Page 20

Quaid

A parade of vehicles filled the cul-de-sac at the Davises’.

News vans and media had gathered since I’d instructed Jordyn to put out the Amber Alert earlier in the day.

The closest parking space was five houses down, so I had to battle my way to the front door, issuing brief statements and asking the nosy reporters to circulate the boy’s photograph, informing them we would have a press conference if and when we felt it necessary.

Zoey pulled open the door, hustled me inside, and locked it. The house offered no relief. The chaos inside was worse than outside. Raised voices, crushing tension, tears, and a mountain of hostility greeted me in the living room. Where did all these people come from?

Jordyn made every attempt at refereeing the crowd from somewhere in the middle of the room, but her short stature meant she was lost in the bustle.

At least a dozen people occupied the room.

It might have been a decent-size space ordinarily, but with the excess numbers, the air conditioning wasn’t keeping up, making it stuffy and hot .

Some people I recognized. Others I didn’t. Apart from Jordyn and Zoey, the rest seemed to be family or friends.

I whistled sharply, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“Enough!” I shouted. “Bring it down, or I’ll usher people out the door.

We have a serious case on our hands, and I’m not wasting time and resources trying to wrangle a bunch of pissed-off family members who can’t seem to remember that we have a little boy missing. ”

“Your problems would resolve themselves if you sent this idiot home.” Benedict Davis motioned to his oldest son, Flynn.

“Dad, knock it off.” Nixon put a hand to his brother’s chest as Flynn aimed a murderous glare at his father. “It’s my house, and Flynn stays. I want him here. I need him here. If you two can’t get along for five freaking minutes, maybe you and mom should leave.”

“But my grandson.” Tears shimmered in Bess Davis’s eyes. “I can’t leave until I know he’s home safe. Benny, stop fighting.” She tugged her husband’s sleeve, but the man planted his feet and refused to move.

A woman I didn’t know said something about toxic people being in places they shouldn’t, asking if they planned to buy their way out of the problem, and did anyone know what the ransom note said because the Davis family had more money than brains and no moral or ethical code to speak of.

Benedict had something to say about that, too.

“Oh, shut your mouth, you insufferable asshole,” the woman said. “We all know if there’s a price, you’ll pay it. Where’s that goddamn note?”

A pale and sickly-looking Imogen, planted on the couch, muttered, “Mother, don’t.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do.” The woman, Imogen’s mother, thrust a finger at Benedict. “This man is a plague on the earth. Corrupt like his son. ”

Benedict raised his voice. Nixon tried to intervene, but Flynn held him back. My attention caught on Jude, hiding in the background. He glared warily in my direction, half concealed by Nixon and Flynn. When the hell did he show up?

I lost focus on the rising arguments when Jordyn shoved her way toward me. The room descended into its original bedlam as my partner hit me with a scowl to end all scowls. “Welcome to the party.”

“Jesus. What the hell is happening in here? Where did all these people come from?”

“Hell. They came express from hell.” Jordyn blew her long black bangs from her face and propped both hands on her hips, her annoyance glowing.

I scanned the room, trying to figure out who everyone was.

The Davis family I knew. Flynn, Benedict, and Bess.

The other elderly couple must have been Imogen’s parents.

The fiery woman baring teeth at Benedict was no doubt the mother.

I’d sorted out that much. A younger woman, who shared similar features with Imogen, sat beside her on the couch. The sister, I presumed.

Then it dawned on me. “Where’s Sparrow?”

Jordyn’s face turned blank, and she blinked a few times before scanning the room. “I… Shit. I haven’t seen her. I don’t know. Quaid, there’s been a lot going on.”

“And she’s a fucking child. Is no one watching her?”

I barreled through the clumps of fighting family members and caught Zoey’s arm. She was holding Benedict and Imogen’s mother apart because they looked about ten seconds from killing one another.

“Where’s Sparrow?” I asked Zoey, a bite to my tone.

She, too, blinked in confusion before shrugging. “Upstairs, maybe? ”

“Christ.” I glanced between the feuding adults and back to Zoey.

