Gone Before Goodbye (Love &Mystery in the--6-oh-3 Book 1) (2 page)

Nausea climbed up Teagan’s throat. No. Refocus. Block the image. She’d vowed today would be different, had to be different. No more being a victim frozen on the stupor highway. She’d gotten up this morning, hunted up a skein of purple yarn, and tied a purple bow around the maple tree in the front yard. Purple was Lisa’s favorite color.

What should she do next? Aunt Sophia always knew what to do. If she were alive, she’d be leading every search group and making every decision.

Teagan sighed and listened to the eerie silence in the kitchen. Two days before, teams of law enforcement invaded the house. They searched from the cellar to the attic. She’d hung out at the table with the FBI techie, who’d been consulting on another missing girl, Kara Linn, and now was helping them. He tapped her phone and waited for Lisa or an abductor to call about a ransom. Teagan had little cash, but the investigators explained that people went to any lengths to obtain money in exchange for a kidnap victim. Meanwhile, a stream of techies scoured for prints, fibers, or hair.

Last night, everyone had left, but the wiretap remained, a reminder nothing was solved. Even the press pulled back and seemed satisfied to check in with the police. Lisa. Gone.

Teagan’s anxiety blew up in her chest. It stole her breath. Controlled her body. Her heart raced, threatening to burst.
No. Concentrate on a peaceful place
.

She closed her eyes and pictured the ocean with the waves rolling onto the beach. The image lingered in her mind for a second, and then Lisa was lying on the sand. Blood trickled from beneath her still form, across the opal grains, and turned the granules scarlet.

Teagan opened her eyes with a gasp. Life was a horror fest.

Breathe. Inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth the way you were taught.

The attack finally eased. She scanned the room to ground herself in normalcy. On the fridge, a magnet held the color-coded map of Hawick Falls. Each shaded neighborhood marked the places the volunteers posted their flyers. People she didn’t know, or hadn’t seen in ages, saw the posters and sent her emails and cards offering support. She’d never be able to thank them all.

She inhaled the scent of cinnamon from the geranium above the sink. The zesty fragrance comforted her as she sank into the ladder-back chair.  After several minutes, she swallowed the fear blocking her throat. Teagan stared at the clutter, which hid the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Notes for the vigil, leftover snacks, and messages covered the tabletop. The mess resembled her mother’s organizational system. Aunt Sophia wouldn’t rest until she straightened the chaos. But what good was neatness unless it brought Lisa home?

At the end of the table, the teenager’s chair sat empty. Tears spilled from Teagan’s eyes. Several lost minutes later, she stretched across the jumble for the tissues, her constant companion. “I don’t know how this happened, Aunt Sophia. You’ve been gone six months, but it feels like an eternity.”

Teagan’s thoughts drifted to the day she first arrived in Hawick Falls, nineteen years ago to live with her aunt. She was seven. Aunt Sophia had welcomed her with a hug and an explanation about Teagan’s big job: learn to use the calendar. Life with her aunt revolved around the times and dates of her meetings. Her aunt had been a great coordinator and the one everyone elected to chair an event. Informal and formal gatherings were often held at the house. Teagan’s favorite night was Friday when the women’s group met to knit and chat. They gave her candy and kisses

And then there was Lisa. Life with Lisa consisted of highs and lows with little middle ground. Only Teagan’s lingering, vivid memories of life on the street before she moved to Hawick Falls provided her with the patience and a way to reach the sixteen-year-old. Lisa ate up Teagan’s childhood stories of meals at the Sharing Kitchen and sleeping in tents by the river with her mother. The unforgettable memories were anchored by the emotions of fear, loss, and love for her mother.

And now Lisa was missing. Was the teenager wandering the streets reliving Teagan’s homeless days? Had she romanticized her own past instead of pointing out the dangers while trying to bond with Lisa? She should have been lecturing Lisa on the gnawing hunger, and the continuous fear of nowhere to sleep to escape the cold, rain, or snow. Never mind the scary people who smiled, but when you looked away, eyed your few belongings.

From the corner, the chiming of the clock announced the noon hour. No need to clear a space for lunch. She didn’t want food. Teagan ran her fingers through her hair, snagging a black strand on her opal ring. She should have combed it this morning, but what did a tangle matter? No, she wasn’t on autopilot like the previous days. She worked through the knot with her fingertips.

The quiet of the kitchen yanked on her nerves, and her silver bracelets jangled louder than normal when she moved. She controlled her anxiety and walked into the living room to settle on the tan sofa. She clicked the remote. The screen above the fireplace leaped to life. “An Amber Alert has been issued for a local seventeen-year-old, Lisa Grant. Officers are going door-to-door, interviewing the neighbors.”

Too much reality
. Teagan switched to the twenty-four hour shopping channel that had kept her company over the sleepless nights. The daytime hostess was chatting up a product, but Teagan’s attention faded and her mind flitted from idea to idea.

She’d dreamed of teaching children and enjoying a close circle of friends. She’d own a home, pay her bills, and date reputable men. What she wanted most was to put behind her the remembrance of the crazy woman, her mother, roaming the streets of Hawick Falls.

The dream had come true, but fallen apart with Aunt Sophia’s demise. Five years after moving away, she was again living in Hawick Falls, where a TV movie was the evening highlight. Her new friend on the screen urged viewers to order before the musical tea kettles sold out. Teagan hit the off button.

The questions and ideas continued to jumble in her thoughts. Was Lisa alive? Scared?

Near? Maybe, Teagan’s negative comments about Lisa’s boyfriend, Travis, drove her off. Teagan sighed. The other missing girl, Kara Linn, vanished three months ago, and the police had no clue of her whereabouts. Would the girl’s existence become a distant memory used by parents to warn their kids of the dangers that lurked in Hawick Falls?

Teagan rubbed her burning eyes. She had to stop the unhelpful musings. Yes, she’d post a social media page and remind people to search for Lisa. But first, the mail should have arrived. There was the slim chance Lisa mailed her a letter confessing she’d run off. The notion was doubtful, but not impossible.

In the hallway, she unlocked the door. On the street, a postal truck crawled up the block of New England style houses with sprawling porches, rectangular ranches, and modern Cape Cod homes. She grabbed the envelopes from the mailbox attached to the beige clapboards, stepped inside, and closed the entryway.

She sorted through the ads and bills to the last piece, a large white envelope. The sender used a printed label addressed to her. What was this? She ripped open the flap and pulled out…a holy card?

The picture of Mary Magdalene decorated the front. Someone must have sent a prayer for Lisa? Teagan flipped to the other side and frowned at the words.

Tu
sequens morieris

Someone wrote to her in…Latin? Strange. The prick of sweat stabbed the back of her neck. She sat on the sofa and scooped up her phone from the coffee table. As she searched online for a translation, she dug into her memory of high school Spanish to help crack the code. Tu was you and morieris had something to do with death and sequens translated to—

Her breath whooshed out of her. She dropped her cell on the cushion, but the phrase stared up from the screen.

You
die next
.

A little after noon, Detective Noah Cassidy drove toward the brick Hawick Falls Police Station next to Itsy Bitsy Pre-school. Across the street at Bud’s Variety Store, cars overflowed the parking lot onto the road. Anyone could guess the day without a glance at the date. Bud held the annual July eighth firework sale in the barn behind his business.

Noah entered the rear of the hundred-year-old station house. The city’s twenty-five thousand taxpayers had refused to renovate the building at the past three municipal meetings. Heat and body odors from the holding pen greeted him as he passed through to the large squad room. Vacant desks alerted him that the chief had assigned most of his full and part time department of forty-five men to search for the missing teenager. The few remaining uniforms paused to greet Noah. He saw the wariness and the big question in their eyes. How had he handled the second anniversary of his family’s deaths?

They were scrutinizing him for warning signs of stress or a meltdown. He’d be the first to admit he’d been unable to function when the date rolled around last year. This anniversary, he’d kept it together.
Too bad, guys. You’ll have to find your entertainment somewhere else. I’m back from vacation and I’m going to solve my case
.
You’ll see.

He acknowledged them and continued onward. The sound of tapping on keyboards and the buzz of voices on phones returned. Paul, the newest patrolman with the baby face and large glasses, spun away from his desk as Noah approached. The officer was young and inexperienced, but eager.

“Hey, Cassidy. Good to see you.” The man paused and blinked several times as if he felt the awkwardness of the situation.

“Thanks.” The tight sensation in Noah’s chest grew. “What’s up here? Any news on your bored teenagers feeding the expired meters?” he asked, turning the subject to work and Paul.

“They’re leaving printed cards on windshields. The message informs drivers they’ve been saved from the tyranny of Prince John’s traffic tickets by the Merry Men who added time to their parking meters. When the chief learned how few fines we’d collected and how many dollars the kids’ actions drained from the traffic school fund, he doubled his ulcer meds.” The patrolman glanced around as though he expected to discover someone listening over his shoulder. “Don’t use the word merry unless you want to pull the night beat.”

“We’d be in real trouble if it were Christmas. Thanks for the warning.” Noah strode across the scuffed wooden floor to the quieter space of Chief Banks’ office. The compass in the pocket of his blue-black BDU pants pressed against his thigh. He reached up and straightened his collar. The sooner he was back at work, the sooner his days would return to normal.

He was ready for inspection and his meeting with the chief. Noah’s blond hair was trimmed short, and his clothes were clean and ironed. He needed a case to get his mind off his past family troubles. His job provided him a place to belong, unlike when he was a kid.

Back then, he’d tried to hide his shame over his father’s drinking. Noah still shuddered over the memory. After his mother left them, dear old Dad insisted on proving he was the good parent. He attended school conferences slurring his words or not showing up at all. At night, he needed help to get himself into his bed, and the next day, he staggered around town trying to find someone who’d sell him more beer. There was a whole list of his father’s offenses.

Noah had sworn growing up he’d prove he was nothing like his old man. People would respect Noah Cassidy, and he’d help those who’d been wronged by others the way he’d been. Once he’d made that decision, his path to law enforcement was unavoidable.

Yeah, he’d almost blown it once and regretted the incident. People seemed to have an easier time remembering the bad about you. Noah raised a hand to the door and saw his gray cuff was frayed.

His wife, June, had insisted on shopping for his clothes even when he protested he’d buy his own. “You always buy the first shirt that fits. A detective should dress to impress.” Her face beamed as she held up the bag with the mall store, Men’s More for Less, printed across the bag.

“Who am I impressing? The criminals?” he’d asked and given her a kiss.

His wife’s face faded, and a pain settled in his chest. Since her death two years ago, he couldn’t predict when bits of their past would surface to spark the hurt and regrets. If only he’d been with her the day she’d gone out on the boat. Instead he’d skipped out to do paperwork.

He forced his misgivings into silence and knocked on the office door.

“Come in.”

Noah walked into the eight-by-ten-foot office and crossed to the desk where the sunlight shone from the single window above the chief. A bookcase of law books stood in a corner and diplomas and certificates decorated the beige walls.

His boss wore a crisply starched, white shirt as though he expected a surprise inspection from his former military years. He kept his head bent over a form beside the computer, probably giving the document his legal eye. When confronted by the press or defense lawyers, he spouted off laws wheeler-dealer prosecutor-style. Chief Banks was a tough, by-the-book leader.

The hum of the window’s air conditioner filled the silence. A floorboard under Noah’s feet squeaked when he stirred. He’d forgotten to avoid the plank loosened by nervous officers shifting from foot to foot.

The chief raised his head, and the green eyes in his long face narrowed with a frown while he ran his gaze over Noah. “You missed our morning briefing.”

“High winds delayed takeoff, sir. I returned as soon as my flight got into the Manchester airport. My drive north took an extra thirty minutes because of the summer traffic on the interstate.”

The chief stabbed a finger at him. “Next time, book an earlier departure.  Are you ready to work today?”

“Yes, sir.” Noah didn’t bother protesting that he couldn’t have predicted the weather or road conditions. Not that it mattered. The last question was prompted by the chief’s concern over Noah’s mental health.

His boss sat forward in his chair and snapped, “Right answer. You’re needed here. We’ve another missing girl. The FBI acts as consultants on both cases now.”