Making Her Way Home. Janice Johnson Kay
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I come in, Mr. Greenway? I’d like to speak to you and your wife.”
“What is this about?”
“Your granddaughter, Sicily.”
After a moment he nodded. “Very well.” Shutting the door behind Mike, he led him to an elegantly appointed living room, where the ten o’clock news was playing on a flat-screen television that would be hidden within a gilt-trimmed armoire during the day.
The woman who’d been watching it turned her head, saw him and rose gracefully. He knew she was fifty-eight, but she sure as hell didn’t look it. His first reaction was to her looks; Rowena Greenway was an astonishingly beautiful woman. She’d gifted her daughter with those magnificent cheekbones and gold-flecked eyes. He saw money here, too. Her hair was still dark, short and beautifully cut. She could have been in her thirties, which made him suspect a facelift.
“Laurence?”
Greenway introduced Mike and said, “He says he wants to talk to us about Sicily.”
Her eyebrows rose. After a moment, she said, “Please have a seat, Detective.”
He chose a wingback chair that was bloody uncomfortable. The Greenways sat on the sofa facing him, the middle cushion between them. He found himself irritated by the flicker of the television, which neither of them reached to turn off. The sound wasn’t loud, but he still had to raise his voice slightly.
“First, let me ask when you last spoke to your granddaughter.”
They glanced at each other. “I believe it was at the funeral,” Laurence said. “Are you aware Sicily’s mother died recently? It was a terrible tragedy.”
His sad tone sounded staged; there was nothing really personal in it. He might have been speaking about the daughter of a colleague of his. Neither he nor his wife looked exactly devastated.
“I was aware of that. My condolences.”
“Thank you,” Rowena murmured.
“Did you know that your daughter Rachel intended for her sister to raise Sicily in the event she herself was unable to?”
“No, we did not,” Rowena said crisply. “I’m sure it goes without saying that we would have welcomed our only grandchild into our home.”
Funny how sure he was that she hadn’t cared one way or another. Mike couldn’t remember meeting a chillier pair of people. Certainly explained Beth’s ice-princess mode.
Laurence made a sharp gesture with one hand. “We’ve been more than patient. Why the questions?”
“Beth took Sicily to the beach today. Just before midday, your granddaughter disappeared. Search-and-rescue volunteers turned up no sign of her at the park. We must now consider the possibility that she was abducted.”
After a pause, during which both looked startled, Laurence snorted. “I suppose we can expect a ransom call then.”
Mike raised his eyebrows.
“Well, why else would anyone want her?”
“Unfortunately, men who abduct young girls are most often sexual predators.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect such a thing, or are you merely trying to alarm us?”
Mike schooled his expression with an effort. No wonder both daughters had apparently been estranged from their parents. “I wouldn’t think I’d have to alarm you,” he said mildly. “The fact that Sicily has been missing for eleven hours now seems to speak for itself.”
“Dear God. Poor Sicily,” Rowena murmured. Then her eyes widened. “Surely you didn’t think we’d taken her?” She reached out a hand to her husband, who took it without moving any closer to her. “You do understand that we’d have had our attorney file for custody if we felt our daughter Elizabeth wasn’t doing an adequate job of caring for Sicily.”
“I hoped you’d answer some questions.”
“Like?”
“Do you know whether Sicily can swim?”
He expected an “I don’t know” or some equivalent, so it came as a surprise when Rowena said, “I’m sure she can. We were somewhat estranged from Rachel, but she did call home from time to time. I recall her mentioning swim lessons. They were in Los Angeles at the time. She said that Sicily loved the water.”
He nodded. “How would you describe your granddaughter? Is she likely to take off with someone on impulse, for example?”
“Heavens, no! She’s quiet and rather ordinary. Oh-so practical. But I suppose she’d have had to be,” she continued, nostrils flaring in disdain, “with the mother she had.”
Mike stared at her. She gazed coolly back.
Her husband let go of her hand and reached for the remote control and turned up the sound on the TV. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to see this.”
Mike swiveled. A segment had come on about the governor’s stance on a proposal to expand funding for higher education. He realized incredulously that Laurence had been watching with one eye this entire time for items of interest to him.
Did either of them give a damn that their granddaughter was missing? Did anyone actually love Sicily Marks? he wondered.
He asked more questions. Laurence tore his attention from the television long enough to express disgust for Sicily’s father.
“Thank God, he’s been out of the picture for years. Although Rachel found plenty of substitutes. She had a gift for picking losers.”
“I understand that she may have had a drug problem herself.”
“We’d have paid for rehab if she had ever been serious about licking it.” Laurence’s cell phone rang; he glanced at the number and silenced it. “I’m afraid I don’t know Rachel’s habits. As I said, we saw very little of her or Sicily.”
“Would you describe yourself as estranged from your other daughter, as well?”
His face closed. “She chooses to keep to herself,” he said, voice clipped. “But at least she hasn’t made a mess of her life like her sister did.” His phone rang again; once again he didn’t answer it. “What do you suggest we do to help, Detective?” He was clearly becoming impatient. “It would seem Elizabeth has no intention of calling on us. The least she could have done was let us know what was happening. This is our granddaughter.”
He found himself compelled to defend Beth Greenway. “I doubt she let herself believe Sicily wouldn’t turn up. It’s a good-size park, and the search continued until dusk.”
He explained that it would resume at first light, that the girl’s disappearance would be widely publicized. He asked for the most recent pictures they had of their granddaughter. Rowena produced the same fourth-grade school photo Beth had. The sight of the little girl’s face gave him another pang. He wished she’d have at least smiled.
He very much hoped he would have the chance to see her smile.
* * *
BETH HAD WANTED DESPERATELY TO be alone, but almost from the minute the detective left, she wished he hadn’t. At least he’d distracted her. And—oh, it was an illusion of caring, not the real thing, but he’d mostly been kind.
Now all she could think about was Sicily and what could possibly have happened to her. Beth simply couldn’t imagine her as foolish enough to go off with someone she didn’t know. Even a family with children. She might have gotten bored, yes, and decided to hike one of the short nature trails—although Beth wasn’t even sure about that. Gone up to the restroom. She wouldn’t necessarily have woken Beth to tell her where she was going. She was used to making her own decisions. But she didn’t do dumb things.
The park had been so busy, if someone had grabbed her and she’d screamed,