She Can Hide (She Can #4)(36)

He leaned across the console and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against him, silent and still for a few minutes.

The cab warmed, and Abby stopped trembling. With a deep breath, she sat up. “We need to find Faulkner.”

Ethan’s thoughts echoed Abby’s, but he wanted to shield her from this new threat as much as he wanted to solve her case. “Are you sure you’re up for it right now? I could take you home and come back another day.”

“No.” She stretched taller in the seat, as if her decision to continue moving forward was holding her up. “We’re here, and I don’t want to waste time. I need to know what he’s been doing since he was released. If he’s guilty of poisoning me, he’ll run.”

“OK. I’ll call the chief.” Ethan shifted back to his own seat. “He has connections. If Whitaker won’t help us, Chief O’Connell will.”

Ethan drove to a convenience store on the highway and bought two bottles of water while they waited. Ten minutes later the chief called back with an address.

“Faulkner’s mother lives in Somer’s Point.” Ethan plugged the address into the GPS on his cell phone. Somer’s Point was the last town before the bridge to the barrier islands that comprised the Jersey Shore, the family resort not to be confused with the Jersey Shore television show filmed in Seaside Heights sixty miles to the north.

Twenty minutes later, Ethan pulled up in front of a boxy rancher the size of a doublewide. The entire lot was barely big enough to play full-court basketball. Instead of a lawn, the yard was covered in a thick layer of smooth, round beige pebbles.

“Let me check it out first. Lock the doors.” But one look at Abby’s face told him she wasn’t happy with his plan. “Was his mother at the trial?”

Comprehension dawned on her face. “Yes.”

“I hate to take the chance she’d recognize you and refuse to speak to us.”

“You’re right.” Abby slumped.

“In fact, she might even see you from the door.” Ethan rooted around behind the seat of his truck for a baseball cap. He handed it to her. “You can trust me, Abby.”

She pulled the cap low on her forehead and slid down in the seat a few inches. A second of silence passed before she answered. “I know.”

But did she? Her mother was depressed. Her father was a no-show. Had Abby ever had anyone she could fully trust?

Ethan got out of the truck. He yanked the zipper of his jacket up to his chin. Though it rarely snowed at the Jersey Shore and the temperature was milder than his mountain hometown, the wind barreling down the street was cold, damp, and thick with salt. Ethan scoped out the property as he walked toward the house. The stone-filled lawn surrounded the house. If anyone came running out the back door, Ethan would hear footsteps crunching in pebbles. Plastic flowers and cement gnomes lined the concrete walk. The only car in the driveway was an older model four-door Buick. A handicapped parking pass hung from the rearview mirror. The carport was empty except for a tan tarp piled on the cement like a snakeskin. After a quick look around the corner of the house, Ethan knocked on the door.

An old woman answered. She opened the door but kept the chain fastened. Her skin bore the permanent sun damage of a lifelong beach lover, as wrinkled and brown as distressed leather.

“Mrs. Faulkner?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Ethan Hale, ma’am.” Ethan gave her a respectful nod. “I’m wondering if you’ve seen your son, Zeke.”

“Are you one of his friends?”

Ethan contemplated lying, but he wasn’t very good at it, and the gaze leveled at him through the gap in the door was shrewd. “No, ma’am.”

“Then you can come in.” She shut the door. Ethan heard the chain sliding free. The door opened wide.

So Zeke’s mom wasn’t happy with him.

Mrs. Faulkner’s five-foot-nothing, ninety-pound frame was dressed from head to toe in pink velour. She could have been anywhere from fifty to eighty years old, but since Zeke was only twenty-eight, he placed her in the lower end of that age bracket.

Ethan stepped into the foyer. A living and dining room combination fronted the house, with a large picture window that overlooked the street. Figurines of cats cluttered every available surface. The house smelled like a combination of boiled cabbage and mildew. “So, have you seen Zeke?”

Mrs. Faulkner leaned on a walker. “Exactly who are you?”

Ethan produced his wallet and badge from his back pocket. “I’m a Pennsylvania police officer, and I’d like to speak with Zeke about a case I’m working on.”

“What’s he done now?” With a glance at his badge, she pulled a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her fleece zip-up and wiped under her nose.

“We don’t know that he’s done anything.” Ethan folded his wallet and returned it to his jeans. “I just want to ask him a couple of questions.”

She snorted. “Whatever you think he did, he probably did it. That boy could never stay out of trouble for a whole day, let alone two weeks.”

“Have you seen him?” Ethan asked.

“I saw Zeke about ten minutes after he got out of prison,” she huffed, and bitterness soured her expression. “He cleaned out my rainy day fund and was gone in another ten.”