Without a Trace Read online

  I was so shocked by the painful squeeze and the tears that I sat back down in my seat and just stared at him in wide-eyed horror. The limo lurched forward and through the tinted glass, I watched the rose gardens we’d just got married in melt away. I watched my smiling family and friends dissolve…

  “That really hurt.” I rubbed my arm, wondering if it would bruise, and watched Martin sob into his hands. I didn’t ask him again what was wrong, and I didn’t try to touch him. I just watched him cry and felt like crying myself. What the fuck was going on with my husband? Did he get too drunk during the dinner and toast? But I’d seen Martin drunk and sick and scared. He’d never reacted like this before. Never.

  Finally, when he looked up at me, his eyes were red and raw from crying, but at least he didn’t look hard or menacing now. He looked like the man I’d married, only distraught.

  “It’s mom,” he choked out the words.

  “Oh my god. Is she alright?”

  She’d been at the wedding, of course, and I’d talked to her, but not much. I couldn’t really talk to any one person for too long, there were just too many people at the ceremony…

  “She’s okay. Just hurt, that’s all. Right before we left, she pulled me aside. I’ve never seen her look so distraught.”

  “Why? What happened?” I gasped.

  Martin narrowed his gaze at me. “God, I’m trying to tell you, if you’d just let me talk for once. You always interrupt people, you know that? It really bothers me. I’m sure it drives people crazy, not just me.”

  “It d-does?” I stammered. My old, familiar stutter caught me by surprise. I was stunned by Martin’s words. And hurt. My cheeks grew hot with shame.

  I liked Martin’s mother, but no matter what was wrong with her, it couldn’t justify this sort of behavior on his part.

  I felt a flash of anger but stayed quiet, waiting for him to explain.

  “Like I said, mom’s hurt. She was in the bathroom when she heard your rude-ass aunt and sister talking by the bathroom sink.”

  I fought the urge to ask, ‘which aunt?’. Three of my dad’s sisters had been in attendance.

  “I know your dad paid for everything. Don’t think for even a minute that my mom and I aren’t bothered about that fact. If she could have helped pay for it, she would have, Nova.”

  Money? This is about money?! I wanted to scream.

  “Your sister was bitching to your Aunt June about how much everything cost and how my mom had barely thanked your dad for it. I guess she wanted my mom to get down on her knees and kiss your dad’s fucking feet. They were also making fun of my mom’s dress. They said she probably got it off the rack at Walmart. Then my mom came out of the stall and interrupted their bashing session.”

  My face turned white. I tried to picture my Aunt June and half-sister, Rita, saying those kinds of things. My sister wasn’t snobbish, but June kind of was. Maybe together they were being catty. I didn’t see any reason for Martin’s mom to lie about it, but still, why would they do that on a day like today?

  “My mom apologized to them, can you believe that? She actually said that she was sorry for not paying more, then she ran out of there in tears. I didn’t see her for hours. She must have been hiding somewhere in the gardens, trying to avoid your family.” He hissed out the words ‘your family’ through his teeth.

  “I’m so sorry. I just c-can’t believe they would say s-something like that…”

  “Oh, so now my mom is a liar?”

  “No, of course th-that’s not what I’m s-saying.” I put my hand on his leg and this time, he didn’t push me away. “I’m just shocked, th-that’s all. And my heart is broken for your m-mom. What an awful thing for them to say. Martin, I know you’re m-mad, but I love you and it’s not f-fair to take it out on me. I’m on your side. You’re my f-family now. We can’t turn on each other when b-bad things happen, okay?”

  Martin’s face turned buttery and sweet, and he smiled. It was that smile again, the one I fell in love with on that very first night. “God, I’m such a prick. Your poor arm. I can’t believe I grabbed you so hard. I’ll never forgive myself. Can you forgive me?” He kissed the sore spot where he’d grabbed me, his lips as soft as butterfly wings.

