fourteen

As soon as I hung up the phone with Martinez, I pulled up the website for Queen Anne Memorial. I barely recognized the man in the photo labeled Gabriel Cousins. Photograph Gabriel sported a wide but rehearsed-looking smile, a close-cropped head of curly black hair, and a midnight blue power suit. I saw no trace of the shaved-headed, kind, passionate man I’d met at Teen Path HOME.

His obituary read more like a resume than a tribute. The first paragraph indicated that Gabriel had graduated magna cum laude from the University of Washington with a bachelor’s degree in international studies, followed two years later by a master of business administration. He had married college sweetheart Cherie Harris immediately after receiving his masters degree.

The second paragraph listed a variety of professional positions Gabriel had held, awards he had won, and honors he’d received. The accolades ended by stating that four years after obtaining his MBA, Gabriel had become the youngest employee to be promoted to the position of regional vice president at a consulting firm whose name I recognized but couldn’t place. A single sentence, almost an afterthought, mentioned that he’d spent the last several years of his life helping displaced youth. Neither Teen Path HOME nor Gabriel’s role there were mentioned.

The final paragraph said that he was preceded in death by his parents and sister and was survived by his wife, Cherie Cousins, and in-laws, Dara and Andre Harris. A private ceremony would be held at Queen Anne Memorial at ten in the morning on Sunday, November 13.

I frowned at the word “private,” but it didn’t deter me. My phone call with Martinez had provided no definitive answers, but it had given me a starting place, and I wasn’t about to waste it. Time to scour my closet for a black dress. On Sunday, I was going to crash a funeral.

But that was two days away. Rainbow was still out there somewhere, alone. Maybe frightened. Maybe in danger. I tucked the Tacoma address for April Rhodes inside my purse. As soon as I finished teaching my noon All Levels Yoga class, I was going on a field trip.

I performed the plethora of duties required of a pet owner planning to be gone for the day. I ground and incubated Bella’s organic, grain-free, medicated kibble, tossed a can of tuna cat food into Mouse’s food bowl, and filled the water dishes I’d placed in every room with fresh water. After both creatures had snarfed down their breakfasts, I took Bella on a quick walk to take care of her biological duties. She pinned me with sad brown eyes when she realized I was leaving her behind.

“Sorry, sweetie. You can’t come with me today. My afternoon’s going to be crazy. Michael should be home no later than six, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you on an extra-long walk tonight.”

Bella’s stare chastised me all the way to the door. Mouse observed my departure with feline indifference. Somehow I managed to feel guilty about both.

I pulled into my studio parking spot two minutes before noon, which was twenty-eight minutes later than I should have arrived. A line of disgruntled students huddled outside in the rain. I gifted them with lame apologies and an autopilot sequence of Sun Salutations, twists, and other poses designed to build energy and stimulate digestion.

I wish I could say that I made up for my tardiness by teaching a fabulous class, but honestly, I have no idea if class that afternoon was good, bad, or indifferent. My body was in the room with my students, but my mind was thirty-five miles south in Tacoma, grilling Rainbow’s stepfather. I held no illusions that Dean would lead me directly to Rainbow. If he knew where his stepdaughter was hiding, he’d have her sequestered at home already. But I did think that talking with Dean might help me understand the teenage enigma. Who was Rainbow before she left home? Why had she run? Was she capable of violence? If her stepfather wasn’t willing (or able) to answer, perhaps being inside her house would give me the information I needed. Rainbow must have left traces of herself there, if only energetically. Would I be able to sense them?

I said Namaste at one-fifteen on the dot and started hustling students out the door precisely one minute later. A first-time student lagged behind, pretending to browse the books in my tiny retail area. I plastered on my best impersonation of a patient smile and moved next to her. “Did you have a question?”

“Yes,” she said. “Classes here are pretty expensive. Do you offer any new student deals?”

I bit back an unwelcome (and atypical) feeling of irritation. It was a relevant question, but I knew where this was going. “Your first class was free. I can’t make it much cheaper than that.” I winked to let her know I was kidding. Sort of.

“That’s great, but what about after that?” She pulled out a cell phone and pointed at Some Like It Hot Yoga’s website. “Fifteen dollars seems pretty outrageous when I’ll be able to take the same class for a dollar across the street.”

In spite of my best efforts, my smile wavered. “It’s not the same class. Serenity Yoga’s classes are smaller and more intimate.” At least I assumed so. The windows across the street were still covered with newsprint, and I suspected they would remain covered until the grand opening on Tuesday. “We provide individualized instruction. Our maximum class size is twenty, but most of our classes have between eight and fifteen students. Some are smaller.” I was telling the truth, but I had a hidden agenda. I was hoping she’d do the math. If we charged a dollar a class, each class would bring in less than Seattle’s minimum wage to teach it.

