Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(56)

Annie is not.

But I love her enough to make up for her father—and her sister, too, for that matter, Marin thinks fiercely.

“Oh, Mom, look!” Annie stops walking and points at the plate-glass window of a pet shop. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

The purebred puppy stares back at them with soulful eyes.

“He is,” Marin agrees.

“Can we get him?”

“Annie, you know you’re allergic.”

That’s been a sore spot in the Quinn household for years—mostly with Caroline and Garvey. Both of them often talk about how they would love to have a dog. Garvey, Marin suspects, because the dog would complete the wholesome family image. Caroline, meanwhile, has always claimed to be an avid animal lover—probably because she knows her sister’s allergies mean no pets allowed.

“I could get shots,” Annie tells Marin. “Dr. Federman said so. Then the fur wouldn’t bother me as much.”

“But he didn’t say that if you got shots, you wouldn’t suffer at all. It’s not worth it, Annie.”

“I really want a puppy, Mom. Please? Look how cute and cuddly he is.”

“Sorry, Annie. Come on, let’s go see if we can find those jeans you wanted.”

“I’d rather have a puppy,” she says good-naturedly, and Marin smiles, shaking her head.

“Meanie. Dad would say yes.”

What is there to say to that?

Dad must love you more, then.

Or Dad doesn’t care that your allergies would make you miserable.

Or maybe just “I’m sorry, Annie.”

For a lot of things. Things I hope you never, ever have to find out about.



“Mom—” Lucy thrusts Lauren’s cell phone at her. “I was near your chair and I heard it ringing so I answered it.”

“Is it Daddy?”

She shakes her head. Her green eyes are frightened.

“Lucy—here, watch Sadie.” Lauren takes the phone and moves away from the playground with it, not wanting the girls—or the dad—to overhear.

Bad things happen everywhere…even here.

Lauren’s heart is pounding as she answers the phone with a strangled-sounding “Hello?”

“Mrs. Walsh?”

“Yes.”

“This is Marcia Kramer again. From—”

“Yes, from Nick’s office. I know. Have you heard from him?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t.”

Lauren’s heart sinks.

It’s better than bad news…but it definitely isn’t good.

“Some of his colleagues are concerned,” Marcia Kramer goes on. “They say this isn’t like him. No one has been able to track him down at home or on his cell phone. I was wondering—”

She breaks off, clears her throat.

“I hate to ask, but…”

Again, Marcia seems unable to bring herself to the point.

Feeling sick inside, Lauren has a good idea what it might be. She sinks onto a bench and turns her back to the playground, clutching the phone hard against her ear.

“Would it be possible for you to put us in touch with Nick’s—friend?”

There it is.

She knew it.

Some small part of her—an immature, wounded, vindictive part of her—is tempted to feign innocence—or at least cluelessness. Nick has a lot of friends, she might say. I have no idea which one you mean.

But this is serious. Nick is missing.

“Beth,” she tells Marcia. “That’s her name.”

“And she’s Nick’s—”

“Girlfriend. Yes. Beth.” Lauren rarely says the name out loud. It doesn’t sit well on her tongue, sounds odd to her ears, even now.

Beth.

I hate her, she thinks churlishly—ridiculously, under the circumstances. But the small, immature part of her seems to have taken over suddenly, smothering rationality. I don’t want to call Beth looking for Nick and I don’t want Marcia Kramer or Georgia to call Beth looking for Nick and I sure as hell don’t want Lucy to call Beth. Ever. For any reason.

“I understand she was traveling with him on the trip.”

For God’s sake, Marcia Kramer, Lauren wants to scream, don’t you understand how excruciating this is for my family?

“Yes,” she hears herself say, almost sedately. She looks over at the playground. Lucy is pushing Sadie on the swing, but watching Lauren. She can sense her daughter’s trepidation from here.

The dad and baby are gone, she notices. Just as well.

Tears fill her eyes as she looks at her daughters. Hers…and Nick’s.

They need to find out where their father is.

Chances are, Beth will know. She might even be with him at this very moment.

“Have you heard from—Beth—at all today?” Marcia wants to know.

“I haven’t heard from Beth ever.”

“So you don’t have her phone number?”

“My daughter does,” she says, resigned. “I’ll get it.”



Elsa wearily eyes the raised flowerbeds that run along the front of the house. They desperately need watering—if it’s not too late. Most of the plants have shriveled or keeled over entirely.