friends with Gabriel, but she’d never
been to the house where he’d grown up. A damn shame her first visit was due to the
disappearance of his mother Evelyn’s old boyfriend, Richard Pierce.
Leah had never met Chay’s mother, either, but she did remember her own delight after
finding out Richard and her friend’s mother were dating. Several times she’d pestered
Chay with ideas of her flower girl dress and him holding her hand as they walked down
the aisle together if Richard and his mother were to marry.
She frowned. Funny how she’d forgotten those details for all these years. Only mention
of Evelyn Sheldon—or Evelyn Gray, as she’d been known then—in the old newspaper articles
Leah had dug up over the weekend had jogged her memory.
After Richard had disappeared, Chay had never spoken of the man who’d been his mother’s
partner for a little over a year. It had been Gabriel who’d comforted her, not Chay.
Gabriel who’d listened to her stories of her “Uncle Richard.” Not Chay. Wouldn’t it
have made sense for the two of them to share their sadness? After all, she’d lost
a second father, and he’d lost a father figure.
At eleven, she hadn’t questioned Chay’s absence and utter silence. But now, with the
edge of grief dulled by two decades, it seemed…odd.
She switched off the ignition, palmed the key, and got out. As she rounded the rear
bumpers of her truck and the sedan, she noticed a small set of stairs nestled in the
short wall of well-groomed hedges lining the alley. She climbed the steps and realized
they accessed the Gray property. With only a moment’s hesitation, she lifted the latch
on the hip-level, old-fashioned wire gate and swung it open.
Anticipation hummed through her, and her stomach performed a nervous somersault that
would have scored a perfect ten. The asphalt stairs represented the first step toward
the truth.
I’ll find out, Richard. I’ll find out what happened and bring you home. The vow whispered through her mind as she headed toward the front of the small, olive-green,
single-family home and climbed the porch steps. At four thirty on Columbus Day, the
bank where Evelyn Sheldon worked as a part-time teller was closed, and Leah had gambled
on the hour being late enough for Chay’s mother to have returned home from any errands
she’d run that day.
Leah knocked on the front door. Her foot tapped out an erratic cadence as she removed
a peppermint from her pocket. She popped the striped candy into her mouth and waited.
And waited. Another minute passed and no one came to the door. She rapped the door
again. And waited some more.
Frowning, she leaned over the porch railing and peered into the window. But the white
curtains were drawn, leaving a sliver of space. The parked Chevy meant someone should
be home. Of course Evelyn could have been picked up by another person but… damn . Leah propped her fists on her hips and frowned, disappointed.
After another unanswered knock, she retraced her steps to the side of the house and
the alley gate. Silence greeted her as the back door came into view. At this time
of day—adults arriving home from work, children returning from school, evening traffic—the
neighborhood should be buzzing with activity. Instead, the absolute stillness wrapped
around her, almost suffocating in its weightiness. Unease skated down her spine.
She neared the rear of the home in a slow, measured stride. The need for caution clanged
in her head, insisting she proceed carefully. Nothing about the narrow sidewalk, tidy
bushes, and bright blue welcome mat should have inspired the disquiet tightening her
gut. Yet as she stood at the door, the visceral instinct credited with saving her
ass more than once while on the force clamored for her attention. And she heeded its
warning.
Reaching under her jacket, she thumbed the restraining strap around her SIG free.
She studied the