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CHAPTER ONE
“You were a lot more fun before I died.”
Mabel’s minivan tires ground into the gravel, the sound a crisp, distinct crunch as she eased to the side of the road. She clenched her chilled hands around the steering wheel. Moonlight streamed through the windshield, a spotlight in the darkness of the thickening fog.
She could drive these winding Hollywood Hills roads blindfolded by now. She knew when to ease off the gas and when to expect potholes. She knew the dog in the backyard of the house at the bottom of the hill would bark when she drove past. And she knew to be careful rounding one particular corner, so as not to run over a family of opossums crossing the street.
And Mabel knew with absolute, terrifying certainty that no matter which turn her dream took, she’d find herself in the one place she never wanted to see again—the only place that held any hope of answers.
“The least you could have done is bring Barksy along for the ride.” Sylvie heaved a theatrical sigh that nearly brought a smile to Mabel’s lips. “I would have liked to have seen my dog again. Honestly, Mabel. I know this is your subconscious and all, but couldn’t you take us someplace a bit more exciting?” She shifted in her seat and turned to look behind them before facing forward, staring into the fog ahead. “A club, maybe? Or a party. How about the movies? I really miss going to the movies.”
The longing Mabel heard in her sister’s voice pinged painful and deep in her heart. Words stuck in her throat.
“Remember when we used to sneak into the theater at the mall back in Wisconsin for the Sunday afternoon shows?” Sylvie gushed. “Let’s go do that.”
Mabel squeezed her eyes shut before focusing back on the road. She wanted nothing more than to feel her sister’s hand actually grab hold when Sylvie reached for her. Instead, Mabel shivered at the icy chill racing up her arm.
Outside, the fog swirled, mingling with the shadows in her mind as the wind began to howl.
“Mabel,” Sylvie whispered. “Why do you keep coming back here?”
“You know why. Because you’re here. At least, part of you is.” Mabel kept her gaze pinned to the top of the hill, willing herself not to look into the passenger seat. As long as she didn’t look, Sylvie would stay where she was, beside her. But the second she turned her head …
“You’re here because you’re stuck,” Sylvie accused, then her voice gentled. “It’s been eight years. Eight years of your life, Mabe. It’s time you moved on.”
“I know how long it’s been.” She knew because she’d counted every single day she’d spent without her sister—her twin. There had been endless days where she’d counted each second of each hour. It was impossible not to when half your heart and just as much of your soul was missing. “I miss you, Syl.” Some days, so much it physically hurt. “I can’t move on. Not until …” Not until she knew the truth.
“Well, I’m bored,” Sylvie teased. “The view never changes.”
“You’re always bored.”
“Yeah? Well, you don’t know how hard it is to be bored when you’re dead,” Sylvie said.
“Stop it,” Mabel whispered and squeezed her eyes shut.
As close as they were, Mabel often wondered if two twins had ever been more different. Practical, levelheaded, logic-minded Mabel and stars in her eyes, flit-about Sylvie, whose mind had been filled with dreams of performing and stardom from the second she’d taken her first breath. In high school, Mabel had been part of the chess club, the debate team, and the band. Sylvie had devoted herself to drama class, starred in every school production, and was named most likely to see her name in lights.
Instead, Sylvie Reynolds’s name had been destined to appear in headlines.
“I’m just saying—” Sylvie tried again.
“Don’t say it. Not again.” Mabel refused to wake. Even as she willed the dream to shift, for Sylvie to go silent, she also wished it would never end. This was where Sylvie belonged: here, with Mabel. Instead … “Maybe you’re not dead,” Mabel told herself. “And you’re not here, in this place. Maybe I’m the one haunting this place because I miss you, and it’s the only lead I’ve got. You could still be alive.” It was a futile hope, perhaps. But it was still hope. “They’ve spent the last two months searching every inch of this property, and not one body has been found.” Her photograph had been, though. Along with the others. So … many others.
“Not one body,” Sylvie agreed quietly.
