staying over more than a day or so, a week, then, by God, Phoebe would have to think about charging her rent.
“Come on,” she urged the dog, glancing down at him before looking up again and finding the woman staring at her over the snowy top of Sophia’s car. As their gazes locked, Phoebe felt a chill that couldn’t be attributed to the cold weather. No, this was something different.
She watched the woman settle into the car and heard the engine start. The driver turned on the wipers to slap away the snow, and Phoebe backed up, calling softly to Larry and nearly tripping as she stepped back into the room. There was something not right about that woman, about the whole situation with Sophia. Phoebe could feel it in her aching bones.
With Larry spinning in circles and yapping for food, Phoebe shut the door and threw the dead bolt.
Something in unit 8 wasn’t right.
* * *
Rivers and Mendoza reached the interview room.
Seated at the round table within, Rebecca Travers was already waiting. Her back was ramrod stiff, and she was dressed in a black sweater and jeans, having changed since Rivers had last seen her. A thick jacket was folded over the back of the empty chair next to her, a purse placed on the seat. In front of her, an untouched cup of coffee gave off steam, compliments no doubt of Dorrie, the receptionist. The walls of the room were cinder block and painted a pale institutional green; despite two small windows cut high near the ceiling, the room always smelled lightly of Lysol. Today was no exception.
Rivers introduced Mendoza, and as they took seats across from Rebecca, she said, “I already gave my statements to Deputy Mercado.” She glanced at Rivers. “Anyway, I don’t know what else I can tell you that I haven’t said before.”
Rivers said, “Bear with us. We might ask a question that will trigger something you haven’t thought of before.”
She stared at him. Disbelieving.
Mendoza, iPad at the ready, suggested, “Just tell us what you can about the night your sister went missing.”
“Okay,” she said, exhaling a long breath before launching into her tale. Her story was the same as it had been: On the night she’d gone missing, Megan had called Rebecca. She’d been upset. “Really freaking out, even for her.” Megan told her that she’d broken up with James in a nasty fight and had taken off, heading to Rebecca’s condo in Seattle. “This wasn’t exactly out of nowhere,” Rebecca added, nervously twisting a ring on her right hand, further explaining that, during the course of Megan’s twenty-two years, there had been plenty of other emotional outbursts, often involving someone she’d been dating. Rebecca had bailed her out time and time again.
“She comes to you rather than your parents?” Rivers asked.
“Always. Our folks are divorced. And Dad is really my stepdad, but he’s Megan’s ‘real’ or biological father. My dad left before I was two, and Mom moved to San Francisco, where she met and married Donald Travers a year later and had Megan soon after. That lasted for about eight years. Then they split up. Dad remarried, lives in Chicago, and has two sons who are like . . . maybe just in their teens. Mom stayed in California, found a condo in Sonoma. She’s still single, but we don’t see her all that much. She’s got her own life down there . . .” Rebecca let that trail off, and Rivers thought he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“Your name is Travers,” Mendoza said as the furnace rumbled, forcing hot air through the vents.
“Donald adopted me when I was almost four, I think, and my biological dad was all about giving up his rights so he wouldn’t have to pay child support any longer—not that he did much anyway, I guess. At least, that’s what my mother said.”
Mendoza nodded, as if she totally understood. “You’ve contacted them—your parents?”
Rebecca nodded. “They were . . . are . . . concerned, and I told them I’d keep them informed. I think Mom wanted to come up here, but then thought ‘why?’ What could she do?”
As far as Rivers knew, neither of Megan’s parents had contacted the police. Odd. But then, with families, one never knew. Still, he made a mental note to check with Kate Mercado, the deputy who had taken statements from many of Megan Travers’s family and friends.
Mendoza said, “Tell us about her relationship with James Cahill.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows