Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,77

I didn’t really start to feel better until I met you.” Her cheeks pink at the admission. “So if you believe something, then I believe it too. Okay?”

Bec reaches forward and touches Crystal’s shoulder. “Thank you for saying that. Truly.” She collapses back in her seat, visibly relieved.

Surprisingly, Jess takes Crystal’s hand, squeezes it, and mouths, Thank you.

And that’s when Crystal decides: no matter what she doesn’t understand, she will try … for Bec.

34

BEC

Crystal and Jess drop me off, despite their persistence to stay. I promise to keep them both updated. I don’t even have the baby situated again before I call Jake.

“Donovan.” His tone is clipped. He must not have even looked at his caller ID.

“It’s me,” I say. I don’t bother asking if he’s busy because I already know.

“Bec.” His voice softens. He closes a door and returns to the phone. “What’s up?”

I’m surprised by the nonchalance. “You got the photo, right?”

“What photo?”

My heart hammers in my chest. “Crystal texted you a photo. We went to Cornerstone Shop & Gallery.”

“Hold on.” He takes a few moments and then comes back. “Here it is. I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t check it yet. Sorry.” He clicks on it. “This is excellent.” He types on his computer. “I’ll send this to Pat and see what hits we get.”

My hands shake. “This is something, right?”

“Could be. I’ll call you if I have something, okay? And I’m not trying to be short. Working a big case.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

“You bet.” He disconnects.

What is he doing right now? Scribbling facts on whiteboards and casing murderers? I’d always wondered, even when we were together, how he erased all of the terrible things he saw when he went to sleep every night. So many times I’d thought about him over the years, especially when I heard about random cases in Miami. Why had I never reached out?

All of this is a reminder to keep people around that I trust. People like Crystal, Jess, Beth, and Jake. I pace the house, restless. I check the time, change and feed the baby, pop him in the stroller, and head to the park. Maybe, just maybe, there will be some sort of clue I missed.

On the way, I calculate how long it will take to go through each name on that list of receipts and if we will find what we’re looking for.

“Rebecca?”

A hand on my elbow rips me out of my internal dialogue. The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I turn, one hand on the stroller and one on my cane. “Hi…”

“Caroline Walker. We met at Jessica’s party the other night. How are you, my dear? After…”

After you jumped into a swimming pool fully clothed and made a fool of yourself?

“I’m fine. You?”

“Waiting for this insane heat to break. I thought Illinois wasn’t supposed to be hot. But climate change isn’t real, right?” She laughs, and I attempt to smile. She steps closer. Her grip tightens. “How are you, really?”

I will myself to tell her I’m okay, but something pricks the recesses of my memory. Didn’t she say she and her husband were part of the neighborhood watch? “Actually, do you have time for a quick cup of coffee?” I lick my lips and work out what I need to say. “I think I might need your help.”

“My dear, I live for help. Brewpoint?”

Caroline falls into step beside me and chats about the weather, the upcoming fall festivals, and the latest neighborhood scandals around a few stolen trash cans. I want to ask what to do about stolen babies, but refrain.

We order our coffee and grab a quiet table near the back. I tuck the stroller next to me, and Caroline murmurs about how children grow so fast. Instead of making small talk, I launch right in. “Do you remember me telling you about the recent scares I’d been having?”

“How could I forget?”

I twist my paper cup in my hands. Wasn’t I just sitting in a coffee shop in Chicago with Jake? Life, even with all of its complexities, seemed so much simpler only a few days ago. “Well, something happened after the party.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know what I’m going to say is going to sound a little … out there, but mother to mother, I need you to hear me.”

“I’m listening.”

A dish crashes in the background. Someone claps and whoops. I scoot my chair even closer and give her the high-level rundown, as if I’m letting her in on a