Angry tears scorched Mabel’s throat. “Stop trying to make a point. You aren’t really here. This is just a dream.” Why wasn’t she here?! The not knowing, the idea that her sister was completely lost to all of them was the worst type of torture she could imagine.
“No, I’m not here, Mabel,” Sylvie murmured. “I’m here.” Mabel shivered at the chill against her temple. “And here.” The coldness against her heart felt like a kind of jump-start to a dead battery. “I’m where you need me to be. Where you can’t let me go.”
Mabel shoved herself out of the car, shaking her head as if she could dislodge the spinning miasma of disconnected thoughts that refused to coalesce when she was awake. The night closed in around her, the darkness pressing down. She looked at the flashlight in her hand. Where did that—?
“Remember when Dad gave us those automotive repair kits for Christmas when we first got our cars?” Sylvie’s voice echoed behind her now, her presence casting an illuminating glow bright enough to counter the flashlight’s beam. “You gave him such a hard time because they were pink.”
“An argument I lost when you added rhinestones to yours,” Mabel muttered.
Keep your eyes ahead. Keep moving forward. Keep her with you. Maybe then …
“Man, it’s cold out here.” Sylvie’s teeth chattered. “Next time, put some jackets in the minivan, would you? Which reminds me: a minivan? Really?” The disdain in Sylvie’s voice would have had Mabel laughing under different circumstances. “Remember the grief we gave Mom and Dad when they bought theirs? It’s just embarrassing.”
“It’s practical and carries all of Keeley’s stuff, and she has a ton of stuff.” Mabel smirked. “Reminds me of another eight-year-old I used to know.”
“Heaven help me from practicality.” Sylvie laughed. “She’s a hoot, that niece of mine. I’m really sorry I’m not around to see her grow up.”
“Yeah.” Mabel’s lungs burned as her steps slowed. “Me, too.”
Instead of getting closer, the top of the hill seemed farther away. Every step she took felt as if her feet were trapped in quick-drying cement.
“Let’s go back to the car, Mabe,” Sylvie pleaded. “There’s nothing for you up there. Nothing you need to see.”
Mabel shook her head. “There has to be something.” She crouched forward, gripped the fingers of her free hand into the ground that turned to sludge beneath her touch, and tried to haul herself forward. “I’m not going to stop, Sylvie. I’m not stopping until I get you home!”
The flashlight flickered to life.
The hill vanished.
The road ahead of her flattened.
She felt a strange, disorienting sensation and turned in a slow-motion circle, looking out into the blinking lights of Los Angeles; the city Sylvie had set all her dreams upon lay behind her now. The barely there twinkles of sky-skimming buildings broke through the ever-thickening fog that left her with only one path to walk. Around her, an odd whining, a keening, echoed in her ears.
Yellow crime scene tape snapped in the midnight wind as it surrendered its hold across the black iron gates beyond which the Tenado estate stood.
“There’s nothing up here. There’s nothing in there.” Sylvie’s voice trailed off.
Panicked, Mabel faced her sister, worried she was going to lose her. She found a warning in her ghostly eyes.
“Go home, Mabel. Please. I don’t want you here.”
“I’m not leaving you in there!” Mabel dived forward.
Her sister’s form burst apart in the fog, dissipating. Mabel fell forward, catching her footing before she dropped face-first into the ground and grabbed hold of the chilled metal pickets of the gates. At least she didn’t wake up this time. Maybe she could find her sister again.
The loneliness struck as it always did, with the ferocity and finality of a world completely changed in an instant. A loneliness that, at times, didn’t allow her to breathe.
Mabel shook the bars so hard her teeth rattled. Beyond the chain and lock, the Tenado estate stood eerily silent and empty. The stark white paint a complete misnomer to the horrors it held within its expansive walls. Even now, standing outside the perimeter of the property, Mabel could only imagine the screams.
The whining grew louder, the stabbing cold at her back harsher as she got up and pried the gates open enough to squeeze through. Her boots crunched in the loose gravel of the path, circling up to the front porch and door. Around her, the fog thickened, coating her skin like a slick film.
