Find Her Alive (Detective Josie Quinn #8) - Lisa Regan Page 0,47
“She was so young.”
“But she became fixated on you,” Christian said.
“Me?”
“Well, not you, specifically because we thought you were dead, but the idea of you,” Shannon explained. “She kept asking questions about you although there wasn’t much to tell. You were only three weeks old when you were taken from us. Then she…”
Christian took over. “She started telling people she had a twin sister. She said you were away at boarding school. Sometimes she told people you were in a foreign exchange student program.”
“Oh God,” Josie said.
“That was one of the reasons we had to get her into therapy,” Shannon said. “But the therapist said it was her way of processing her grief and that we should let her work through it.”
“Did the therapist, by any chance, suggest she keep a diary?” Josie asked.
“Letters,” Shannon said. “She told Trinity to write letters to you.”
“Do you still have them?” Josie asked.
“We might,” Shannon said.
“We have a bunch of Trinity’s stuff in the attic,” Christian said. “She didn’t have room for it in New York City, but she didn’t want to part with it either.”
“I need you to go home and see if you can find those letters or any sort of diary she might have written at that time. I need you to do it as soon as possible,” Josie said.
“We’ll do it,” Shannon said. “But Josie, why on earth would Trinity want you to read a bunch of letters she wrote to you when she was in high school? What does that have to do with her going missing now?”
“I don’t know,” Josie said. “But it’s the only clue we’ve got. I have to see where it leads.”
Twenty-Five
Alex eavesdropped on his mother’s side of the phone call from the end of the hall. He watched as one of her bare feet tapped against the wooden floor. Her free arm was clutched against her stomach, swathed in a hard cast that ran from her hand to just below her elbow. When she hung up, a grin stretched wide across her face. She beckoned him to her and took one of his hands, twirling him around. “Dance with me!” she exclaimed. “I’ve just had the best news! Just wait until your father gets home.”
But Alex doubted that any news would make his father happy. Not after the latest incident. Once again, Alex had earnestly assured his mother that he had tried to stop Zandra before she knocked her off the back deck. But he hadn’t gotten there in time, and Zandra had let their mother scream for a very long time while she stared at the bone protruding from the skin of her forearm. Looking at Hanna now, he realized that the sight of her latest injury—of the sharp, jagged end of her bone—had made him feel like dancing. But he couldn’t tell anyone that. They wouldn’t understand.
Zandra was locked away again, and now Alex had to sleep out back in a shed his father had built—even in the freezing cold.
When Frances came home, Hanna told him how someone had bought almost her entire collection; how they wouldn’t need to worry about money for a very long time. Alex expected fury from his father for some reason, but he was jubilant. Happier than Alex had ever seen him. Hanna danced through the foyer with Frances that night as well. They had a bottle of wine and let Alex eat a second helping of dinner before Frances sent him out back for the night.
In the morning, Alex waited by the back door for his mother to wake up and let him inside. She sang as she cooked breakfast, sashaying around the kitchen in her bare feet. She served him bacon and eggs, and he shoveled it into his mouth. His father didn’t acknowledge him when he came into the kitchen. Instead, he went over to where Hanna stood by the stove, cupped her rear end with his hand and kissed her neck.
He sat across from Alex, and Hanna served him coffee. The spoon clinked around inside the mug. Frances said, “Hanna, you left a mess in the bedroom.”
His voice was low but taut, like a string about to snap. Hanna froze and turned slowly to him, a puzzled look on her face. “What?”
He drew each word out. “You. Left. A. Mess. In. The. Bedroom.”
“Oh, well, I’ll clean up after I make breakfast.”
Frances said, “Hopefully no one will trip and fall over the clothes you left on the floor before that.”