Page 8 of Our Daughter's Bones

Erica Perez smiled, showing her pearly white teeth. Her skin was caramel, and her straight dark hair neatly framed her heart-shaped face. Her red sweater had black polka dots, and a blue pendant rested in the hollow of her neck. Under her picture was the line:Have you seen me?followed by a description of her basic features and what she was wearing when she disappeared.

She was only sixteen years old at the time.

Mackenzie’s fingers grazed the poster. The paper was thick and glossy. It was clear that money had been spent on it. A few weeks ago, the rain had washed down the posters. The next day, new posters made of sturdier paper were stapled all over the city.

Erica Perez was everywhere. Every nook and cranny of Lakemore had her poster up. Her pretty face was carved into the memory of every citizen. Even the people who had never seen her before she disappeared would never forget her face. A few months ago, her face had flashed over the billboards too.

Usually, posters have their edges peeled off or have other posters pasted on top. But not hers. It was partly money and partly fascination that kept them up.

Mackenzie stared at the girl who had vanished from her bedroom and into thin air.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. “Detective Price.”

“Mack?” Sully said. “I’m sending you an address. Justin will meet you there.”

She started walking back towards home. “What’s this about?”

“Another girl went missing.”

She froze. “Shit. Uniform isn’t investigating?”

“No, I want you to go. I have a bad feeling about this. She’s from Lakemore High and went missingyesterday. You remember what day it was?”

A pair of girls walked past her. They were showing each other their phones. One of them giggled. The other one blushed. They were both Erica’s age. Neither of them knew what this world could do to them.

Her blood ran cold. “The first anniversary of Erica’s disappearance.”

Three

Mackenzie breathed on her sunglasses and wiped them with the hem of her shirt. The late morning in Lakemore was accompanied by a sharp sun and blazing blue sky. She regarded the modest two-story house in front of her and checked her phone; the address was correct.

Mackenzie could spot some discoloration in the house’s white paintwork. Cracks ran down next to the hinge of the front door. The porch railing was shabbily painted, with splinters of wood still visible. The fence around the garden was crooked.

It was a poor household. Just like hers was once.

Justin Armstrong, a junior detective, stood in front of the house. A bushy mustache covered his upper lip. Wavy eyebrows crowned his blue eyes. As soon as he saw her, he rushed forward.

“Ma’am.” He tipped his head. Before Mackenzie could protest, he handed her the incident report. “Eighteen-year-old Abigail Correia, called Abby, was last seen at 3:20 p.m. yesterday, September eleventh, leaving Lakemore High on foot. She was dressed in a yellow sleeveless top, blue jeans, black boots, and was carrying a red backpack. Her phone has been switched off.”

Mackenzie looked over the initial information. “Any history of running away before?”

“None.”

“How’s she eighteen years old already?”

“Date of birth puts her just three days after the cutoff date. She started school at the age of six.”

“How’s the mother?”

He raised his eyebrows. “She doesn’t like to cry in front of people.”

Mackenzie wondered what the story was inside. If there was a father who had drunk himself to uselessness, and a mother who asked too much from her daughter.

They stepped inside the house. It was unspectacular. Old furnishings crowded the living room. A large brown couch rested along the wall, tears in the upholstery revealing yellowing foam underneath. There were too many tables, all of which were littered with figurines and showpieces. It gave Mackenzie a headache.

On one of the armchairs by the window was a middle-aged woman wearing faded blue jeans and a loose white shirt. Her dirty-blonde hair was shoulder length—dry, dull, and ropy. Chipped nail polish tailed her calloused hands. She turned to look at them with beady eyes.

She looked haggard and bitter.