woman might do if left to her own devices.
“Hilda, the police are working very hard to solve Curt’s murder,” she assured her. “And both Jake and Detective Reese are doing their best to find Tera. You must be patient.”
“You don’t understand, Darla. If they do find her, it will be only to give me her body so I can bury her.”
“Don’t say that, Hilda. You mustn’t give up hope. She’s only been gone a few days. For all you know, she got mad and ran off to Atlantic City for a breather.”
“Without her phone?” At Darla’s look of surprise, the woman gave an emotionless chuckle. “Oh, yes, your Detective Reese came by this morning and told me that they found Tera’s phone in the trash outside that Curt’s house. And he didn’t say, but I know he thinks I know how it got there.”
“And do you know?” Darla asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Hilda gave an elaborate shrug. “Everything is in God’s hands now. All I want is justice for my daughter.”
Darla hesitated. Was Hilda simply a grieving mother fatalistically accepting what was the most likely outcome to Tera’s strange disappearance, or was she a desperate woman coolly hiding something that she knew about Curt’s murder?
Keep her talking, Darla told herself. Maybe she’ll let something slip that could help Reese, or even connect Hamlet’s cryptic dots.
“If there’s anything I can do to help you through this, Hilda, let me know,” she said, meaning it. “But for now, remember those eye compresses you told me about? I think I should try those.”
“Certainly.” Hilda rose and gave her a jaundiced look. “And perhaps you could use a new foundation. Those freckles are charming on a young girl but, woman to woman, you’re a bit too old for that look.”
Biting back a retort—did anyone ever tell Julianne Moore or Bryce Dallas Howard that she should cover her freckles?—Darla followed the older woman toward the front of the store again. While Hilda lectured on tinted organic moisturizer and concealers, Darla found her arms filling with pricey jars and bottles. Just as she was beginning to fear she’d need to take out a small loan to cover it all, she heard the shop door open and the sound of a familiar voice.
“Hello, Mrs. Aguilar,” Reese said as he strode down the aisle toward them.
Just as two nights ago when he’d shown up at her apartment, he was wearing his official prepping-for-the-promotion outfit of slacks, dress shirt, tie, and sport coat topped by the trench. Once again, it was belted behind him to swing wide open, and this time she could see his gold shield clipped to his belt. Definitely on official business.
He gave Darla a sidelong glance and added, “Darla, why don’t you do me a favor and step over to the register for a minute?
“Uh, sure.”
She made her way to the front again in time to see a uniformed police officer about Reese’s same height—though twenty years older and at least that many pounds heavier—enter the store. Darla watched as the officer lurked just inside the doorway, his expression impassive behind mirrored sunglasses. His stance, however, reflected alertness as he kept his gaze fixed on both Hilda and the detective.
Darla set down her would-be purchases on the counter and tried to ignore the sense of foreboding that had gripped. From the look of situation, she might not be finishing her transaction . . . good news for her bank balance, but potentially disturbing news for Hilda. Maybe they’d located Tera and were bringing her home, she tried to tell herself, though surely Reese would look a bit more cheery if the girl was all right. Or maybe the police had found Tera and instead were holding her for questioning in the matter of Curt’s murder, and had come to inform her mother of that fact.
Of course, there was another, far more awful possibility that Darla swiftly dismissed from her thoughts even as she strained her ears to catch every bit of any conversation that might ensue. Said conversation, however, proved surprisingly brief.
“Detective Reese,” Hilda greeted him in a frosty tone that out-chilled the weather. “Unless you have news about my daughter, I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Well, ma’am, for the moment we’re finished talking.”
He reached under his coat, and Darla saw in shock the gleam of metal as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. It took her a moment to register what the detective was doing, for this