The twenty-something yogini frowned. “So basically, you’re telling me that you won’t match their price.”

If I didn’t end this conversation soon, I’d say something I’d deeply regret when I read myself quoted in her one-star Yelp review. I reached across my desk and pulled out two guest passes. “Tell you what. Try two more classes here as my guest. Hopefully you’ll decide we’re worth the investment.”

As a revenue-generating tactic, my multiple-free-class strategy would be an epic fail, and I knew it. My new friend would attend classes with me precisely two more times before she defected to Some Like It Hot Yoga. If I wanted to stay in business, I’d have to come up with a better strategy.

But not today. Today, I needed to get her out of the studio so I could hit the road to Tacoma. Mission accomplished. The instant my temporarily satisfied student headed toward the parking lot, I locked the studio’s front door and jogged next door to Infant Gratification.

For once, I had a sleuthing plan that would satisfy me without making Michael’s head explode. Michael would be furious if I went to Rainbow’s house alone, and honestly, I didn’t want to. My questions were too amorphous; my plan, too fractured. I needed someone to go with me. I needed a sidekick.

I needed Rene.

She sat behind the checkout desk, looking bored. My eyes swept past the new red-soled infant stilettos she had on display and landed on a black T-shirt that was folded in half on her desk. The words Some Like It Hot Yoga arched over a nubile woman posing in Warrior Two. I had a feeling the phrase Ten Classes for Ten Dollars! decorated the back.

“Seriously, Rene? You too?”

“I didn’t buy it or anything. Chad’s giving out free T-shirts to all the neighborhood businesses. He’s trying to get people excited about the grand opening. Plus, anyone who refers students to them gets a free week of yoga classes. It’s actually a pretty good marketing idea. You didn’t get a shirt?”

I felt my jaw clench. “I’m not his target audience.”

She unfolded the shirt and held it up. “It’s kind of tacky but cute. I was going to give it to the twins’ nanny, but if it bugs you too much, I’ll throw it out.”

I sighed. “It’s fine. I’m just in a bad mood. Is the nanny on twin duty today?”

“Yes, though I wish I had the girls with me. Business is dead on Fridays. Everyone who doesn’t shop earlier in the week puts it off until the weekend. I thought Friday afternoons would be the perfect time to work on new designs. But as it turns out, you can’t schedule inspiration. It comes when it comes.” She frowned. “Which obviously isn’t today. I don’t suppose you’re up for a coffee break?”

“I’ll do you one better. How about a road trip?” I quickly told Rene everything that had transpired the day before.

“Geez, Kate, I’m sorry. Sam and the rest of the board had a conference call to talk about Gabriel’s murder last night, but I don’t think he knows that you accidently saw the body. If he did, he would have told me. That must have been awful. You okay?”

I flinched. Sam. I’d been so wrapped up in visiting with Dharma and Dale and then trying to find Rainbow, I’d forgotten to call him. Again.

“Other than being a terrible friend, I’m fine. Sam probably doesn’t even know I was at the center yesterday. I meant to call, but my day got so crazy … ” My words trailed off. The excuse sounded too lame to continue. The past twenty-four hours had been crazy. I’d stumbled upon another murder, gotten my period, temporarily re-homed two rats, and spent a heart-wrenching evening confessing my fertility issues to Dharma. But none of that truly explained why I hadn’t picked up the phone. I’d avoided my two closest friends for so long, it had become second nature. That had to change.

“How is Sam?” I asked.

“Honestly? He’s horrified. Everyone at Teen Path HOME is. According to Chuck, the police have a suspect. Hopefully they’ll arrest the killer soon.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.”

I filled Rene in on the rest of the story. That I had befriended Rainbow, that the police suspected she was the shooter, and that I was trying to prove her innocence.

“All of that happened in the last two weeks?” Rene exclaimed. “Good Lord, Kate. We have to get together more often. I’m completely out of the loop.”

“I agree, and I think we should start today. I’m going to talk to Rainbow’s stepfather, but I don’t want to go alone. Will you come with me?”

Rene perked up like a poodle who’d been offered a cookie. “You’re playing Sherlock again? Count me in!” She looped her Coach bag over her shoulder. “I’ll text the nanny and tell her to hang with the twins until Sam comes home, but we’d better get going. Traffic in Tacoma can be awful. We can strategize on the way.”

I used the one-hour drive to fill her in on everything I knew about Rainbow, what I’d learned during my conversations with Martinez, and the ideas I’d written in my notebook.

“I’d like to talk to the youth at Teen Path HOME, too.”

“It’s a good idea, but they won’t be there,” Rene answered. “The board closed the center, at least for now.”

“I heard that on the answering machine. Why?”