She angled the beam of her flashlight up until she captured the red lily etched into the stained-glass window above the front door in its beam. She crept closer and stepped onto the porch, her footfalls dull against the painted wood.
Mabel pressed her palm flat against the wood, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Sylvie.”
A scream ripped through the night, erupting from inside the house with such force that the door vibrated beneath her hand. Something wet plopped onto her cheek. She swiped at it, drew away fingers covered in thick, red blood. Mabel stepped back, shined the flashlight up on the window again as the flower turned to liquid and drained, spattering on the ground in front of her.
Mabel. I’m here, Mabel. I’m here!
What was left of Mabel’s pounding heart leapt to life. She’d heard her! This was the first time she’d gotten far enough in the dream to hear her sister in this house of horrors!
“Sylvie!”
She’d been right; her twin bond had told her she’d been here! That she returned here in her dreams, night after night, because her sister’s spirit was stuck here in some kind of purgatory.
Slipping in the slick blood, Mabel dived back to the door, shoved it open, and raced inside.
“I’m coming!” she yelled into the echoing shadows of the house. Her voice tumbled back toward her, multiplying and ricocheting off the walls as if bouncing off fun-house mirrors.
The hallways twisted and turned in front of her, disappeared behind her. Rooms swam around her, moving in and out, drawing her in and pushing her away as she twisted and spun her way to the only doorway that mattered.
Don’t stop. Don’t wake up. Not yet. Don’t stop. You have to find her—
Mabel threw herself forward, grabbed the black iron knob of the thick wooden door the police investigative team had walked her through two months ago. Her flashlight clattered to the ground and dimmed. Mabel picked it up, shook the handle, twisting and turning, but it slipped in her hand.
“Sylvie!” She rattled the door harder. “Sylvie, I’m here. I’m coming, I promise. I hear … you.”
A skittering erupted behind her. Mabel turned, pressed her back flat against the door even as she continued to cling to the handle. Someone else was here. In the house.
She wasn’t alone.
The darkness moved in, suffocating, blinding. The hiss of the flashlight bulb sounded before the last thread-like beam popped and died.
“Let me in,” she pleaded, twisting her hand and arm in every way to open the door. “She needs me. She can’t be in there alone.”
Her entire body went numb, and her chest grew tight as grief twisted into that familiar knot of anger and rage she’d been carrying around for weeks. Months. Years.
That cold sensation against her back intensified, and she inexplicably felt a tugging at her clothes, even though her back was against the door. A low growl overtook the tap, tap, tapping, moving closer. Shadows loomed and threatened to suffocate her.
Mabel pushed harder into the door, her hand cramping as she gave the knob one final twist. “Let. Me. In!”
The door flew open right as the shadows pounced. There was no stopping the momentum. No preventing herself from falling backward into the dank, musty stairwell that should have been there but wasn’t. She dropped straight down into a black and red swirling darkness, arms and legs flailing, soft bloodred flower petals cascading around her. She tried to catch hold of something, anything …
She was tumbling away from the doorway, and then it was as if time stopped—she froze mid-fall as her mind fractured. The doorway was filled with a familiar face. A face dripping with water and blood, a bloodred lily tucked behind one ear. Sylvie’s eyes were as vacant as the house Mabel had stepped into.
“Sylvie!” Mabel held out her hands, flexed her fingers. Hope caught uselessly in her chest as she continued to reach …
The cold prodding against her spine intensified—an incessant poking and nudging. The whining became even more persistent until it shifted into a low, throaty growl. Mabel sucked in a breath as the dream shattered, the shards hurling her back into consciousness.
Mabel shot up in bed.
Air came in giant gasps and gulps. Terror lodged in her throat. Mabel swept her hair out of her eyes and nearly yelped at the furry head that forced its way under her arm. A cold, wet nose nudged against her chest before climbing into her lap and burrowing his snout against her neck.
“Barksy.”
