Who would be calling on her this late—
Horror filled her, and she couldn’t move for a moment. The police could be standing outside her door right now.
Waiting to tell her that her daughter was dead.
She leaped from the stool and pulled the door open. No blue-clothed officers. The adrenaline ran out of her as quickly as it came. Instead, the small frail frame of her next-door neighbor met her.
“Mrs. Whitcomb. What are you doing here so late?”
“I don’t sleep so much these days, and I couldn’t help but see your light was still on. Wanted to check in and see if you heard anything about that daughter of yours. Have the police started looking?”
“No. Nothing.” Meredith couldn’t even force a smile to stretch across her face. She’d shared her concerns with her neighbor earlier because she’d needed someone to keep a lookout at home. In case Darcy showed up. But it didn’t sit well. Asking someone for help like this. Was she supposed to invite her in now and talk about it over tea? Allie would, no doubt.
Not Meredith’s style, though. “I’m not sure what the police are doing at this point, but I’ve hired someone to look into it.”
The old woman nodded. “Good. Like I told you earlier, I’d call you the moment I saw Darcy but there was nothing to report. Still, I wanted to check in. My prayers are with you, and I’ve told a few of the ladies from church, too, and we’re all keeping you two in mind.”
She turned to go, and Meredith felt an odd sort of gratefulness to the woman. Having never really spoken to her or any of her neighbors save for a quick wave hello or good-bye, it had been hard going to her to ask for anything. But she’d swallowed any pride and done it, not sure of the response. It appeared people were nicer than she’d given them credit. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitcomb, for your help. I won’t forget this kindness.”
The woman stopped and waved her hand, “Phfft. It was nothing. I just can’t imagine what you’re going through. This is a good neighborhood. We look out for each other. In fact…” She paused as she mulled something over. “Like I said, I don’t sleep much. Restless. Usually sit up in the front room watching some silly show or another. Keeping an eye outside. A few nights ago there was a strange car parked across the street from you, over by the McMullins’. Except the guy in the car never got out to see them or anyone. After about fifteen minutes, I finally opened my front door and turned on the porch light. That got his attention, and he left straight away. Never seen him since. Don’t know if that has any connection with your daughter. But maybe it could be important.”
Meredith didn’t know either, but it was strange. Why stake out her house? Or anyone’s? Was it possible it was Bryce? Maybe trying to see if Darcy could meet him? “Can you remember anything about the car? Or the guy insi
de? What they looked like?”
“Sorry, hon. I can’t tell one car from another. It was dark—could have been black or dark blue, maybe. Couldn’t make out anything about the driver, either. Short hair—which is why I’m certain it was male. But it could have been brown or blond for all I know.”
“Can you do me one more favor? If you see that car again—no matter what time it is—please call me? It may be nothing, but I want to make sure there’s no connection between him and Darcy.”
With assurances from the woman, Meredith thanked her again and said good night. She returned to the kitchen, thinking about who could have been across the street.
She was antsy. Darcy was God knew where, terrified, hurt, or worse, she could be—no. She wasn’t going there. However, there was no chance Meredith was getting any sleep tonight. The last place her daughter was seen was that warehouse. Just last night.
She knew what she was going to do next.
…
Travis twisted his head around left, then right, trying to get the crick out of his neck. He’d spent the past two hours sitting nearly motionless in Bonnie’s front seat staking out the warehouse he’d visited earlier. The air was hot and stifling, even with the windows down.
He tried to stretch his legs but smacked his knees against the steering column. What the hell was this Rick thinking letting Claire drive such a sad piece-of-shit car? Although, knowing his sister—scrappy and independent—she’d have told him where to stick any well-intended gift. He smiled as he thought about the amazing woman she’d become, despite the odds.
Then his thoughts just as quickly turned to Meredith. Unlike Claire, she’d had everything money could buy growing up, along with an indulgent father, who, from all accounts, helped to feed that enormous ego. She’d been mean back in high school. Terrifyingly so.
That would have been the extent of his knowledge of Meredith Sanders up until a few hours ago. And he wasn’t sure if he liked the information he’d since discovered. He had liked the nice, easy label of Devious Diva he’d given her. But discovering in her background check that her own mother had run out on her when she was a kid, just like Darcy’s, threw a wrench in his perception.
What kind of damage could that do to a person?
Turn someone into a completely rotten, mean-spirited person? Who treated everyone like shit for…what? Maybe to push them away? She’d flinched when he mentioned the pantsing incident from high school. Had been unable to meet his gaze. Could Her Royal Highness actually feel guilty over the whole debacle?
His limited understanding of psychology told him that sometimes the biggest bullies act out of their own insecurity and fear. Not that he was excusing her vicious behavior, but maybe…he could understand it.
Then there was that moment when she’d left his car tonight, her eyes dark pools of sadness. Forlorn. Hell. She clearly didn’t want to be alone. Most people would have a group of friends or family to help see them through. He gathered that Meredith was pretty much alone.
Well, what the hell did she expect when she made bitchiness an art form? You reap what you sow and all that shit, right?
So why was he softening toward the strong, independent brunette?
A lone figure appeared around the corner. Female, he quickly discerned from the sway of the hips and long denim-covered legs, even with the head bowed low and covered by a hoodie.