  “Of course, I forgive you, Martin. But please, from now on, let’s just talk these things through. You can n-never treat me that way again, do y-you understand?” Adrenaline rushed through my bloodstream, my teeth chattering despite the day’s warmth. I was still reeling from how quickly his mood had turned and then turned back…

  For a while, things got better again. I almost forgot about the incident completely. Our honeymoon was the best vacation of my life. We hiked and swam. We made love more times than I could count. And when we got back, I didn’t talk to my sister for weeks. It was my dad that I finally talked to first, confiding in him about what Martin’s mom had heard in the bathroom. Surprisingly, he defended my sister and June, arguing relentlessly that they would never do that to me and that Martin was trying to turn me against my family. I know a bad guy when I see one. He’s shiny and slick, but that’s how guys like us appear to outsiders. I know that, because I used to be one, he said.

  By the time I was old enough to not need my father anymore, he had changed his ways. He’d quit drinking and drugging and became a semi-stable figure in my life. My half-sister was younger than me, the product of another romantic encounter with a woman that didn’t stick around, and she had always been more willing to forgive our dad.

  I was so pissed at him for defending her and talking bad about Martin that I didn’t talk to him for months. It was just me and Martin, versus everyone else.

  But as time passed, we all sort of made up. I went to visit my sister and invited my dad out for lunch. However, Martin was never the same around them. It was so uncomfortable when we were all together that I tried to avoid too much contact, at least when Martin was around.

  But then, it started to seem like there were problems everywhere…my friend Kerry showed up one day when I wasn’t home, and Martin said she tried to hit on him. So, no more Kerry. And then my boss at the restaurant, Tom, was an issue too. Martin said Tom was obsessed with me and every time I went to work, Martin would call and call, getting me in trouble at work. Eventually, I gave up my job and most, if not all, of my family and friends.

  It wasn’t until I was pregnant with Matthew that I realized the problem was Martin. Everyone in my life was perceived as a threat by him, and instead of leaving him or telling him to get over himself, I changed who I was for him. I don’t know when I changed—it was gradual, like gaining twenty pounds over a year’s time or watching a flower grow.

  One day I was a gypsy soul—strong, independent, opinionated, ambitious, worthy—and the next day I was weak and pathetic and stuttering again. I questioned every move I made and tailored who I was to meet Martin’s standards. By the time I gave birth to Lily, I had no one left.

  As weak as he thinks I am, I’m about to prove him wrong.

  I chopped the onion into little bits and tossed it into the soup. For hours, I stood there, watching the bubbly broth consume the fleshy onions, making them soft until they disappeared. Like me, they were still there, below the surface, only hiding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Neighbor

  CLARA

  I gripped the iron banister and turned on the basement light. The bulb flickered once, twice, then burned out. I felt my way down the creaky stairs. Let the darkness swallow me whole. I bumped into picture boxes, old books, and tools. I knocked cobwebs out of my face.

  I don’t know how I found the Maglite, but the flood of sickly yellow light warmed the cold, damp space as I looked around in the dark.

  Forty years is a long time, and over the years, I’d accumulated a lot of stuff. Most of it was useless, but not the kind of stuff you want to throw away.

  Old photo albums that I’d inherited when my dad, and then my mom, passed on. School papers and science projects from when Kriss
y was young. Stuff from my own childhood—trophies and badges that belonged to me and my sisters, small tokens of our accomplishments that mama had saved.

  Would these same boxes collect dust some day in Krissy’s attic or closet? Where does it all end? Is it so important to hang onto everything, the good and the bad?

  I didn’t want Krissy to inherit all my baggage, so I decided, once and for all, to start throwing some of it out. I couldn’t do anything about the body in the barn right now, not with the police searching my property, but I could at least do this…

  Opening the mouth of an industrial strength garbage bag, I dumped an entire box of Girl Scout badges inside it. Next, I reached for a dusty, grey tote.

  There are things I want to remember and things I want to forget.

