The Hollow Girl by Reed Farrel Coleman Read Free Book Online Page A

the mood. I already have an analyst, okay? What’s going on?”
    “Your ex says your daughter has been off the radar for almost a month now, and that’s a little longer than she’s used to.”
    Given Cantor’s previous glibness, I expected more of the same.
What, the kid doesn’t check in and my ex sends for the Marines? See, the kid’s just pushing Nancy’s buttons again like she always has. So what? Maybe my kid’s finally making a life for herself apart from Nancy.
But that wasn’t what I got, not at all. The lawyer screwed up his lips. Pensively stroking his cheeks with his left hand, his eyes filled with worry.
    “A month? That is a long time for Sloane not to bust Nancy’s balls. Are you sure it’s been that long?”
    “That’s what your ex says, Mr. Cantor.”
    “All right, Nancy is pretty accurate about that stuff. If she says it’s a month, it’s a month. Look, Prager, keep me posted too.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out one of his cards. “This has all my contact info on it, including my home number, cell, et cetera. Anything you need, just ask.”
    “Why the concern? I mean, it’s pretty apparent that your daughter does this kind of thing on occasion.”
    “It’s complicated. You have to understand Nancy and Sloane to understand the situation, Prager. They’ve always been bound together in a strange kind of dance. It’s almost planetary, the way Sloane revolves around her mom. Two weeks and not a word from Sloane. Then, like clockwork, she calls to hurt her mom. Lord knows it wore me down. I have never seen two people who love and hate and need each other more than those two. Nancy never really needed me anyway. She never needed anyone or anything but a mirror. And Sloane only ever needed her mother. I got tired of being an afterthought,” he confessed, now staring intently at my card. “Moses Prager … Moses Prager. Do people call you Moe?”
    “Everybody calls me Moe.”
    His mouth readjusted itself into a crooked, knowing smile, and he clapped his hands together. “Moe. Ah, so you’re the famous Moe.”
    “If you say so.”
    “You’re the guy who Nancy met when you were looking for her old boyfriend, Patrick, in the ’70s.”
    “You know about Patrick Maloney?”
    “Of course, but only as a means to talk about you. You’ve always been her white knight, you know that, right?”
    “I didn’t.”
    “No offense, Prager, but I don’t see it. I mean you must’ve been pretty good looking as a younger man, but … I guess it’s always tough, competing with a fantasy.”
    “I wouldn’t know, Mr. Cantor. I just try to get by. When I walk, I put one foot in front of the other.”
    “Nancy fuck you yet?”
    “Thanks for the card.” I stood up, refusing to take his bait. I didn’t see the point. The surgery, chemo, and radiation had not only gotten rid of my cancer, they had largely gotten rid of my temper as well. Too bad they were woefully ineffective against guilt. “I will call if I need anything.”
    “She will, you know … fuck you, I mean. She’s always wanted to, and Nancy’s always gotten everything she’s ever wanted, except you and Sloane’s affection. Now she can cross one of those off her list.”
    I walked to the office door, then turned back. “It’s funny, Mr. Cantor, how hard it is for people to see the stuff right in front of their faces. I don’t think Nancy’s ever gotten anything she ever wanted, not really.”
    With that, I left. I wasn’t judging Cantor. I had been twice divorced myself, both times because I was blind to the things right in front of my face. But I was getting the sense that maybe there was a case here, and that I’d better start taking things seriously.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    When I saw the building that matched Siobhan Bracken’s address, I can’t say I was surprised. The Kremlin, as it had come to be known, was a fifteen-story-tall red brick apartment building on East Houston—that’s HOW-ston, not