| was sure that was the right way to do things. But it was just more of the same. “What about Miss Montgomery?” she asked. “Will she be able to help?” He’d been clear with Merri that there were no guarantees, and she got that. There had been a number of private detectives before Cooper, and she knew how it went with them. With the presentation of that first big retainer check, every single one of them believed that he’d be the one to bring Abbey home. But then when the weeks wore on, the calls would be less frequent; then Merri’s calls would go unreturned. Inevitably there would be a conversation about how all the leads were cold, the police had done a decent job, nothing had been missed. Nothing missed—except her daughter. Now she was that mother who, in her desperation, had turned to a psychic. A terribly sad cliché, something people had laughed about (mirthlessly) in one of the groups she’d visited for families of missing children. They’re waiting like vultures for us, these charlatans, one father had said bitterly. How do they live with themselves, taking our money when we’ve lost everything else? But Merri had an aunt who’d had prophetic dreams, the stuff of family legend. And there had been a few strange things about Abbey, too. She had a dream that her hamster Daisy was going to die, and the next day he (there had been some gender confusion) did. Sometimes when Abbey had |
room. Sunlight washed in through a stained-glass window beside it, casting a confetti spray of rainbows on the wood floor. There were pictures of a happy young couple on a rickety old piano. Two china dogs sat pretty on the fireplace hearth. On the candy-striped walls, there were portraits of children—a boy playing baseball, riding a tricycle, opening Christmas presents. There was a pretty girl on horseback, a chubby blond toddler on the beach, a young woman with a baby wrapped in pink. Family pictures, like the million pictures her parents had—except the photos at home were on phones, computers, digital picture frames. Different people, different places, but the same energy (her mommy’s favorite word)—happy, beautiful, look at us and all the little pictures of our life. Penny followed Bobo to the upstairs landing and down a wide, carpeted hall, where he pushed open a door. Warm sunlight washed bright and yellow, spilling onto the rug. Penny blinked against the brightness as she walked inside. It was a princess room, pink and lace with a four-poster bed and plush carpet. Tiny roses on white wallpaper. Shelves of dolls and teddy bears, rows of 4H trophies for riding horses and raising chickens—and not the small plastic ones that everyone gets. Tall, glittering towers with horse and rider on top, emblazed with First Place. Little golden horses jumped or stood regal beside the little gold rider. Ribbons in blue and green, red and white. Looking closely she saw |