“Everyone’s going all wonky about the murder. The board members are executive types—super nervous about anything that would give their businesses bad publicity. The donors are worse. Sam said that the board is considering closing the facility permanently. For now, they’ve decided to suspend all programs until they have time to hold an emergency in-person meeting. Sam thinks it’s a huge mistake, but he’s only one vote out of seven.”

“I get why people would be nervous, but the kids rely on the center’s services. Closing seems extreme.”

“Honestly? It is. Something weird is going on, and it has been for a while. Sam has been stressed for weeks, but he refuses to talk to me about it.”

“Sam’s keeping a secret from you?”

“Yes, and it’s not at all like him. Honestly, Kate, I don’t know whether to be insulted or worried.”

We spent the rest of the drive discussing twin toddler antics, recently started periods, and Dharma’s offer to see if Dale would pay for my IVF treatments. I thought Rene might be upset that I was willing to take money from Dale since I’d refused a similar offer from her, but in fact she was exactly the opposite.

“What a brilliant solution, Kate! It simultaneously helps you, Dale, and Dharma.”

“Well it obviously helps me. The benefit to Dale is a stretch. But how would it help Dharma?”

“She still feels guilty for leaving you when you were an infant.”

“Guilty? Why? I mean, when we first reconciled, sure, I could see that. But we’ve put all of that behind us now.”

“You’re too close to see it, Kate. I know you’ve forgiven Dharma. You know it, too. But after over thirty years of separation, the bridge you’ve built must feel terribly tenuous to her. She has a lot of skinned knees and missed birthday parties to make up for. Helping you have a child of your own is a pretty good start.”

I hadn’t thought about it that way, but Rene had a point. Dharma did have a lot of missing time to make up for. She wasn’t the only one. Guilt weighed down my shoulders. The circumstances were different, of course, and the time period was shorter. But I’d abandoned Rene exactly like Dharma had me.

I stared at the car in front of me, grateful that I wouldn’t have to meet Rene’s eyes when I spoke. “I know we talked about this already, but I’m truly sorry for ditching you for so long.”

“It’s okay, Kate, I—”

“Please let me finish. At the time, avoiding you seemed like the only way I could protect my sanity, but I was wrong. And selfish. It won’t happen again.”

I hazarded a glance in Rene’s direction. She raised her eyebrows in mock consternation. “It’d better not.” Her expression turned serious. “You hurt me, Kate. I won’t lie. But it’s over.”

“You deserved better.”

Rene stared out the passenger window for several seconds. “Do you remember that line from the movie Love Story?”

“What line?”

She turned and made direct eye contact. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

I nodded.

“Well, it’s a load of crap. Love means never holding a grudge.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “We’re good, I promise.”

We drove ten more miles in companionable conversation. “We’re making super good time today,” Rene said. “When is this guy expecting us?”

“His name’s Dean Boothe, and he’s not. I didn’t tell him that we were coming.”

“You didn’t call first?”

“No. I was afraid he’d refuse to see us. That’ll be harder to do if we’re standing on his doorstep.”

“But Kate, it’s a Friday afternoon. He’s probably at work. We might be driving all this way for nothing.”

“Not for nothing. If Dean’s not home, we can talk to the neighbors. But I’m betting he’ll be there. Rainbow described him as an alcoholic, and not a high-functioning one. She flat-out said he wasn’t able to hold down a job. If he’s not camped on a barstool somewhere, he’ll be home.” I hoped.

I exited off the freeway and navigated through the side streets of South Tacoma. Rene rummaged through her bag and pulled out a makeup mirror. She touched up her lipstick and blush, then slid off her wedding ring and zipped it inside her coin purse. Rene’s version of going undercover.

“You do realize that Dean’s married, right?” I asked.

“Sweetheart, you’d be surprised how seldom that makes a difference.”

Actually, I wouldn’t.

Rene had some magical hold over men. As her best friend, I used to resent the cloak of invisibility I wore in her presence. As an amateur sleuth, I relished it. Male suspects were much more likely to say something foolish when Rene was in the room. I couldn’t explain it. Rene was gorgeous, but there were millions of gorgeous women in the world. Rene’s magic was deeper. More primal. She exuded some intoxicating pheromone that anesthetized the male brain. Rene was the queen bee, men were her workers.

She pointed to a small, single-story rambler. “This is it.”

I’m not sure what I’d expected. A crumbling-down crack house? A muddy, weed-infested yard scattered with used condoms and hypodermic needles? Maybe a condemned wreck with boarded up-windows.

Rainbow’s home was none of that. It wasn’t glorious, either. Just a small gray-blue house that could have used a good landscaper. The rose bushes along the sidewalk were overgrown, and the weed-choked grass hadn’t seen a lawn mower in months. But from the outside, at least, the house looked like an average lower-middle-class home. Rainbow may not have liked her stepfather, but he and her mother had kept their lives together, at least on some level.

“Okay, Kate,” Rene said. “What’s our plan?”

“To be honest, I don’t have one. My primary goal is to find Rainbow. I hope her stepfather—or her mother, if she’s back—can connect us with her friends or tell us places that she used to hang out. If not, maybe they’ll let us look through her room.”

Rene wrinkled her lips, unimpressed.

I shrugged. “It’s a start.”

“Do you at least have a cover story?”

I probably should have had one, but history had proven that I was a terrible liar. An admirable quality in a yoga teacher; not so handy as a budding detective. “I’m going to stick to the truth, at least as much as possible.”

“So what’s my role?” Rene asked.

“The day I saw Rainbow’s stepfather at Teen Path HOME, he wasn’t exactly friendly. I don’t know if he’ll remember me, but if he does, the association won’t be pleasant. I’m hoping you can sweeten him up and convince him that my finding Rainbow is in his best interests.”

“His, not hers?”

“Both, if possible. I don’t know how much he cares about Rainbow, but if what she told me is true, he certainly cares about himself.”

“Sounds like a real charmer.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know what to believe, at least not yet. Martinez doesn’t think Dean was parent-of-the-year material, but Dale warned me not to make too many assumptions, and he’s right. I’ve only heard Rainbow’s side of the story. Who knows how much she’s embellished? Dean could be anything from an abusing jackass to an overbearing man who, in spite of appearances, loves his stepdaughter. We should go in assuming either could be true.”

“In other words, we’re winging it.”

“Pretty much.”

As we walked up the sidewalk, I examined Rainbow’s home. It seemed perfectly harmonious and yet oddly out of place with its neighbors. The single-story structure was small, about the same size as my Ballard bungalow. The roof, shingles, and paint were in good condition, indicating that until recently, the house had been well cared for. The windows, however, were filthy. Garbage overflowed the outside trash can and spilled onto the driveway. I glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then took a peek under the lid. Beer bottles. Lots of them. I led Rene up the single step to the doorway, rang the doorbell, and waited.

Nothing. No barking dogs, no nosy neighbors, no footfalls on the other side. Only a stern-looking No Solicitors sign to keep Rene and me company.

“Told you we should have called first,” Rene said.

I pressed the doorbell again. No response. “I was convinced he’d be home.”

“Well then, let’s make sure that he isn’t.” Rene lifted a French-manicured finger and pressed the doorbell over and over and over again.

“Rene, stop that. It’s annoying.”

She kept pushing. “That’s the point.”

After the twelfth repetition, a sluggish male voice came from inside. “Oh for Christsakes. I’m coming. Can’t you read?”

The corners of Rene’s mouth lifted. She turned to me and winked.

The door cracked open and a single bloodshot eye peered through it. “Read the sign. No solicitors. Or bill collectors. Or religious freaks. Basically, get the hell off my doorstep.”

I gave Rene a let-me-handle-this look and reached out my hand. “Hello. You’re Dean Boothe, correct?”

“Who’s asking?”

My name’s Kate Davidson. I’m a staff member at Teen Path HOME, and I’m here about your stepdaughter.” It was close to the truth, anyway. I did work at the center, even if it was as a contract yoga teacher.

“She ain’t here. She’s a runaway.” He wrinkled his face at me, as if attempting to focus. “Have I met you before?”

“Not officially, no. But I was on site the day you came to pick up Rainbow.” I almost slipped and said the day you tried to abduct Rainbow, but I checked myself. “She hasn’t been at the center since then, and I’m trying to find her. She’s in trouble.”

“Yeah, I know all about it. The cops told me. And like I told them, so what else is new? That kid’s been trouble since the day I hooked up with her mom. Rest assured, when she gets back I’ll kick some sense into her.”

Rene’s body stiffened, but her facial expression remained friendly. “Teenagers can be challenging, that’s for sure.”

Dean’s liquidy eyes washed over Rene, but they showed zero attraction. The cloud of Budweiser-laced body odor surrounding him must have dampened the effect of her pheromones. “Who are you?”

“I’m connected with Teen Path HOME, too,” Rene said. “My husband and I founded the technology program. I’m here to evaluate whether or not your stepdaughter still meets our scholarship requirements.”

“Scholarship? You mean you’re giving the little tart money?”

“We’re considering it. Rainbow has shown promise, but I understand she’s had some trouble recently. None of the youth we work with are completely free of challenges, of course, but this seems to be of a more serious nature.” Rene pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of her wallet and held it up where Dean could see it. “We’d be willing to pay for your time.”

Dean nudged the door open and stepped through it. “The house is a mess. I’ll answer your questions out here.”

“We’d rather come inside where the conversation will be more private,” Rene replied. “We’d also like to speak with the child’s mother.”