Mabel didn’t hesitate to wrap her arm around the eight-year-old gray Australian cattle dog. The instant sense of peace the animal brought came with its own spear of grief and sadness.
She kicked free of the sheet and blanket, shifted to more fully embrace the animal that had originally belonged to Sylvie.
Returning the abject comfort, Mabel buried her face in his fur, wiping her tears away even as the vestiges of terror remained.
“Even in my dreams, you’re protecting me.” She lifted her head, caught his snout between her hands, and looked down into the black eyes filled with concern and understanding. “After all these years, you’re still looking for her, too, aren’t you, boy?”
But she’d seen her this time. For a blink of a moment, she’d seen Sylvie before she’d faded into mist. Mabel had seen her sister—felt her.
“Mom?”
The soft knock on the doorframe pulled Mabel the rest of the way out of the nightmare. The sight of her daughter standing in the doorway, much the way Sylvie had been standing in her dream, clogged Mabel’s throat with tears.
“Are you okay?”
The concern in Keeley’s voice broke Mabel’s heart in a completely different way. This was why she tried so hard to stay strong. She didn’t want Keeley thinking for one second that she needed to take care of her mother.
“Hey, baby.” Mabel sniffed and tried to swipe away the tears covering her cheeks. She reached back to click on the bedside lamp. Seeing the small, framed photo of Sylvie the instant she did nearly pushed her over the edge. “Yeah, I’m fine. Bad dream is all. Barksy helped pull me out of it.” Those cold nudges had been the only real thing about the dream. She hesitated, thinking of Sylvie’s face. Almost the only real thing. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
She patted the mattress, and eight-year-old Keeley bolted to the bed. It was a sight that lightened Mabel’s heavy heart as Keeley was fast moving into the age beyond little girl snuggles and giggles, never mind late-night post-nightmare cuddles. Of course, she had yet to outgrow her Mickey Mouse pajamas, but that probably wouldn’t ever happen given Mabel owned a few pairs herself.
“Wasn’t asleep yet.” Keeley reached across Mabel to scrub Barksy’s chin. “Good boy, Barksy.”
“He’s a very good boy.” Mabel kissed his snout and earned an approving whimper in return. “What time is it?” She glanced around for her phone.
“It’s not even midnight yet.” Keeley attempted to straighten the blankets.
“And you weren’t asleep?” Mabel frowned. “What happened to our deal?”
Keeley rolled her eyes. “It’s Friday night, Mom. The deal was I could stay up as late as I wanted if I was reading.”
She grinned up at Mabel. and for an instant, Mabel saw a young Sylvie in her own daughter’s face. Dark green, almost hazel eyes. Streaky blonde hair. Chipmunk cheeks that appeared whenever she smiled. And she smiled a lot, thank goodness. The sight nearly tore Mabel in two.
“Your iPad is supposed to be in the charging station in the kitchen by eight,” Mabel reminded her.
“I wasn’t on my iPad. I was reading a book. Aunt Riley said I could raid her and Moxie’s bookshelves whenever I wanted.”
Mabel pursed her lips. Knowing her best friend Riley Temple’s reading preferences, Mabel wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what Keeley had acquired. As far as what Riley’s great-aunt Moxie read for pleasure …
Mabel’s face flushed at the thought.
Not that she had ever restricted Keeley’s book selections. One of the most important parenting lessons she’d learned from her own mother was to never say no to a book. Any book. Even books that might make her cringe.
“It’s like having a library just downstairs,” Keeley went on as Mabel shoved back against the headboard and drew both her dog and daughter with her. “Especially now that detective man has moved in with them.” Keeley drew up the blankets and tucked them in, resting her head on Mabel’s shoulder. “He has a whole collection of Stephen King books. Some of them are even signed! How cool is that?”
“Stephen …” Mabel drew in a deep breath. Leave it to Keeley to test her own boundaries. “Is that what you picked to read?”
“Uh-huh. I figured it was okay since I’ve already seen the movie.”
“What movie?”
