Her Last Goodbye (Morgan Dane #2)(31)

“As far as I know, the doctor adjusted his medication. Grandpa wouldn’t let me go in with him.” Stella tugged her keys from her pocket.

“Why is he so stubborn?”

“Because he’s a Dane?” Stella paused to brush a hair off her face. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Thanks for taking him today.”

“Hey, he’s my grandpa too. Please don’t feel like you have to do it all. We’ll manage it together.” Stella got into her car and drove away.

Morgan watched her sister’s taillights disappear into the darkness. Stella was right. Morgan didn’t have to manage everything alone. Why did she always think she did? That whole bringing-home-the-bacon-and-frying-it-up-in-a-pan thing got old fast.

She turned back toward the house. The hairs on her nape rose. Was someone watching her?

She spun around, her eyes searching the darkness beyond the reach of the lights. There was no one in front of the house, and the street was empty in both directions. A gust of wind blew dead leaves along the gutter. Her imagination must be working overtime with Chelsea’s disappearance.

But her steps quickened as she hurried toward the front door. She went inside, locked the door, and set the alarm. Grandpa took home security seriously. He’d installed motion lights, surveillance cameras, and a solid alarm system.

Sophie waited in the hallway.

“If you pick a book, I’ll read to you,” Morgan said. Maybe cuddling with her girls would relax her. She obviously needed some downtime.

“Toy Story!” Sophie ran for the bedroom she shared with her sisters.

Morgan’s return to work had made them all a little clingy. Even with Gianna insisting on being her live-in nanny, Morgan preferred to handle bedtime. There was something special about putting her children to bed at night, seeing them safe and warm and content, before she settled herself for the evening.

She read a bedtime story, kissed each little girl, and tucked the covers around their tiny bodies. As always, her heart trembled when the children said good night to their daddy’s picture on the dresser in their room. But Morgan was getting better. No more tears. John had been clear about wanting her to move forward and enjoy life.

But damn, the juggling act that had become her life was hard. How would she ever make her relationship with Lance a priority?

With no solution to her predicament, it was almost a relief to turn her attention to Chelsea Clark’s disappearance.

With the girls in bed, Morgan opened her briefcase at the kitchen table and began to review the Clarks’ financial statements. Chelsea and Tim didn’t write many checks. Most of their bank transactions were direct deposits and automatic withdrawals for regular monthly bills. Tim paid the utility bills online. Chelsea and Tim had separate credit accounts. Tim’s was more active, but nothing stood out as unusual on his statements for the past three months. Most were repeat transactions. Boring purchases like coffee and sandwiches. Morgan skimmed Chelsea’s statements.

Grandpa shuffled in and poured himself a glass of milk. “What are you doing?”

“Reviewing my clients’ financials. I don’t see any red flags, but I’m going to try and trace the wife’s recent activities as best as I can. For now, I’m assuming Chelsea was kidnapped. If someone planned her abduction, he saw her somewhere.”

Grandpa nodded. “Best to start with the most dangerous hypothesis. If she abandoned her family, she’ll be alive to find later.”

So many ifs.

“Shouldn’t you be using your cane?” she asked.

“I don’t need it.” But Grandpa kept a hand on the wall or the counter as he moved around the room. “Most women are hurt by people already in their lives so it makes sense to start there. If the crime was random, then finding her will be harder.”

With one hand on the back of a chair, Grandpa drank his milk.

Morgan started a list of all the places Chelsea had frequented in the past few months. The statements showed regular activity at a local grocery store, the Walmart, and a gas station. Morgan jotted down the locations. She added less frequent stops at a café, a few small retailers, and an auto-repair shop. There was no recent charge for Chelsea’s yoga studio, but Morgan put it on the list anyway. “I’m not finding much.”

“Want to tell me about it?” Grandpa was a retired NYPD homicide detective.

“A young mother went out to meet her girlfriend for a drink.” Morgan began, then summed up the case for him.

Grandpa reached across the table, picked up Chelsea’s photo, and stared at it. “Have you considered human trafficking?”

“Isn’t she a little old? Don’t they usually abduct teenagers?”

“Yes. But this girl looks young. She also has the wholesome, blonde, all-American look that’s very popular in the trade.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Morgan turned to her laptop.

Grandpa put the picture down, went to the fridge, and poured a second glass of milk. He set it on the table in front of Morgan, then he took two cupcakes from the container on the counter and handed her one.

“You know my weakness.” Morgan bit into the cupcake. Only cop families could eat cupcakes while reviewing a missing person case.

“You were born with a sweet tooth.” Grandpa ate his cupcake, tugged a chair next to hers, and sat down, setting his milk on the table.