppy but sincere. She opened the door to a room that didn’t belong in the tattered house.

The lavender-shaded walls, cherry-wood floor, and the four-poster bed with pink satin sheets showed elegant taste. To the left was a large window that overlooked the backyard. Next to the window was a study table with books and stationery neatly arranged. By the door to the right was a glass shelf of trophies and certificates.

The room smelled like roses.

The dresser by the en suite washroom held perfumes, combs, magazines, and makeup. Mackenzie picked up some lipsticks and frowned—nice brands. It was unusual for a high school student from a poor household.

She opened the drawers. Abby’s clothes were organized by color. She found a green skirt paired with a yellow blouse and stockings put together. As she rummaged through the dresser, she realized that Abby had pre-set outfits.

Mackenzie inspected the study table. She browsed through Abby’s notebooks and assignments. All of her homework was done. Her projects were completed. From the graded exams she found, Abby always got the perfect score. Her schoolwork was organized in different binders. Her pens were arranged by color and size.

She is very focused, very different.

There were pictures of Abby and Erica pinned to the wall above the study table. In all the pictures, they were laughing. At school, at the mall, by the lake, on a school trip. They were together everywhere.

Had Erica’s disappearance prompted Abby into trying to control everything?

In the bathroom, Abby’s towels were monogrammed with her initials. Mackenzie frowned when she saw a bottle of pills next to the toothbrush by the sink. The label on it read “Zoloft”—an antidepressant. The names on the bottle were “Correia” and “Coleman”.

“She couldn’t deal with Erica disappearing.” Mackenzie was startled and turned to see Hannah leaning against the bathroom door. “A few months ago, the school dedicated a football game to Erica. Abby had a meltdown and ran out of the stadium.”

“Did she start being this organized after Erica went missing?”

A lone tear trickled down Hannah’s cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered ceaselessly. “It got worse. But she was always like this. Like a lotus born in the dirt.”

Five

Mackenzie stood outside the conference room with her arms crossed. Through the glass, she watched Detective Nick Blackwood give a presentation to the brass of Lakemore PD. Officers from the Sheriff’s Office and Washington State Patrol—Sergeant Sully, Lieutenant Peck, and Captain Murphy—sat on steel chairs cushioned with leather. On the center table were untouched plates of cookies and donuts.

She couldn’t hear anything. But she saw their lips move, their eyes browse through the files in their hands, and their faces mar with confusion.

Murphy scowled. A muscle in Peck’s jaw clicked. Sully yawned.

Nick loosened his tie and craned his neck. He raised his arm hysterically as he explained something to Murphy. He pounded his fist on the table and clenched his jaw but fell quiet when Murphy shouted at him.

The sounds were muffled by the glass of the conference room, and there was a buzz of activity in the office outside, but it was apparent how the air was inside the conference room.

Stifling, accusatory, and frenzied.

Nick was tall and toned in his black suit. But there was gray in his short hair and lines on his forehead. Light stubble speckled his chiseled jaw.

Mackenzie spotted Troy at the end of the corridor and waved him over.