“My wife’s not here.”

“We can wait.” Rene’s eyes widened in coquettish innocence, but the smile she flashed was predatory. The lashes of a kitten, the fangs of an alley cat.

Dean’s knuckles whitened on the doorknob. “You’ll be waiting a very long time.”

We stood on the doorstep in silence, Rene and I staring at Dean, Dean at the C-note. After several seconds, Rene pulled out her billfold and opened it. She slowly slid the money back inside.

Dean released his hold on the door and backed away. “Fine. You win. We’ll talk inside.”

He led us to a small, threadbare living room cluttered with pizza boxes, beer bottles, and a thick layer of dust. The scent of his body odor diminished, replaced by cigarette smoke and mildew. “Excuse the mess. My wife hasn’t been home to clean for a while.”

He picked up a pile of mail stacked on the couch and tossed it onto an end table. He gestured for us to sit, then crossed his arms and leaned against a worn leather recliner. “So tell me again. Exactly why are the two of you here?”

“Before we launch into all of that, would you mind getting me a glass of water?” Rene asked. “I’m parched.”

“My dishes are all dirty.”

Rene stared at him, expression deadpan. “Well then, I guess you’ll have to wash some.”

Dean scowled at me. “I suppose you’re thirsty, too.”

“Yes, water for both of us, please,” Rene replied. “And ice would be lovely.” I halfway expected her to add a lemon slice to the order, but she simply flashed that predatory grin again.

As Dean disappeared into the kitchen, I leaned toward her and whispered, “What are you up to?”

“Snooping,” she whispered back. “Are you going to sit there like a doofus or join me?”

I chose option two. While Rene thumbed through the mail on the end table, I wandered around the living room and tried to absorb the space’s energy. I was surprised, and not completely in a bad way. The room hadn’t seen a dust rag in months, but before that, someone had lightened it with personal touches. Colorful throw pillows decorated the threadbare couch, and half-burned candles sat inside the nonfunctioning fireplace. Photographs of Rainbow and her mother in younger, happier days dotted the walls. The two played in parks, posed with Santa Claus, and visited the Point Defiance Zoo. In spite of her mother’s addictions, Rainbow had been loved, at least at one time. But as the years passed, the photos grew less frequent, and the mother aged at three times the rate of her child. Her hair grew coarser; her skin more sallow, her smiles less frequent. Rainbow was about ten in the most recent photo, which meant that April must have been in her mid to late twenties. Crow’s feet and sagging skin made her look at least forty. After that, the photos stopped. Either no one took them anymore, or they were too dismal to display.

I heard the telltale sound of ice plunking in water and scooted back to the couch. Rene opened her bag and dropped something inside it. Had she found something in the mail pile? Before I could ask her, Dean returned, balancing two opaque, lime-green glasses and a bottle of beer.

He handed one of the glasses to Rene. “Here’s your water.” He pointed with his chin toward her purse, and she tensed. “If you don’t want to bathe in it, that hundred dollars you promised me had better start finding its way from your wallet to mine.”

Rene’s tension melted into a placid smile, but she didn’t reply. She took a tiny sip of water, then set her glass on the end table. I abstained, dreading the inevitable aftertaste of cheap plastic.

“And while you’re at it,” Dean continued, “it’s time you told me why you’re really here. And drop the scholarship nonsense. A real school wouldn’t bribe me to get information.”

“Like I told you outside,” I said, “I want to find Rainbow.”

He took a deep pull from the bottle. “Join the party. So do the police. She’s gotten herself into real trouble this time.” He ran his fingers through his crew cut. Large dandruff flakes snowed to the carpet. “Rayne’s a runaway. What makes you think I know where she is?”

“You found her once.”

“You mean the other day at that soup kitchen? That was a fluke. I found a photo she posted online. Rayne’s a devious little troublemaker, but she’s smart. She won’t make that mistake again. You still haven’t told me why you want to find her.”

“Like you said, the police are looking for her,” I replied. “I have a friend—an attorney—who might be able to help her, but we have to find her first.”

Dean gestured around the small, dingy living room. “Take a look at this place. Do I look like I can afford some fancy attorney?”

“My friend sometimes takes pro bono cases.”

“Well, la de da for him. Some of us have bills to pay.” He whisked his hand through the air. “Doesn’t matter. I already told you: I have no idea where the little she-devil’s gone off to this time. Stumbling across that photo was a fluke. I’d been looking for her for over a week before I found that.”

My indignation went up several notches, taking my vocal volume with it. “You’d only been looking for Rainbow for a week? She’s sixteen and she ran away months ago! Why on earth did you wait so long?”

Dean’s fists clenched. “Is that a question or an accusation?”