  If moments of my life could be compiled into a Greatest Hits collection, they’d feature: me, running circles around my high school track, sweat on my face and between my thighs, as mama and daddy cheered for me, their screams so loud that they were all I could hear as I crossed the finish line. Then there’s me, getting my diploma and college acceptance. I was the first in my family to graduate from high school. And the night I met Andy at a school mixer. We were two of only thirteen people who showed up. Might as well have been alone, because we danced and talked all night, never taking our eyes off one another. And Krissy. When she was born she was pink and chubby, fuzzy bits of hair on her face and back. I could remember thinking, she is the cutest baby in the whole world, and not just because she’s mine. I really believed that, until my Annie was born. She, too, was gorgeous. Like her sister, she clung to me constantly, never wanting to leave my side, even after she could walk. Annie’s bowed legs moving in and out, like tiny little butterfly wings. Her smile, so silly and sweet that it brought me to tears when she first learned to do it. And the farm when it was thriving…I loved feeding the chickens and planting crops in the spring. It made me glowing and healthy. These are my Greatest Hits…

  Then you strip away those great moments—you’re left with all the in between. Annie’s accident. Andy’s drinking. The venom in his eyes when he was mad. The hurt look on Krissy’s face when her father yelled at her just because he was drunk. The way Krissy sunk inside herself after she lost her little sister. The crying. The anger. The way I couldn’t be a good mother anymore because half my heart was gone…The way Andy’s face caved in, like chopping into a watermelon, when I swung that shovel again and again…oh god, how could I be so stupid? I could have taken the beating—I’d taken many of Andy’s beatings before. Or I could have called the cops. Why did I have to strike so hard, and with such vehemence?

  I picked up a heavy box of pictures and stumbled over to the open bag, grunting at its weight.

  Suddenly, there was a hard, panicked knock upstairs and I dropped the box at my feet. Pictures of Andy and the girls spread out across the floor like a Japanese hand fan. I stared at all their faces, zeroing in on one of my sister. Smudgy faces…smudgy memories…so many mistakes.

  My breath became lodged, my throat constricting, as I slowly tiptoed up the stairs. Another loud knock rattled my entire body.

  At the top of the stairs, I approached the front door, hugging the wall for support. I needed a cigarette. I needed something to make my blood stop thudding in my ears…

  Sergeant DelGrande was at the door. I could see the brim of his hat through the frosted glass, his eyes like two sloppy black holes glaring back at me through the other side.

  They’d been out there all day, searching. Searching the farm for clues. I hadn’t dared looked, so fearful of what they might find.

  He started pounding on the door again. His knock was serious. Frantic.

  He knows. They must have found his body…

  But what else did they find…?

  My hand on the knob, I closed my eyes and remembered one last hit on my soundtrack in life: the first time I saw Nova Nesbitt.

  She stepped out of her shimmery, blue car, wind whipping her hair around like a Pantene commercial. It took forever for her to turn around, so I could see her face from my window. Her eyes were blue, so blue they were almost violet. Reminded me of the bluebells that used to bloom in late April at the far-right edge of the field. Nova Nesbitt didn’t see me. She couldn’t, I was too far away, hidden behind the safety of my own kitchen curtains. But I watched her for several minutes that night. Afterwards, I would try to remember every detail of her face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Cop

  ELLIE

  By the time I slipped out of the Nesbitt residence, my phone was full of missed calls. A few from the sergeant and Chad; the rest from my mom. I’d forgotten all about calling her, like I promised I would when I got to Granton.

  Rain drizzled down in a cool mist. It was still too hot for September. I imagined this same street, one month from now, when kids from the neighborhood would walk door to door, offering tricks and asking for treats on Halloween night. Would Lily Nesbitt be among them?

  And then the real question: does Lily Nesbitt even exist? I tried to conjure up reasons for a woman to lie, and I couldn’t think of any, besides some sort of mental illness or delusional disorder. Remembering how anxious and erratic she seemed, I wondered if I was trying to believe her too much…But there was one thing I felt certain of: Martin had something to hide.

