And Now She's Gone(35)

“Is that illegal now? She’s a grown-up and can go wherever she wants.”

“My client thinks she was under duress at the time and is concerned about her safety.”

“She wasn’t under duress on Sunday, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s not missing, nor did she ‘run away.’ Not in my opinion, and I’m her mother.”

Which is why the police had not become involved.

“Wait…” Rebekah Lawrence held up her hand. “I know who hired you, and…” She pressed that hand against her forehead. “Please tell him that we’re working on it, okay? We’re not rich people. I mean, we do okay, but ever since Joe’s stroke … We have a lot going on right now.”

Gray offered a comforting smile. “I hate piling on, but could you do me a small favor?”

“Maybe.”

“Could you take a picture of the dog and Isabel holding today’s newspaper?”

Confused eyes from Rebekah.

“Sounds ridiculous,” Gray admitted, “but it’s just so that I can show my client that—”

“The dog? And … Isabel?”

“Yes.” When the older woman didn’t speak, Gray said, “Sorry, I wasn’t clear. I assumed you only had one daughter. Isabel.”

“I have two daughters. And I thought you were talking about Noelle.”

“No. Isa—”

Rebekah Lawrence was slowly shaking her head.

And the two women stared at each other as the neighbor’s sprinklers clicked, as a passing Jetta boomed rap from its janky stereo, as an airplane thundered above their heads.

Rebekah Lawrence reached for her bag in the passenger seat of the Caddy.

Gray dug into her battered Liz Claiborne.

They both thrust pictures at each other.

Gray’s picture was of the Mary Ann with the long ponytail and Vogue cheekbones.

Rebekah Lawrence’s two pictures were of a pig-nosed, light-skinned woman with facial piercings and violet dreadlocks and another woman, with the same nose, darker skin, wearing a Princeton sweatshirt. Neither woman was Isabel. Neither woman had been in the wine tasting tribe pictures on Isabel’s Facebook page or in the pictures around her condominium.

Had Clarissa given her wrong information? Was there another Rebekah Lawrence who had borne a baby girl named Isabel?

“Do you know this woman?” Gray asked, holding up Isabel’s picture.

Rebekah Lawrence gave a decisive nod. “Yes. That’s Isabel.”

“But she’s not your daughter?”

“No. She’s Noelle’s friend.” She held up the picture of the woman with the facial piercings. “Noelle stays with Isabel sometimes. I believe they met over at UCLA.”

“Ah. Got it.” This was a case of the Black Family: lots of play aunties and play cousins and everybody calling every older woman “momma” or “auntie.” Growing up, she’d had “play family.” Nick Rader—decades ago, he was like a brother to her. Even within her foster families, “Auntie” Charlene had been Mom Twyla’s best friend. She’d bathed in Chantilly perfume and smoked skinny brown cigarettes. Charlene had always carried plastic-wrapped caramels in her purse and called Natalie “Li’l Bit” like that was her name. Auntie Charlene had helped Mom Twyla buy purses, jewelry, and cheese with money that the state had paid Twyla for fostering.

“Is Isabel okay?” Rebekah Lawrence asked now.

“We’re hoping so. Do you know anything about Isabel’s parents?”

“No clue.”

Gray now wanted a copy of Isabel Lincoln’s birth certificate. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Maybe a few months ago. March?”

“How was she acting back then?” Shit. I should be recording this. Too late.

“She reminded me of a wounded bird,” the older woman said. “She’s older than my daughter—Noelle is twenty-five and aimless. Always in trouble. Always running. A bit … slick, know what I mean? That’s why I thought you were a process server or a bill collector.”

Rebekah Lawrence sighed. “Kids these days are a bit slick. I’d hoped that she’d grow up some, since Isabel seemed so adult, but then Noelle met this thug, and he just made her worse. She and I had a big blowup about money and that’s when she started living with Isabel. She stayed away for a few weeks, but she came back here. Now she’s living with that boyfriend.”

“Speaking of boyfriends, do you know Isabel’s boyfriend, Ian O’Donnell?”

Rebekah Lawrence blinked at her. “Why would I know him?”

“He told me to talk to you.”

“Talk to me? Why?”

“Because he believes you and Joe are Isabel’s parents.”

“I have no idea why he’d think that.”

“Maybe she considers you to be like a mother to her?” Gray offered. “There’s a picture of you two on her desk at her house and her job.”

“I don’t know her like that. I don’t know Ian Whoever-he-is at all. And I really need to get to work right now.”

Gray asked for Noelle’s phone number.

“I’d rather have Noelle call you. But let me try to get her on the phone right now.” Rebekah Lawrence dialed her daughter’s number.