Mom and Matt would be asleep by now, but at least she would be under the same roof with them for a few hours.
She parked by the house, got out of her vehicle, and moved up the stairs before she quietly unlocked the front door. Stepping lightly, she made her way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to find a blue plastic container. Attached to it was a sticky note that read BROOKE.
“Bless you, Mom.” She opened the lid, removed a fried strip of chicken, and bit into it. It was cold, but the flavors were delicious and she was so hungry she was lightheaded. She grabbed a soda and, standing at the kitchen sink, ate her chicken and drained the can.
The clock on the stove read 1:50 a.m. She had three hours to grab some sleep and be back at the office.
Her phone dinged with a text, and she glanced at the screen. It was from Peter Stuart, a reporter based in Roanoke. He was young, midtwenties, and though they’d never met in person, she imagined a newly framed journalism degree from Who Cares University hanging in a small gray cubicle in the center of a newsroom.
DNA results on the rape kits should be back by now.
Leaking to Stuart had been foolish. She should have pushed Greene harder or given Nevada the time to work the case. But she’d been pissed when she’d contacted him. He’d jumped on the story and earned significant airtime. Now he wanted his follow-up. He wanted his next story.
It was likely Nevada knew she’d broken protocol once, and had forgiven her. She doubted he would tolerate a second transgression.
And she honestly did not want to undermine him. He was making headway, and he deserved a fair shot.
Brooke texted back, No comment at this time.
Little gray bubbles rolled in place and then, If not now, when?
She elbowed aside the worry that had been stalking her since her first text to him. No comment.
Let me help you, he texted.
No comment.
I have enough from my sources to post my story.
Did he? Or was he bluffing? She didn’t want to snap at the bait he was dangling, but she also didn’t want to alienate him. He could be an asset.
Wait and you’ll be the first when we have something to say.
I’ll give you 24 hours.
Unsettled, she tossed her phone on the counter and reached for a beer in the refrigerator. She popped the top and took a long pull.
A light clicked on in the hallway, and she heard her mother’s steady steps. Sandra Bennett appeared in the doorway, wearing a thick pink robe over a long, worn, flannel nightgown. Short gray hair framed a round face, and silver-rimmed glasses caught the overhead light. “I thought that was you.”
“Sorry to wake you, Mom. Thanks for the dinner.”
She padded across the floor and kissed Brooke lightly on the cheek. “I was getting worried.”
“Crazy day.”
“Have they found Debbie yet?” her mother asked.
“How did you know she was missing?”
“I paid a call to her mother today, and she told me. With Debbie’s father so ill, the church is sending over meals.”
“There’s still no sign of her.”
“I hear she was scheduled for work today, but didn’t make it in. That’s not the first time Debbie’s gotten her schedule confused.”
“Is Debbie dating anyone?” Brooke asked. “Has she had any trouble with men?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“Did her mom say if there was trouble at work? Maybe a disgruntled coworker who hated her for ignoring him?”
“Again, no. Her mother says everyone loves Debbie, which is true. She’s great with the patients, and she gets along with her neighbors.”
Brooke took another pull on the cold beer. “I’m hoping Debbie got a wild hair and went to Richmond or DC for a few days of fun. She’s threatened to do it before.”
“Everyone needs a break now and then.” Her mother reached for a clean mug in the cabinet.
“I know it’s been stressful since I was promoted. I’m hoping you, Matt, and I can take a vacation in June after school lets out.”
Frowning, her mother moved to the stove, peered inside a cold teakettle before she refilled it with fresh water. She switched on the front burner. “I know you’ve had a lot on your plate balancing work and Matt.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Brooke said.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” her mother emphasized.
Brooke’s mother had been with her every step of the way. She had been her biggest fan when she was a kid, and later when Brooke had found out she was pregnant her senior year of high school, her mother had stayed at her side.
She still remembered that panicked drive to the hospital the night Matt was born. Brooke had been doubled over in the front seat, panting and crying. Her mother had been speeding down a back road when Greene of all people had pulled her mother over. He had clocked her going eighty in a fifty-five. He had realized what was happening, immediately escorted them to the hospital, and hadn’t left until Matt came screaming into the world twenty minutes later.
Brooke had spent the next four years commuting to school, taking classes, and then racing home to her baby boy. With her mother’s help, she had earned her college degree and landed a job in the sheriff’s office as a deputy. She was loyal to Greene and would have had his back if only he had sent those damn kits off for testing.
“You could use a break,” her mother said.
The idea of a warm sandy beach was almost too tempting to consider. She took another long pull on the beer and thought about the teenager sleeping upstairs. “I received a call from Matt at school today. He forgot his computer and lunch money. Couldn’t get you on the phone.”
“I was on the floor with a critical patient and couldn’t take the call. I told him to plan better. This is the third time he forgot his lunch money.”
“I ran both by the school.”
“You do too much for him, Brooke. He has to feel the consequences on the smaller things, so he doesn’t fail when it really matters.”
“So he doesn’t end up like me?”
“I would never wish that boy away. I love him. But you know I wanted a different life for you.”
Slightly irritated with her mother and herself, Brooke took another swallow. “Cindy Shaw’s name came up today.”
“Cindy? Why?”
Brooke dug her fingernail into the label on the side of the bottle. “She vanished the same year as Tobi. The FBI agent thinks there might be a
connection.”
Worry deepened the lines on her mother’s face as she leaned against the counter. “Cindy caused a lot of trouble.”
Brooke was more like Tobi Turner, a band geek without a cool bone in her body. When Cindy had paid attention to Brooke in high school, the incident with the bees had been forgotten. And if only for a little while, she had felt cooler. But Cindy had never really cared about Brooke or Tobi or perhaps herself.
“As an adult I look back and recognize Cindy’s awful homelife and her substance abuse problems led her to make a lot of poor choices. If I met her today, I’d like to think I’d be a bigger person and show her more compassion.”
“I don’t know if I could ever have charity for that girl.” Her mother dunked a chamomile tea bag into her mug, and when the kettle whistled, she poured hot water into the cup. “You mentioned the FBI. Is that the person who drives the black sedan parked in front of the station?”
“Yes, her name is Special Agent Macy Crow.”
“But isn’t it your job to investigate the cases now?”
“Sheriff Nevada feels like we need the big guns for this one.”
“You’re smart enough to figure it out.”
Brooke wasn’t so sure about that. Her experience ended at the county line. “A fresh set of eyes won’t hurt.”
Floorboards squeaked upstairs and she realized her son, a light sleeper, was awake. He was smart, clever, and the spitting image of her.
Brooke poured the last of her beer down. “I want to check in on Matt.”
As she turned to leave, her mother said, “I’m proud of you.”
Brooke closed her eyes, absorbing the words before she kissed her mother lightly on the cheek and then climbed the stairs. She walked down the narrow hallway she’d traveled so many times that a light wasn’t necessary. She opened her son’s bedroom door. Hints of the fresh coat of blue paint she had rolled on the walls a couple of weeks ago lingered in the air. His clothes were piled on the floor next to a set of size-eleven sneakers she’d given him for his birthday last summer. He was already fourteen and in four years would be off to college himself. When he was born, she’d thought her life was over. Now she wondered what she would do when he was gone.