Ink and Bone(47)

“A couple of years ago I had knee surgery and was prescribed some pretty powerful pain relievers to which I became addicted. I was in the throes of that problem when we lost Abbey, and that came to light as well. I had a nervous breakdown about three months after she went missing, and I was hospitalized.”

“Where were you getting your pills?”

Merri shrugged. “I did a little doctor hopping,” she said. “I got some online.”

“You didn’t have a dealer?”

Merri drew in a sharp breath. Could you call a colleague whose family lived in Canada and who on his regular trip up north picked up various prescriptions for friends a dealer? Ambien for his friend that didn’t have insurance? Tylenol 3? Vicodin? That friendship was over; she’d had no choice but to give his name. He didn’t get in any real trouble, but his drug-trafficking days, however benign, were over.

She explained this to Cooper.

“I understand,” said Jones again. Something about the way he said it was comforting, not judgmental, and put her at ease.

“Although it might not make me mother of the year,” she said. “I was fully functional, and my problems had nothing to do with Abbey going missing.”

Was that really true? She still didn’t know.

“Except that I should have been with them and I wasn’t always myself,” she added.

He reached out a hand and put it on her arm. Usually, she drew away from people, hated their touch. Especially since Abbey, and since she’d been off the pills. She felt like there was an electric current constantly running through her. But she was okay with him.

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your daughter,” he said.

She looked down so that he couldn’t see how close she was to tears. It was embarrassing to be crying all the time in front of people. She had never gotten used to it, how raw she was, how near she always was to breaking apart.

“Please don’t waste any more time on those things,” she said. “I didn’t hire you to get stuck in old grooves in the road. I need a fresh approach.”

She was trying hard not to sound edgy, but she was practically vibrating with urgency. There was a clock in her head; she could hear it ticking. Every second Abbey was farther away.

“I had to hear about those things from you,” he said. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask.”

He explained to her how he was going over the files, and how he had gone to the lake house, and to the trail. And Merri was sure that was the right way to do things. But it was just more of the same.

“What about Miss Montgomery?” she asked. “Will she be able to help?”

He’d been clear with Merri that there were no guarantees, and she got that. There had been a number of private detectives before Cooper, and she knew how it went with them. With the presentation of that first big retainer check, every single one of them believed that he’d be the one to bring Abbey home. But then when the weeks wore on, the calls would be less frequent; then Merri’s calls would go unreturned. Inevitably there would be a conversation about how all the leads were cold, the police had done a decent job, nothing had been missed. Nothing missed—except her daughter.

Now she was that mother who, in her desperation, had turned to a psychic. A terribly sad cliché, something people had laughed about (mirthlessly) in one of the groups she’d visited for families of missing children. They’re waiting like vultures for us, these charlatans, one father had said bitterly. How do they live with themselves, taking our money when we’ve lost everything else?

But Merri had an aunt who’d had prophetic dreams, the stuff of family legend. And there had been a few strange things about Abbey, too. She had a dream that her hamster Daisy was going to die, and the next day he (there had been some gender confusion) did. Sometimes when Abbey had tantrums, the lights in their apartment would flicker. And she hadn’t wanted to go to the lake house. She’d had nightmares about it for weeks leading up to the trip. But, of course, they’d dismissed it.

There’s a monster in the woods.

No such things as monsters, kiddo. You know that.

“I went to see Eloise,” said Jones in response to her question. “Her granddaughter thinks she might be able to help. Eloise isn’t getting anything yet.”

“Is her granddaughter a psychic?” asked Merri.

“So I’m told.”

“You’re not a believer?” she asked. She had to say the guy wasn’t into selling himself, which was a bit of a change.

The waitress brought their food but seemed to linger nearby, needlessly wiping down clean tables and fussing with condiment trays that acted as centerpieces. Was she listening to their conversation? Would what Merri said become fodder for the gossip mill around town? Jones went quiet, took a bite of his sandwich. She sensed that he, too, was waiting for the waitress to leave the proximity. Finally, she did.

“I’ve been around long enough to know there’s more to this life than we can see or understand. Let’s say I have a healthy respect for Eloise, as well as a healthy skepticism.”

Merri nodded. That put them on the same wavelength.

“And her granddaughter?”

“Eloise seems to think she’s something special. I trust Eloise. And Finley seems like a good kid.”