Rene leaned forward, expression locked in one-hundred-percent charm mode. “Sorry, Kate can be a little abrupt sometimes. What she means is, did something happen that made finding your stepdaughter more urgent?”

Dean’s fists relaxed, but his jaw remained tense. “My wife came home, that’s what happened. April showed up here on Halloween, finally sober, and she was pissed as hell that the little brat wasn’t here waiting for her.” His eyes flicked toward the ceiling. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her: If she’d stayed home for a change, she could have taken care of her own progeny. I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Your wife was home on Halloween? I thought she’d been gone for months.”

“Except for that one day, she has been.”

I frowned.

“Look, April’s a partier. I knew that when we got married, but it’s gotten worse. A few drinks, I can understand. A joint or two, fine. I don’t like it, but fine. But she moved on to coke. Then it was heroin. I told her loud and clear: I will not allow that poison in my house. If I find it, it goes straight down the toilet. So when she wants to shoot up, she takes off.”

“You don’t stop her?” Rene asked.

“How am I supposed to do that? April’s not my prisoner. Neither is Rayne, for that matter. You can judge me all you want, but I’m not a bad guy. When the kid took off, I thought she’d gone to stay with her mom. When April finally sobered up and came back alone, I realized I was wrong, so I started looking for her. I found her at that soup kitchen.” He shrugged. “Not that anyone appreciated it. April took off again before I even found Rayne, and the brat refused to come home.”

“Can’t you report her missing?” I asked.

“Who?” he snorted. “The kid or her mother?”

“Both, actually.”

“What good would it do? The police already know about Rayne. As for my wife, I called the cops the first time she took off, and they didn’t do crap. Evidently it’s not against the law for an adult to leave home. And what would they do if they found her? Throw her in the drunk tank? Try to force her into rehab? Been there, done that. It always ends the same.” He pantomimed shooting up in the crook of his elbow. “Believe me, April will come crawling back when she runs out of money. She always does.”

I didn’t buy Dean’s story, at least not all of it. He was hiding something. Rene’s expression told me that she thought so, too.

“I’m not so sure I believe you,” I said. “If I came home and found out that my daughter was gone, I’d sure as heck try to find her. Addiction or not, I wouldn’t disappear again. Not if I had any choice in the matter.”

Dean smirked. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you believe. And if you think heroin addicts care about anyone but themselves, you haven’t spent any time with one.”

“You’re right. I haven’t. But I’ve met a few battered women.”

Dean flinched as if he’d been slapped. “Battered? What are you talking about?” He paused, then his eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. The little troublemaker told you that I slapped her mother around.”

“Did you?” I asked.

“Of course not. Rayne’s pulling your chain. She’s a blue-eyed, angel-faced con artist, almost as good at manipulating people as her mother.”

He thunked his beer bottle next to Rene’s glass on the end table. “You want the truth about why Rayne took off? Fine. Here’s the truth. That girl’s nothing but trouble. Always has been. Sneaks out every night doing god knows what. After April took off this last time, I put my foot down. I told Rayne that her partying days were over. She had to be home no later than eleven on school nights and stop sneaking out after I went to bed. I even took the lock off her door and started checking her room every few hours to make sure she was home.”

Unease churned deep in my belly. Rainbow said she’d caught her stepfather staring at her while she was sleeping. She’d hinted that physical abuse was about to turn sexual. Was that the truth or a terrible misunderstanding … or was it a lie told to deliberately deceive? Dean claimed that Rainbow was a master manipulator. Had she manipulated me?

“The night before she took off, we had an argument.” Dean’s voice grew firm. “I finally told her, if you live in my house, you play by my rules. If you don’t like it, you can leave.” He shook his head, almost sadly. “I honestly didn’t think she’d call my bluff.”

He stood and took the glass from my hands. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Rayne chose her path. Now she has to walk it.” He turned to Rene. “I’ve already given you more time than I wanted to. Give me my money and get on your way.”

“We will,” I replied. “But before we go, I’d like to look around in Rainbow’s room.”

“Why?”

“In case there’s something inside that will help us find her.”

“There’s nothing there. I already looked.”

Rene lowered her eyes to her purse, then lifted them back to Dean’s face. She arched her eyebrows, implicitly asking, Do you want it or not?

Dean sighed. “Fine. It’s a waste of your time, but fine.” He strode down the hall and gestured to a closed door on the right. “Have a party.” He marched back toward the living room without following us inside.

“What a sweetheart,” Rene whispered.

“You were right. He’s a real charmer.” I pushed open the door, flipped on the light, and froze.

Rene almost collided with my back. “Kate, what’s wrong?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s just, I know this room.”

This was the bedroom depicted on the right side of Rainbow’s missing drawing, Another Life. The baby blue curtains had faded to gray, and the princess bedspread had been replaced with a solid blue comforter, but everything else was unmistakably familiar.