I didn’t know what my face was doing, but based on their expressions, it was something venomous.

“That child,” I said to Zoey, “is a major part of your job. I told you that last night. Was I not clear? Ensuring the woman on the couch doesn’t put herself in premature labor because of stress is also your job.

Calming Nixon’s tears and reassuring him we are doing all we can to locate his son is your job .

Not refereeing unhelpful drama.” At this, I glared daggers at the two grandparents.

If anyone was ashamed or felt guilty after my little speech, I didn’t know or care.

I ran for the stairs and took them two at a time. Sparrow’s room was the first on the right, and I stopped in the doorway, finding the child seated cross-legged in the middle of the bed, chin resting against her chest, hugging a raggedy Cabbage Patch doll from the eighties.

She didn’t notice me.

My heart skipped and stuttered at the sight as I tumbled back in time.

I was six years old. Juni was gone. Taken.

The police swarmed the house. Heavy boots on the stairs.

Gruff voices I didn’t recognize, barking commands.

Mom and Dad shouting, crying, and passing blame.

A lamp crashed against the wall, thrown in anger.

Mom beat fists against Dad’s chest, calling him an irresponsible asshole.

Wailing, sorrowful heartbreak filled the nights.

No one remembered I existed. No one recognized that I hurt too.

The horror and terror of losing a sibling and a once happy family deteriorated before my eyes, and I’d dealt with it all by myself, without tools or support.

More than thirty years later, I was in therapy because of its lasting consequences.

“Hey.” My voice croaked, and I cleared my throat, finding a weak smile .

Sparrow lifted her head. Tears dampened her cheeks and shone in her pale blue eyes. “Hi, Detective Quaid.”

“Can I come in?”

She nodded but lowered her chin again, staring at the unicorn comforter spread over her mattress.

I approached and sat cautiously on the edge of the bed, touching her doll’s plastic shoe. “Who do you have here?”

“Her name’s Nora. Uncle Flynn found her at a flea market. He said he remembered Cabbage Patch Kids from when he was little, so he bought her for me.”

“That was nice of him. I like her orange hair.”

“Me too. It’s like Clementine’s.” Sparrow touched the doll’s yarn ponytail. “When is Crow coming home? Everyone won’t stop yelling, and I miss him.”

“We’re doing our best to find him.”

Zoey appeared in the doorway, face painted in shades of shame. I felt momentarily bad for reprimanding her downstairs, but Sparrow’s heartache washed it away. Children shouldn’t suffer.

“Have you met my friend Zoey?”

Sparrow glanced at the young officer and nodded. “She made me breakfast today. Banana pancakes with syrup.”

“Yum. Did you have lunch?”

Sparrow shook her head.

“Maybe Zoey can help you find something to eat. She’s going to hang out with you for a while and make sure you’re okay.”

“Why can’t you?” Sparrow’s voice wobbled, and fresh tears surfaced.

“Because I need to find your brother so everyone stops being upset.”

“But I don’t want you to go.” She dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs. Shoving her doll aside, she crawled into my lap, locked her arms around my neck, and buried her face against my chest.

I didn’t have much experience with children apart from Aslan’s niece and nephew.

Even then, I always felt out of my league.

It was a concern I’d broached with my husband, a fear I held that I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby.

He’d claimed I would be fine. My paternal instincts would kick in, and I’d maneuver those new roads effortlessly.

I wasn’t there yet, but Sparrow had reached out to me, and I couldn’t deny her, no matter how unpracticed. I held her, hugged her, and comforted her. Not once did I take my eyes off Zoey. My expression was undeniable. This was your job, it said. This was what you were supposed to do.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be the one to ease Sparrow’s pain and suffering, but Zoey had been sent to the house for a reason. I’d expressed my concerns about the forgotten child and asked her to please keep a close eye on Sparrow so this exact thing didn’t happen.

It took time and effort, but eventually, I convinced Sparrow to go to Zoey, promising I would check in later. I left the two and headed back downstairs, where nothing had changed. If anything, tempers flared worse than ever.