“Carrie.” Keeley looked up at her. “I watched it with Aunt Laurel on Halloween. It’s okay, isn’t it?”
That one of Mabel’s other best friends had introduced her child to classic horror movies? Or that said introduction had now led Keeley to Detective Quinn Burton’s horror novel collection? Where to begin?
“You don’t think you’re a little young to be reading books like that?”
“Mom.” Keeley rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be nine in a few weeks.”
“Right.” Mabel tightened her hold. “Nine. Silly of me to have forgotten.” Inspiration struck like a lightning bolt. “You have any questions about any of those books, you feel free to take them to Quinn, okay?”
Oh, yeah. If she was going to have to suffer the slings and arrows of her daughter’s new horror fascination, so was the man who made them possible.
Keeley had always been dangerously curious about, well, everything. Forbidding her to do or read anything would only result in secretive, deceitful behavior, and that was something Mabel was not about to put up with or inadvertently encourage. Even if some people considered certain works inappropriate for youngsters, as far as Mabel was concerned, the conversations that resulted kept the lines of communication open, something that would only become more important as Keeley got older. There was too much of her twin in the girl … Her heart constricted.
Keeley fidgeted with the fraying hem of the blanket. “I was going to tell you about the books. You know, ’cause we don’t have secrets. Right, Mom?”
“Right.” She smoothed Keeley’s hair back, rested her cheek on the top of her head. “Something else you need to tell me?”
“No.” She hesitated. “Something I want to ask.”
Mabel frowned. “You can ask me anything. You know that.”
“You’ve always told me I should do what I love to do. When I grow up. You know, like with college and stuff.”
“Are you about to tell me you want to run off and join the circus?”
Keeley tilted her chin up. Her face scrunched. “Is that really a thing?”
“It’s—never mind. What’s your question?”
“I dunno. I guess I just wanted to …” She heaved a sigh so similar to the one Sylvie had in the dream, Mabel almost fell right back into it. “Do you like your job, Mom?”
“Sure.” Mabel shrugged. “Being a record keeper gives me the chance to work with a lot of interesting people and help their businesses.” It also fed her desire for order and rationality. Numbers didn’t lie or deceive or threaten. They just were. “Plus, it lets me work from home. Where I can keep an eye on you.” She tickled her fingers against Keeley’s stomach, and her heart soared when Keeley giggled. “Although, I must not be doing a very good job if you’re bringing Stephen King books into the house.”
“Mo-ooom.” Keeley rolled her eyes again. “You know the rules. You never say no to a book.”
“Right. Sorry. Did I answer your question?”
“No,” Keeley said. “That wasn’t the job I was talking about.”
“Oh.” Because there was no way to hide her own uncertain expression, she tucked Keeley back into her arms and squeezed. “You mean the volunteer work I do with Soteria.”
The charitable organization was named for the Greek Goddess of safety and salvation. They’d opened their doors as a safe haven for abuse and rape victims years before Mabel had moved to Los Angeles. They provided rooms and shelter, both short- and long-term, to aid in recovery. Mabel had begun working as a rape victim advocate shortly after Sylvie’s disappearance. At the time, it seemed the only way Mabel could process losing her sister to the unknown.
“I don’t know whether ‘like’ enters into that work, Kee.” Mabel struggled to find the right words. “It’s important. For the people I work with and for me. It makes me feel useful. As if I’m helping them through what, for a lot of them, is the most horrible thing that will ever happen in their lives. Do you understand that?”
“I do.” Keeley was back to plucking at the blanket but stopped when Barksy splayed across Mabel’s legs and pushed his nose under Keeley’s hand. “And I know what happens is really, really bad.”
“Yes, it is.” There were times Mabel was shocked she could be surprised by the cruelty people were capable of inflicting on one another, and yet … she was. Constantly.
“It’s just …” Keeley hedged. “You’re always so sad when you come home. Like tonight.”
“I’m sorry I missed pizza night, kiddo.”
“It’s okay.” Keeley shrugged. “I like Sutton’s homemade pizza better than takeout, anyway.”