I wandered around the small space, searching for traces of the violence Rainbow had portrayed on the left side of her drawing. There were none. No beheaded teddy bears, no bloodstained bedspreads, no signs of decay. The only hints of trauma were the drawings taped to the walls—desolate, photograph-quality charcoals of cocaine addicts, discarded needles, and shredded, blood-soaked toys. Each work had Rainbow’s unique style but was signed with overlapping capital R’s. For Rayne Rhodes, I assumed.

“Did Rainbow draw these?” Rene asked.

“Yes. I recognize the style.”

“I’m impressed. And terrified. She’s got talent, but … ”

“I know. It’s pretty dark stuff.”

Rene pointed to a sketch taped above the bed. “What’s up with that one?”

Honestly, I couldn’t answer. The drawing was of a house, or at least what was left of it. The two-story structure was half submerged in an ocean of quicksand. The top half of a For Sale sign peeked above the surface. The windows were boarded over. The dark green siding was cracked and covered with mildew. The drawing was titled Refuge.

“That’s not this place, is it?” Rene asked.

“Wrong color. The architecture is wrong, too. A friend’s house, maybe?”

Rene stared over my shoulder, then stepped away. “She probably made it up.”

I continued staring at the drawing. I couldn’t know for sure, but I suspected this was a place Rainbow knew well. She clearly borrowed from her life when she drew. From where had she borrowed this? And why?

Rene interrupted my thoughts. “I’ll say this for the kid, she’s smart.” She gestured to a collection of books piled on the room’s wooden desk. College-level texts on biology and calculus, an ancient copy of Merck’s Veterinary Manual, a hardcover book titled Canine Rehabilitation and Physical Therapy. No angst-filled dystopian novels. No teenage romances with bare-chested men on the covers either. No high school yearbook. No diary. No address book. Nothing that could lead us to Rainbow or anyone who knew her.

We searched her closet, rummaged through drawers, sorted through papers in the garbage can, and slid our hands between the bed’s mattress and box spring. If Rainbow had left any clues in this room, she’d either hidden them thoroughly or her stepfather had already confiscated them.

Dean’s voice came from the hallway. “Told you there wasn’t anything interesting in there. Happy?”

“No,” I said honestly. “I’m not happy at all.” The more I learned about my new teenage friend, the more confused I became. I pointed at the drawing of the house. “Does that mean anything to you?”

He hesitated. “No. Should it?”

“She titled it ‘Refuge.’ I thought it might be a friend’s house or a place from her past. Some place she might go if she was in trouble.”

“I don’t think so, Kate,” Rene said. “It doesn’t look like a place you’d go to feel safe.”

“You never know with this kid.” Dean tapped an index finger against his temple. “She’s not right in the head. I told April that Rayne needed help, but she refused to see it.” He gestured at the rest of the artwork. “Does that look like the work of a well-adjusted teenager?”

“Probably not,” I admitted.

He leaned against the door jamb. “I told you, there’s nothing here. No matter what lies Rayne told you, I’m not a monster. If there was an easy way to find the kid, I’d have done it already.”

Rene placed her palm on my arm. “Come on, Kate. Let’s go. There’s nothing here that can help us.” She handed Dean the money she’d promised him. “Before we go, can I use your restroom?”

He shrugged. “It’s down the hall to your left.”

Dean and I loitered by the front door while Rene powdered her nose. When she re-emerged from the restroom, she had a surprisingly triumphant look on her face. “We’ll get out of your hair now. Let me grab that water glass and put it back in the kitchen.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Dean said.

“Thanks, but I’m thirsty.” She picked up the glass and, in an uncharacteristic moment of clumsiness, dropped it. Water splashed across the mail and poured onto the carpet.

“Oh my gosh!” Rene exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Get me a towel, quick!”

Dean jogged to the kitchen. Rene pulled an envelope out of her bag, presumably the one she’d swiped earlier. She slid it in the middle of the mail pile and winked at me. “I can be such a klutz sometimes.”

Dean arrived back at the table and handed Rene a worn terry towel. She blotted the wet carpet and papers, tossed several half-melted ice cubes into the glass, and handed it to Dean. The towel came away gray. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

She pulled a business card out of her billfold. “We’ll get out of your hair now. That has my business number. If Rainbow or her mother show up again, call it. There’s another hundred dollars in it for you.”

Dean took the card from Rene but he spoke to me. “Can you really get Rayne a good attorney for free?”

“Yes.”

“Then if I learn anything, I’ll call. I meant what I said before. I’m not the monster Rayne made me out to be.”

Halfway down the sidewalk, Rene whispered, “Drive a few blocks then find someplace inconspicuous to park. I have something to show you.”

