Little Secrets(101)
“McKenzie,” she says, and it might be the first time Lorna has ever addressed her by name. “Wine cellar. Now.”
Kenzie turns and bolts.
* * *
The door to the underground wine cellar is underneath the old tasting room, about a football field’s length to the left of the farmhouse. Kenzie makes a run for it, sufficiently freaked out by the look in Lorna’s eyes to do as she’s told. J.R. is unstable, and looking for a gun, which Lorna has in her possession. The cops are coming. Enough said.
She reaches the tasting room and enters through the old double doors, sprinting across the now empty showroom, past the dusty wine barrels and the long counter. At the back of the room, there’s another door that leads down to the cellar, and she finds it unlocked, with the lights for the stairs left on. Kenzie slams the door shut behind her and bolts it, pausing for a moment at the top of the stairs to catch her breath. She puts an ear to the door, listening for any sounds that someone might have followed her. She was told not to let J.R. in.
She begins making her way down the stairs to the bottom, where the wines are stored in a temperature-controlled room. Fifty-five degrees is ideal, J.R. once told her, and the temperature must be carefully maintained to preserve the integrity of the wine.
As she nears the bottom, Kenzie realizes there’s no way it’s 55 degrees in here. At 55, it should feel chilly, and yet it’s warm and growing warmer with every step. It now feels more like regular room temperature—72 degrees, or maybe even 75. When she hits the last step, she hears a TV playing.
A TV in the wine cellar? A warm wine cellar? She stops in her tracks. What the hell is going on?
And then she sees.
Her brain takes it in all at once. The large room, the empty wine shelves, the bed, the desk, the lamp, the table with a half empty plate, the container of Two-Bite Brownies, a bunch of ripe yellow bananas, a water bottle, and toys of all shapes and sizes scattered everywhere.
And in the middle of it all stands a little boy, dark hair choppily cut, dressed in blue pajamas too short for his legs and puppy dog slippers too big for his feet, clutching a stuffed teddy bear nearly the same size he is. The teddy bear is wearing a brown sweater with some kind of animal face on it.
A reindeer sweater.
Kenzie’s hand flies to her mouth. She can’t move. She can’t speak. All she can do is stare at the little boy. He stares back, his brown eyes wide, his expression a mix of fear and hope.
“Are you my mommy?” he says, and his confusion is obvious. His voice is so small, so sweet, and it’s trembling. He’s trying very hard not to cry. “Grandma Lorna says my mommy is coming.”
Before Kenzie can say anything to reassure him—which is what she wants to do, because it’s what the poor kid deserves—she hears the sirens, right above their heads.
The police are here.
Chapter 32
Vanessa Castro is as good a driver as she says she is, and they make it to Prosser in a record two and a half hours. By the time they get to the farmhouse, it’s surrounded by cop cars, and the house itself has been cordoned off with crime scene tape. Just like in the movies.
Being squished into the back seat of Castro’s car for over two mostly silent hours gave Marin a lot of time to think about what they would find when they got here. It doesn’t feel like her son is dead. Marin used to think she would sense it if it ever happened, that she’d feel a tremor in her bones or a piercing in her heart, or she’d wake up one morning and somehow just know. Frances knew, after all. Frances had dreams about it.
But maybe what happened with Frances was just a coincidence, and a mother’s intuition doesn’t really extend that far. Castro told Marin not to get her hopes up, and she hasn’t, but the tiny morsel of hope that she still has left—hope that’s dwindled day by day since the moment Sebastian was taken—is still wedged deep in her heart. It’s the only thing keeping it beating.
Castro parks the car and they all get out. They’re immediately approached by two police officers, and the PI gives Marin’s arm a squeeze.
“Let me find out what’s happening,” Castro says. “Hang tight.”
Marin looks around. The scene is overwhelming. Both the police and the FBI are here, and there’s a flurry of activity, made even more chaotic by the police cars’ lights flashing across the farmhouse. She doesn’t recognize any of the agents, and can only assume that the one assigned to their case isn’t here yet. One of the agents breaks from his group and joins Castro and the officers. The PI must have said something about her, because they all look over to Marin at the same time. From this distance, Marin can’t hear what they’re saying.
Sal’s family farmhouse looks different at night. Under the light of the full moon, it appears even more dilapidated than she remembers, all dirty windows and peeling paint. In the daytime, the rolling vineyards provide a stunning backdrop, giving the house a rustic charm it doesn’t otherwise have.
She’s not cold, but Marin shivers. Somewhere on this property is her son. Every inch of her body is tingling, and she’s certain he’s here. No matter how long it takes, they will find him. No matter what they discover, no matter what shape he’s in, Marin isn’t leaving here until she can bring Sebastian home. As if sensing her thoughts, Derek touches her arm. She moves away.