A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(88)

“Sure,” the girl said. “Is this about me posting that image?”

“No.” Abby shut the door behind her. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” She stopped, letting the gap in her words do her job for her, letting Gabrielle jump to her own conclusions.

The blood drained from Gabrielle’s face. “Is it Nathan?” she whispered.

In her job, Abby had seen and heard countless liars. Most were surprisingly good. But if Gabrielle was lying, she was one of the best. The terror in her voice, the quiver of her lips, they felt real.

Then again, this girl had been manipulating the truth in one way or another for years.

“No,” Abby said. “Sorry, I should have said that first thing; this isn’t about Nathan. It’s about Eric.”

Gabrielle blinked, relief and confusion on her face. “Eric?”

“Eric was found dead in his home yesterday evening,” Abby said.

“What? No, that’s impossible,” Gabrielle blurted. “I talked to him yesterday.”

“Really?” Abby feigned surprise. “When did you talk to him?”

“I don’t know . . . sometime in the afternoon. He called me.”

“What did you talk about?” Abby already knew the phone call’s contents.

“Something about Nathan’s photo. He kept asking if that’s the image the kidnapper sent me. He sounded angry, or . . . I don’t know. He talked really fast. Is he really . . . are you sure . . . ?”

“What do you think he meant? When he asked about the image?”

Gabrielle hugged herself. “Some people online are saying I made up the whole kidnapping thing. So I figured he thought the same thing. That no one sent me that picture. That I took it myself.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that it’s the picture the kidnapper sent me,” Gabrielle said, eyes brimming. “Is he really dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” Abby said softly. “Did he call again?”

Gabrielle paused as if trying to remember. Abby wasn’t fooled. Eric had called three more times, and Gabrielle hadn’t picked up. There was no question in Abby’s mind that Gabrielle remembered that. But she was probably deciding if she should say that to Abby. Did she think it would depict her in a bad light?

“Yes,” she finally said, voice cracking. “He called again, but I didn’t answer. I was busy writing an email to the guy in charge of the ransom donations. And I wanted to keep my line free in case the kidnappers called my number instead of my mom’s. How did he die?”

“We’re still looking into that,” Abby said.

“Do you know . . . is there a funeral?”

“You’ll have to ask his parents,” Abby said. “I can get you their number.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.” Gabrielle sniffed.

“Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Eric?”

“I don’t know. Nothing like that. Nothing that would get him killed. He told me he used to post some funny photos back when he was at school, and some people got mad. But that was ages ago. Can you . . . can I have a minute? Please?”

“Sure,” Abby said. “Take your time.” She walked out of the room and shut the door behind her.

She found Eden in the kitchen, flipping the pages in a photo album. Abby sat next to her and looked at the photos. Pictures of a toddler grinning at the camera, a pouting girl standing by his side. Nathan and Gabrielle, years ago.

“I made this album when Nathan was three years old,” Eden said, her voice drained. “I kept telling myself I should make an album every year. When the pictures are on the phone, you never really look at them.”

“I guess not,” Abby said.

“But I only made this one album. Never made the time to make more.”

“Any photos from the farm here?”

“No. By the time Nathan was born, almost no one had a phone or a camera on the farm anymore. It was discouraged. Otis said we should live our lives, not view them through a lens.”

In general, Abby agreed with the sentiment. But like almost everything else, when taken to extremes, it did more harm than good. “You know,” she said, “I met a girl from the Tillman farm yesterday. A special girl. She’s called Leonor. Did you meet her?”

Eden flipped another page. Nathan in a Halloween costume, grinning, holding a Kit Kat in his hand. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Right, she joined after you left. She seems like she wants to leave as well . . . but she’s very scared.”

“It’s scary,” Eden said. “When all your friends are on the farm, and you hear all those things about the world outside. It’s terrifying.”

“But you left,” Abby said. “On your own. With two kids. That’s impressive. Amazing, really.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Abby placed her hand on Eden’s arm. “Why did you leave?”

“I told you. Otis started talking crazy stuff. And he told everyone to come nude to the private confession sessions. I just had to leave.”

“Your husband was in the cult. Otis had been talking about Armageddon for years; you told me that yourself. I talked to people there, Eden. They believe every single word he says. They do everything he tells them. I think you’re an incredible woman. But you wouldn’t have left because he made you uncomfortable. What happened?”