The Last Thing She Ever Did(39)

“A lot of people hated her,” she said. “But taking her kid, that’s just not something I could imagine anyone around here doing.”

“You must have thought you might know something that could help the case,” Esther said. “You called me.”

“I just wanted you to know that the woman in the papers crying about her kid isn’t perfect. That’s all. She’d do the same for me.”

Jake appeared when Esther set down the phone.

“Got anything?” he asked.

“No, not really,” she said. “Unless you count a coworker from Carole’s past that uses a missing-child news article to pour more misery on what I assume to be a former business rival.”

“Aren’t people super?” Jake said.

“Super isn’t the word I was thinking but, yes, they are.”

Jake stayed planted in the doorway. “Lab guy called. The blood on the blouse is Mrs. Franklin’s.”

Esther nodded. “That’s good. I guess. Doesn’t help the case much, but it makes it less likely that the boy’s mother did something violent to him. Woman on the phone said Carole was a drinker back in the day.”

“Didn’t smell anything on her.”

“No. I didn’t, either.”

Jake briefed Esther on his conversation with the insurance adjuster.

“He backs up everything Carole Franklin told us. She was on the phone. Longer than she admitted, but she wasn’t off doing something to her son.”

“Unless she did it before she talked to the insurance adjuster,” Esther said.

“Didn’t think about that. Her whole time line might be a lie. She could have done something to Charlie anytime after her husband left the house. Couple of hours there.”

“Right. But my gut tells me no, she didn’t. I just don’t read that from her.”

Jake shrugged. “Okay. Fine. So where does this leave us?”

“Same place,” she said. “We need to find Charlie.”



Carole was sitting outside on the front steps when Liz arrived home from another aimless run along the river. Liz was running to escape and knew it. It was a sunny and warm day, but Charlie’s mother wore a down vest. Even the puff of the down couldn’t conceal her shivering frame.

“Oh, Carole,” Liz said, wishing she’d had a heart attack before turning into the driveway. “What are we going to do about you?”

There was no answer for it. It was the kind of stupid remark that people make when they attempt to fill silence. It was only one notch better than asking how the mother of a missing child was feeling at the moment.

“If,” Carole said. “You know, if they don’t find Charlie, or if . . .” She stopped.

Liz sat next to her and put her arms around her. An image of the hunter cuddling Bambi’s mother passed through her mind. “They will find him.”

“If they don’t,” Carole said, “or if he’s dead, what will happen to me?”

The question struck Liz as self-absorbed, but who was she to judge?

“I don’t know, Carole. I suppose you’ll be heartbroken for a long time. Maybe forever. But if it’s true—and it’s a big if—then you will find a way to live with it.”

“But who will I be? I won’t be Charlie’s mom anymore.”

“You will always be his mom,” Liz said, fighting her own tears.

“If you don’t have any children,” Carole said, “you aren’t a mother.”

“Let’s go inside,” Liz said.

Carole tried to stand, but she was shaky, so Liz helped her to her feet.

“Thanks,” Carole said, her words sputtering from her lips. “I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything. I need to know what happened. I want to know where Charlie is, and I want to know if he’s all right. I want to be his mom. It’s all I ever wanted to be. None of that,” she said, gesturing toward the big house next door, “none of that matters one whit to me.”

Every word from Liz’s friend was a poisoned dart in her heart.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

MISSING: TWO DAYS

Whoever was at the door was persistent and impatient. The doorbell rang. Knock after knock. Another ring of the bell. From the kitchen where he was searching the refrigerator for something to eat, Owen cautioned his wife with a finger to his lips. He’d told Liz not to answer the door for anyone unless it was Carole or David. No texting. No random phone calls, either. No casual conversation with anyone.

“We need to control the situation,” he’d said as they drove home after taking Charlie to his final resting place. “We can’t do that if we add other people to the mix.”

Liz waited for a long time before she went to peer through the peephole. The front porch was empty.

Who was it?

She cracked open the door and almost immediately a voice surged at her.

“I thought no one was home. Thank God, you’re here.”

It happened so fast. A woman with a microphone was on Liz. Behind her was a man with a camera.

“We’re from KATU,” said a young woman with flinty eyes and a red gash of a mouth. “I’m Katrina Espinoza-Jones. You’ve probably seen me on TV.”