Mabel squeezed her eyes closed, giving silent thanks yet again for the tight circle of friends she’d made when she’d moved into Temple House—one of whom, Sutton O’Hara, had two kids the same age as Keeley. They’d found a family here. A family who always provided Mabel somewhere to turn, a family whose doors were always open to both Mabel and her daughter—especially given Mabel’s sometimes erratic and unpredictable schedule.
“Yes, well.” Mabel cleared her throat. “Sutton’s pizza is in a class of its own.”
“I don’t like it when you’re sad, Mama,” Keeley whispered. “Is that what you were dreaming about? The woman you had to help tonight?”
“No.” Keeley was right. They didn’t lie to one another. About anything. But that didn’t mean Mabel didn’t censor herself. “No, baby, I wasn’t dreaming about her.”
She didn’t want to think about nineteen-year-old Eva Hudson, who had been beaten, raped, and thrown out of a car near the Hollywood Reservoir hiking trail sometime after midnight last night, a woman who had yet to regain consciousness. But Mabel had gone to the hospital and remained by Eva’s side for hours. Just in case.
She didn’t want to sit here, in the home she’d made for herself and her child, and dwell on the fact that the young woman had to have her jaw wired shut because it had been fractured. Or that Mabel had spent the time rehearsing how she’d attempt to convince the young woman to allow for a sexual assault exam, even though it could be too late to find any prosecutorial evidence. Beyond that, the only thing she could do when Eva awoke was convince her she was safe.
Safe.
What did that word even mean?
Mabel swallowed hard.
How could anyone ever convince Eva she was safe from anyone when the police, as far as Mabel had been told, had little to go on other than Eva’s blood soaking into the dry ground of a trail few people traversed this time of year? She’d been thrown out on the side of the road. As if she’d been nothing more than a bag of garbage. Sadly, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Here or anywhere.
“You always tell me I should talk about my bad dreams,” Keeley said. “But you never talk about yours.”
“That’s because I’m the mom, and you’re the kid.” Mabel held on tighter. “Kids aren’t supposed to worry about their parents.”
“But you worry about Grammy and Gramps.” Keeley’s narrowed eyes were filled with confusion. “I’ve heard you talking to Aunt Riley and Aunt Cass. You even had Cass send them special video systems so you could check in on them easier. Why is that different?”
Mabel should have been more disturbed by how easily Dr. Cassia Davis had set her parents up with an in-home video system from halfway across the country. Then again, Cass’s reputation as one of the country’s best criminalists and computer specialists had been well earned. There was very little the woman didn’t know how to do despite not having stepped foot outside Temple House for the past three-plus years.
“Well,” Mabel said. “I’m an adult, and I get to make different decisions.”
“You mean I can’t worry about you until I’m all grown up?” Keeley frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Age doesn’t dictate my emotions.”
Mabel couldn’t have hidden her smile if she’d tried. Oh, how she loved her daughter’s erudite vocabulary. “You’re right. It doesn’t.” She just wanted, more than anything, for Keeley to have as normal of a life as possible. She didn’t want her child to go through her days haunted. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially someone she loved. “If it’ll make you feel better, I will tell you I was dreaming about your aunt Sylvie.”
“Oh.” Keeley’s eyes widened. “She makes you sad, too, though, doesn’t she?”
“She doesn’t make me sad, baby.”
“You were crying just now.”
“Yes. Because …” Her breath caught in her chest. “Because whenever I wake up from one of those dreams, there’s this moment when I forget she’s really gone. And then I remember.” Tears burned her throat. “And it hurts all over again. I’m sorry.” She pulled Keeley closer. “I’m so sorry you’re worried about me. I’ll do better, so you don’t have to, okay?”
“I don’t think Aunt Sylvie would want you to be sad all the time.” Keeley pointed to one of the framed photos on the tall, art-deco-inspired dresser against the closet wall.
