“Not much more than what I already told you on the phone.” Dad’s face too had drawn into a taut mask. He shoved a hand into thinning gray hair. “Cynthia’s in jail in Long Beach, California. They arrested her last night for drug trafficking and earlier today she told them her real name. She’s apparently been living under a different name all this time.”
Sloane’s eyes widened. A sharp knife twisted in her heart, hot, piercing pain. “How could that be?”
He shrugged, his eyes reddening. “I don’t know, cookie. I don’t understand it. Any of it. Detective Thurman will be here at six thirty. Do you remember him?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her insides clenching tightly. She’d hated that detective. She’d been convinced he believed Dad had murdered Mom and hid the body, with all the questions they’d asked of Dad at the time. She’d been furious at him, and one memorable day had actually yelled at him to leave them alone and try harder to find the person who’d really hurt her mom. And he never had been able to. Just hearing his name made her stomach roll.
“He wanted to talk to us in person,” Dad continued.
Viv returned to the kitchen. “Sorry about that. Just had to take care of a small problem. Some missing roses.” She tried to smile.
“Have a seat,” Dad said, standing. “I’ll get you some iced tea too.”
“Thank you, dear.” Viv blinked and looked around the kitchen. “I guess it’s a little early for dinner. Maybe after the detective comes, we can order pizza or something.”
Sloane nodded, though eating was the last thing she felt like doing, her stomach jumping with nerves.
They spent the next hour talking, imagining possibilities and explanations for what could possibly have happened. Finally Detective Thurman arrived. His hair had grayed a lot more since the last time she’d seen him, and his waistline was a little thicker, but she remembered his face. Although now, the sadness and kindness in his eyes took her aback. He wore a suit, not a uniform, and accepted a glass of iced tea and joined them at the kitchen table.
Detective Thurman showed them the mug shot that had been taken last night and Sloane stared at it. Her mother’s eyes looked back at her, but the rest of her looked nothing like she remembered. Her mom’s shoulder length light brown hair was bleached to straw, her face was thin and tough looking, with lines around her eyes and mouth. Hints of her prettiness remained, but Sloane had to swallow as nausea rose up her throat, bitter and choking.
“That’s her,” Dad confirmed in a low voice. “Jesus.”
Detective Thurman nodded and put the photo away.
The story he told them was…terrible. Hurtful. And so bewildering. Apparently Mom had talked more to the police officers in California. She’d admitted that she’d walked away from their home all those years ago and had never intended to come back. She’d confessed that some of her memories from that time were a blur, like she’d been in a fog. Likely a severe depression. She’d met up with some bikers at a bar who’d offered her drugs, then invited her to ride along with them. And she’d gone.
She’d been living as the old lady of some biker guy for the last few years, using a different name. She had no children and told everyone she didn’t want any.
At that, Sloane lowered her head and focused her burning eyes on the pale blue tablecloth. A hand rubbed the middle of her back. It was Viv’s. Then Viv reached for Sloane’s other hand and gripped it. For once, Sloane held on.
“What does this mean for us?” Dad asked quietly. He looked at Viv.
“I don’t believe Cynthia’s reappearance can disrupt your marriage,” Detective Thurman said. “But you should probably talk to a lawyer. If there were any death benefits paid or life insurance policies, you may be liable to repay those.”
Dad squinted, but shook his head. “There wasn’t any life insurance. But yeah, I’ll talk to Bill.”
Sloane saw the look of relief cross Viv’s face and again her heart squeezed in sympathy.
“It wouldn’t matter, Viv,” she said softly. “You and Dad love each other. You’re married.”
Viv gazed back at her, and her eyes flooded again. “Thank you, Sloane. It means so much to hear that from you.”
“I never gave up on this case,” Detective Thurman said, surprising all of them. “It haunted me.