ever been to Denton.”
Gretchen said, “Well, that’s kind of why we’re here. We need to know if she had any connection there.”
Monica shook her head. “No. None. Wait, you said it was a rental cabin. She wasn’t renting it, was she?”
“No,” Josie said, “She wasn’t the one renting it. It was Trinity Payne.”
“You mean the reporter? The one who used to be on the morning show? The one who just went missing from—what the hell is going on here?”
Josie asked, “Are you aware of any connection between your mother and Trinity Payne?”
* * *
“No,” Monica replied. “None. I don’t understand. What does Trinity Payne have to do with my mother?”
Heather said, “Trinity Payne went missing a few days before your mother did in the same way that your mother vanished. Her vehicle and all her personal belongings, including her phone, were left behind. Your mother’s remains were found not far from where Ms. Payne went missing.”
Monica’s face paled slightly. “You mean there’s a serial killer loose?”
Josie said, “It’s far too early to make that assumption, Monica. We’re just looking at any possible connections between the two cases.”
Monica pointed at Josie. “I recognize you now. You’re that cop. Trinity Payne’s twin sister. I saw you on Dateline.”
Josie nodded. “That’s right. Are you absolutely sure that your mom didn’t know Trinity?”
Monica swiped at another tear and laughed. “I’m positive. She didn’t know anyone famous. No offense, but she didn’t even watch that network.” Her gaze drifted to Annabelle who was still riveted to the television.
Gretchen asked, “Had your mom ever had any contact with anyone from the press for any reason?”
“No. Never. She lives—lived—a quiet life. We were—we were happy.” Her voice cracked and she stood up. Again, she looked at Annabelle, then back to the three women. “I—I—”
Heather said, “Take a moment, Monica. We’ll keep an eye on Annabelle.”
Monica fled toward the back of the house but not before they all heard a strangled sob escape from her throat. Heather got onto the floor and sat near Annabelle, who hadn’t yet realized that her mother was no longer in the room.
“I hate this,” Gretchen muttered when they heard the back door slam.
“Me too,” Josie said. “But we’re going to find the person who did this. No matter what we have to do.”
When Paw Patrol finished, Heather picked up the remote control and streamed another episode. Josie stood and smoothed her pants with sweaty hands. Then she went in search of Monica.
Eighteen
Josie found her way to the kitchen. Like the living room, the furniture and appliances seemed old and well-used, but there were small homey touches that made it feel welcoming, like the cheery blue and white curtains on the windows, the brightly colored highchair at the head of the kitchen table, more houseplants, and a wooden sign on the wall that said, I love you even when you’re HANGRY. Josie pushed through the back door into the yard and gasped when she emerged onto the patio. Tall vinyl fencing encased the yard, but all along the inside of the fencing someone had affixed copper wire, twisting it into ornate designs which Josie quickly realized were in the shapes of trees. The branches of each tree reached upward and out from the fence, reaching toward the center of the yard. Dangling from each branch were faux jewels and polished stones.
From a chair nearby, Monica said, “My mom made this.”
“It’s beautiful,” Josie breathed, and it was. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.
She tore her eyes away to look at Monica who studied the copper trees, three horizontal lines creasing her forehead. “Yeah, it is,” she said. “I forget how… unique it is because I see it every day. She’s been working on it bit by bit most of my life. Adding stuff, subtracting stuff. My dad called it her garden, but he wasn’t being mean. He loved this. He wanted her to make things and sell them, but she hated that idea. This was just for her, she said.”
Monica’s nose and eyes were red and swollen from crying. In her hand, she clutched a balled-up tissue. She rocked back and forth in her chair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”
Josie said, “You’ll finish school. You’ll raise your daughter. You’ll live.”
Monica met her eyes. “That sounds very much like something she would say.”
Josie walked over, found another patio chair and pulled it closer to Monica, angling it so she was facing her. “I’m very sorry for your loss.