A picture of Mabel and Sylvie together at their high school graduation in their caps and gowns sat in a thick silver frame. Sylvie, with her sights already set on Hollywood success, and Mabel, exhausted from trying to talk her sister out of her pipe dreams. The apartment was filled with images of Sylvie, as if Mabel was afraid she’d forget what she looked like. But the pictures stopped at age twenty-four. When both of their adult lives were only just getting started.
“Grammy says Sylvie was always very happy,” Keeley said. “She calls her shinny.”
“Shinny.” Mabel nodded, laughing a little. “That’s as perfect a description as I can ever imagine.” Her sister had sparkled from the second she’d been born. And Mabel had been more than happy to let her. “I miss her every single day.”
“I wish we knew what happened to her.”
“So do I, kiddo,” Mabel admitted, wishing she wasn’t having this conversation, especially with her almost nine-year-old daughter. “I don’t like not knowing. And back to your question, Kee, that’s why I do the work I do. Because the women I try to help, they deserve to have someone who will fight for them. Stand for them.”
She’d failed her sister in so many ways. But she wasn’t going to fail Sylvie again. She’d spent the last eight years waiting for a knock on the door, for someone, anyone, to tell her what had become of her sister.
Two months ago, just before Christmas, she’d gotten at least part of an answer when Sylvie’s image had been found on a wall filled with photographs in that horrid basement of that mansion, where it was suspected dozens of women had been held. But since then …
Since then, there had been nothing. Nothing other than a growing anger, frustration, and a sadness that had seeped into Mabel’s life. That needed to stop. And the only way to stop it once and for all was to find out exactly what had happened to Sylvie.
“You know what?” Mabel took a deep breath and let it out, looking at a picture of Sylvie in less morbid, happier times. “I think you were very brave to tell me you’re worried about me. I’m going to do better, okay? I’ll try harder not to be so sad.”
“You can be sad, Mama,” Keeley decided with a firm nod. “Maybe what you need is someone to be sad with. You know, like Riley and Quinn.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Riley’s a lot happier now that she’s with Quinn. They’re fun together. He’s fun. Maybe you need someone like him. Someone who will make you laugh.”
“You make me laugh, and that’s all I need.”
Mabel did not need someone like Quinn—or any man for that matter. Quinn was great—for Riley. And he’d pretty much appointed himself as the unofficial big brother Mabel had never wanted. He was a good addition, peripherally. But the idea that her daughter believed a man could resolve all the supposed problems Mabel was tackling? That was just ridiculous.
The only thing that was going to turn Mabel’s life around was to get answers about Sylvie. It was all she wanted. It was all she needed. End of story.
She was tired of the lip service. Frustrated by the nonanswers. Furious at having her questions and demands brushed aside. She’d made some enemies over the years, even more in recent weeks. She’d earned herself a reputation as a troublemaker as far as the district attorney was concerned, but hey … No one ever got anywhere by being silent.
“Mom?” Keeley looked back up at her, her eyes drooping sleepily. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re squeezing me really hard.”
“I’m fine, baby.” But she didn’t release her hold on her daughter. Not yet. Probably not ever. She knew better than most how easily people could slip away and simply … vanish. “Go to sleep, okay?”
“Only if you do.” Keeley snuggled into her side.
“You just want to sleep in this bed because it’s bigger than yours.”
“I’m a big girl now, Mom. Twin beds are for babies.”
“You’re my baby.” Mabel pressed her lips to Keeley’s forehead and reached back for the light. As the darkness returned and Mabel pulled the blankets up and over the both of them, Barksy let out a bit of a whine, walked around them both, and wedged himself against Keeley’s back, resting his muzzle on her hip. “Someday, Sylvie will rest, too,” Mabel whispered, rubbing the dog’s scruffy ears. “If nothing else, she deserves that, right boy?”
Barksy whined and let out another sigh that, for an instant, sounded exactly like the one Sylvie had issued in the dream. Even as the sound tugged at Mabel’s heart, she let the idea of it push her gently back into sleep.
End of Excerpt
