Pretty Girls Dancing(71)

Alyvia was quicker on the uptake than Janie had been. She was already grabbing her coat.

“What? Hang on, I really need those pictures if you want to make it on the punk-modeling scene. I gotta have more than the hair and piercings to sell you to the agency I was telling you about. C’mon, I can give you something to loosen up. Then you can shed the clothes and let me get the shots.”

“I have to be home for dinner.” Swiftly, Alyvia grabbed her purse, took out the envelope of money Janie had given her yesterday, and thrust it at the man. “Maybe we can finish up next week. There’d be no extra charge, right?”

“Another trip out here, another setup.” Newman was clearly disgruntled. “I can’t do that for free.”

The girls headed through the doorway. Without the flashlight Newman had given her, Janie couldn’t see a thing in the darkness. “Should we look for a back door?” she whispered to her friend.

Her cell was vibrating again. Two calls? What did that mean? Two different police cars? She ran into Alyvia as the girl turned toward her.

“I think we should just hide until they leave,” Alyvia began.

But just as the words left her mouth, the front door swung open. A flashlight caught them in its beam. “Allama County sheriff. Don’t move,” a voice commanded.





Claire Willard

November 13

7:22 p.m.

Your daughter’s been arrested.

The words echoed in Claire’s head, but she couldn’t put aside her sense of disbelief. The phone call had been a mistake. The deputy had someone else confused with Janie.

Claire backed the car partway out of the garage before slamming on the brake. Janie’s medication. Surely she was going to need it. She’d be swamped with anxiety in a situation like this. Did the girl have meds with her? She knew her daughter hadn’t been taking them regularly. Claire had discussed the issue more than once with Dr. Drake. Mind racing, she recalled seeing a prescription bottle in the bottom of Janie’s purse a few weeks ago when Claire had been looking for her daughter’s car keys. But did she have her purse with her?

Driving back into the attached garage, she got out and unlocked the door to the house, racing upstairs to her daughter’s bedroom. Flipping on the light, she took a quick look around. Didn’t see a purse. But as long as she was there, she continued into the attached bath and opened the medicine cabinet. Maybe the deputy had taken Janie’s personal effects. That’s what happened when a person was in custody, wasn’t it? As long as Claire was here, she’d look for some unused . . .

The thought fragmented as she stared, shocked. Every month Claire dutifully refilled Janie’s prescription and set it on her daughter’s desk. And here most of them were, neatly lined up in a row. Still full, or nearly so. Six months’ worth. Her hand rose of its own volition to turn each bottle so she could read the dates on them. June’s was half-full. The October bottle looked to be missing only a few pills. The one she’d just refilled for November was missing.

Dazed, she reached for one of the bottles and hurried back to the garage. Her daughter’s therapist liked to say that taking meds was Janie’s choice. But how could the girl be expected to go to a strange town next year and acclimate to college life if she was refusing the most effective coping tool at her disposal?

Worry about Janie consumed her as she drove to the courthouse, where the sheriff’s office was housed. Throwing the car into park, she fumbled to turn it off and almost ran to the back entrance she’d been directed to by the deputy who’d called.

“I’m Claire Willard, Janie Willard’s mother.” Claire spoke into the intercom outside the doors of the Allama County courthouse. The thought of her daughter . . . her baby being inside these locked doors had the fear and confusion winding more tightly inside her. “I received a phone call . . . my daughter was brought here.”

“Just a moment.”

But it was long minutes before someone came to the door. Minutes in which she was very much aware that she was alone on a task that should have required the presence of both parents. Memory of the conversation she’d had with her husband immediately following the phone call still elicited anger.

Janie? What could Janie have possibly done to get picked up by the sheriff’s department?

I don’t know, David. That’s what we have to find out. You need to come home. I’m leaving for the courthouse now, but both of us should be there. Can you imagine what this is doing to her anxiety?

Claire, you know I’m in Columbus. Even if I could leave, it’d be an hour and a half before I got there. You’ll have Janie home by then. This is probably all a misunderstanding. You go. Call me when you learn something. And for God’s sake, if they want to question her, make sure she has a lawyer present!

There had been more, but the crux was the same. David’s dinner with his boss and some clients took precedence over their daughter. Finally, an unsmiling uniformed man came to the door, unlocked it, and let Claire inside. As she followed him down a hallway, a nasty, niggling thought blazed across her mind and wouldn’t be banished.

Whenever one of his children needed David, he never seemed to be available.

“I want to be taken to my daughter. Immediately.” There was a quaver in Claire’s voice. “I told the officer who called. She has an anxiety issue that requires medication. This situation has probably brought on a full-blown anxiety attack.”