  Unlike Nova, he had a motive to lie about his daughter—if he’d taken her, or god forbid he’d killed her, then he had every reason to hide the truth. But the birth of a child wasn’t something that could easily be covered up. There were birth records and medical history…and that’s why I had to dig deeper and look for other people who could shed some light on this for me. People, besides Martin, who knew and understood Nova. People who could verify that she had a child. Someone who could give us an idea of where she might have run off to.

  Martin had written down phone numbers for Rita Clause and Reginald McKinley. Rita was Nova’s half-sister and Reginald was her father. They lived less than thirty miles away, and only two doors apart from each other, apparently. But first, I wanted to talk to the neighbors. A child was something hard to miss, even if they didn’t get out much.

  The apartment to the left of the Nesbitts’ had a deeper porch, but you wouldn’t know it by all the garbage scattered about. I stepped around a broken chandelier that had probably been lovely at one time. Now a long rusty chain sprouted from its top and lay haphazardly across the concrete porch. I side-stepped the chain, squeezing my way up to the door between broken potted plants and a stack of old phone books, the kind with the liberty bells ringing on the top of the page. When my sister and I were little, we used to play this game: pick a letter of the alphabet, run your finger along last names until your finger felt compelled to stop, then call them. Based on their name and the sound of their voice, we had to see who could come up with the most elaborate story to go along with the name/voice. Now, thinking back on it, it seemed pretty lame, but we’d passed hours doing that on long summer days.

  Knocking on the screen door, I noticed a faded sign taped to the inside door. The letters were scratchy and old, but I could read it: Knock loud, drop it at the door, or go away. I opened the screen and banged the side of my fist on the grimy yellow door, slivers of paint flecking off as I did. It took a few minutes, but a man, wearing too-high trousers and no shirt, finally came to the door. When he asked me what I wanted, I realized he had no teeth.

  “Officer James here. Do ya know the couple next door?”

  “Huh?” He cupped one hand around his ear and leaned at an awkward angle in the doorway.

  I asked him again, only this time my words came out considerably louder.

  He nodded, smacking his gums together. “See the husband every day. Martin, his name is. His face pops out at me all over this town. Nice fella.”

  “What about his wife and daughter? Do ya ever see them outside?” I asked, scooting back an inch and bumping into one of the plants.

  “Yeah, e
very once in a while. Crazy black hair, that one. She’s a real looker. You know what I mean?”

  “Do you ever see her little girl? Her name is Lily.” Again, I wished I had some sort of picture or image to show him.

  “Huh? Who?”

  Disappointed, I thanked him for his time and stumbled my way off his cluttered porch. In the center of the backyard was a stone bench, with tiny angels playing trumpets carved on the seat of it. Behind it was a large fountain. It was lovely, but overgrown, and the water had all but run dry inside. This would have been a decent place for a child to play. I couldn’t imagine one of the neighbors not seeing the mother and daughter together…

  Hot pellets of rain trickled down and I ran for the other apartment’s porch before I got too wet. The apartment to the right of Martin’s was much neater, with a plant box. Big, yellow daisies and violets sprouted from the top of it, and there was a wrought iron table for two right beside it. I knocked softly on the door, squeezing excess water from my ponytail as I waited. By now, the heavy makeup I’d put on yesterday was probably streaking my cheeks and clumping in the corners of my eyes.

  When the door crept open, I instantly smelled marijuana rolling out through the crack. A big brown eye looked out at me. “What’s the problem, officer?”

  “Hey, I’m trying to find out some information about the little girl and her mom who lived next door. Lily and Nova Nesbitt. Can ya talk?”

  “I don’t really know them, sorry.” A nose and mouth appeared to go along with the eye, and the girl looking out at me barely looked twenty.

  “Look, I don’t care about the pot. I need to ask ya a couple questions though, if that’s okay.”

  The young woman opened the door wide enough, just enough so she could scurry through it. She had a cute haircut, shaved on one side and longer on the other, and a delicate diamond in her right nostril.