Jordyn peeled herself from the crowd and approached. “Don’t be too hard on Zoey. She was trying to help me.”

“Give me a rundown of who people are and what’s happening.”

Jordyn pointed out the woman I’d seen at war with Benedict and informed me she was Imogen’s mother, Diane. “Her father, Ronald, is over there. He’s about the most peaceable person in the room. I’d take a hundred of him. ”

Ronald had found the liquor cabinet and nursed a tumbler of amber liquid. His sated expression and loose smile told me it wasn’t his first. No wonder he was acting so complacent. The man was likely halfway drunk.

As I’d assumed, the woman on the couch was Imogen’s older sister, Odelia.

“When did Jude arrive?” I searched for the man, finding him still with Flynn and Nixon, once again with half an eye on me. His expression was as caustic as it had been at the office.

“Not long after we talked on the phone. There doesn’t seem to be hostility between him and Nixon. Jude’s been supportive and trying to keep him calm. Flynn is the center of most of the problems. His parents don’t want him here. It’s about the only thing Benedict and Diane can agree on.”

“What is the issue with Flynn?”

“Wish I knew. His father claims he’s caused enough problems for one lifetime and doesn’t need to be in a place he’s not wanted.

Diane seems to hate all the Davises, full stop.

Flynn offered to leave since he realized his presence was causing a problem, but Nixon kicked up a fuss and wouldn’t let him go. They’re attached at the hip.”

“And what’s the feud between Benedict and Diane?”

“Like I said, Diane doesn’t seem to like any of the Davis family. She told Benedict if her daughter goes into premature labor because of this, she’ll make sure Imogen sues him for the entire Davis fortune.”

I frowned. Fortune? “I didn’t know the family was that wealthy.”

“I don’t know. I’m telling you what I’ve heard. Benedict said Imogen wasn’t getting a penny more from him.”

“I have a headache. I was supposed to be on leave, you know?”

“Oh, I know.” Jordyn bumped my arm. “Thank you for not abandoning me on this case.”

I watched Imogen, who hadn’t moved from the couch. She seemed to be absorbing the world from a distant daze, ten layers of separation. Occasionally, she glanced at Nixon, Jude, her mother, who fought with Benedict, then back to her husband.

Flynn flopped onto the couch beside her, rubbing his temple like he, too, was fending off a migraine.

He rested a hand on Imogen’s knee and said something to his sister-in-law.

Odelia leaned over her sister and said something to Flynn.

Flynn scowled, removed his hand, and said something back to Odelia.

The two exchanged heated words, too quiet to hear over the louder fights going on around us.

Odelia huffed and sat back, crossing her arms.

Flynn addressed Imogen again, rubbing her shoulder. Imogen shrugged him off and stood, moving toward the kitchen while clutching her round belly. No one stopped her. No one noticed her leave.

Odelia did not linger on the couch with Flynn. She got up and went to her mother’s side, joining ranks in the battle with Benedict.

Flynn took out his phone and glanced at it as though checking the time before getting up and approaching his brother, who was no longer at peace with Jude. The two shared heated words. Flynn draped an arm around Nixon, choosing a side and facing off with Jude.

The clamor rose.

The shouting continued.

Vitriol. Hate. Accusation.

“Christ. We need order.”

“We need to send people home or get help.”

I scanned the room. “I’m not ready to send anyone home. Someone here knows something. We need to dig.”

I withdrew my phone and was about to text Aslan and tell him to get his ass to the house when the doorbell rang .

The unbearable volume diminished so fast that it left my ears ringing. Everyone looked from the door to me as though I should know who was there. “Probably the press,” I muttered to Jordyn. “Someone got brave enough to ask for an interview. I’ll handle it.”

Benedict and Flynn headed to answer the door at the same time, but even that turned into a fight.

“I’ll get it. Both of you go back to the living room.”

It was not the press. It was not a neighbor coming to make a noise complaint. It was not a patrol officer requesting someone to move their car because it was blocking a neighboring driveway. It wasn’t Aslan, miraculously reading my mind and bounding to the rescue.

It was a FedEx delivery.