She pulled a bottle of hand sanitizer out of her purse and rubbed her palms vigorously together, removing all germs and the top layer of skin in the process. “If I didn’t get hepatitis from that water glass, I for sure got MRSA in the bathroom. No one’s cleaned that toilet in months.”

“What was the water-spilling charade about?”

“I’ll show you once we’re parked.”

I pulled into a convenience store lot and turned off the engine. “Okay, Rene, talk.”

“While you were walking down memory lane with Rainbow’s family photographs, I was sorting through the mail.”

“I saw you. I take it you found something interesting.”

“You could say that. April Rhodes is Rainbow’s mother, right?”

“Yes.”

“I found an open envelope addressed to her.”

“That’s hardly surprising. She lives there.” I paused. “Or at least she does part time. If her husband’s telling the truth, she’s been gone more lately than she’s been home.”

“Yes, but this wasn’t junk mail or a credit card statement. It was a certified letter from a law firm.”

That got my attention. “Is Rainbow’s mother in legal trouble?”

“That’s what I thought at first, or that maybe she was filing for divorce. I didn’t have time to look at it before Dean came back from the kitchen, so I borrowed it.”

“Borrowed?”

She swished her hand through the air. “Borrowed, stole … potayto, potahto. I put it back while Dean got the towel. He didn’t have a clue.” She looked insanely, justifiably proud of herself.

“Well, don’t keep me guessing here. What did the letter say?”

She pulled out her cell phone, pressed a few random-looking places on the screen, and handed it to me. “I took a picture of it. See for yourself.”

The letter on her screen was dated October 27.

From: The Law Offices of Johnson, Meek, and Fredrickson

To: Ms. April A. Rhodes

We received your request for a one-time payment of ten thousand dollars ($10,000) from the trust fund of Rayne Rhodes. This request has been denied. As outlined in Ms. Rhodes’ trust documents, fund disbursements are conditional on her maintaining a grade point average of three point five or higher. Ms. Rhodes’ first monthly scholastic report for the 2016–2017 school year was due on October 10. Until we receive this documentation, we are unable to release the requested funds or deposit future monthly stipends for living expenses. We will reconsider this request upon receipt of the required documentation.

Sincerely,

Fred Fredrickson, Attorney at Law

I swiped across the screen, but there were no additional pages.

“Interesting, huh?” Rene asked.

I handed the phone back to her. “Email this to me, would you?” I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. Rainbow had told me about a trust fund, but she’d said it was her mother’s. Did she know it actually belonged to her?

Rainbow’s mother could have easily deceived her. Her grandparents died when she was five, and the payments had likely been electronic. Periodic grade reports would have been trickier for April to get without a teen’s knowledge, but she could have asked Rainbow’s teachers directly. I bit back a rising sense of anger. Did this poor kid have any adults in her life who didn’t take advantage of her?

“Earth to Kate,” Rene said. “What are you thinking?”

“That I’m glad I didn’t grow up in Rainbow’s family.”

Rene tapped the top of her phone screen. “Did you notice the date on the letterhead?”

“Yes. October 27.”

“It would have arrived right around the time April came home. Isn’t that when Dean started looking for Rainbow?”

I felt my jaw clench. “Yes.”

“You see what that means, don’t you? That jerk wasn’t looking for Rainbow because he cared about her. Her mother probably doesn’t care all that much either. They both needed her to get back in school so they so they could pick a few more dollars off the money tree.”

I mumbled words so foul, they might be illegal.

Rene continued. “The letter is addressed to Rainbow’s mother. Do you think she asked for the ten thousand dollars?”

“No. The timing’s off. The request would have been sent not too long before the denial letter was written, and Dean said April was gone until Halloween. I think Dean asked for the money, pretending to be his wife. He probably didn’t know about the grade requirement. When the letter arrived and Mommy Dearest returned home, they both realized they were screwed.”

“Unless they found Rainbow and got her back in school,” Rene added.

“Exactly.”

“Where do you think Rainbow’s mother is now?”

“I have no idea. Stoned in a crack house somewhere? Off selling her body for drugs? Trying to track down her daughter herself?” I pointed to the phone. “That letter tells us one thing for sure. Dean definitely doesn’t know where Rainbow is. If he did, he’d have brought her home by now.”

Rene dropped the phone back inside her purse. “Maybe, maybe not. He certainly won’t get more money out of the trust fund if Rainbow’s in prison. Maybe he’s trying to figure out a new end game.”

“It’s possible, I suppose.” I turned the key in the ignition. The Honda’s engine rumbled to life.

“Does any of this help solve Gabriel’s murder?” Rene asked.

“Honestly, I don’t see how it would. I’ll call that trust fund lawyer, Fred Fredrickson, after we get back to Seattle, but if he’s anything like Dale, he won’t tell me anything.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Exactly where we were before. Trying to find Rainbow.”