Present Day
The next morning, my cell phone buzzed. The number was local. I leaned over, tried to grab the phone, but my fine motor skills hadn’t kicked in yet. The phone slid off the nightstand onto the floor. I bent over the bed, reached down, tried again. “Hello?”
Porter Wells’s voice boomed through the phone. “Have you seen Chelsea? Is she with you?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “It’s seven in the morning. Why would she be here?”
“You’re not lying to me to protect her, right?”
“I’m hanging up now,” I said.
“Wait.”
“Why? I’m obviously a liar. She’s been here all night. We had a slumber party.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just ... I can’t find her. She’s not here. She’s not picking up. I’m worried.”
I wasn’t. I knew she had an officer assigned to watch her. Still, why did my stomach feel queasy? “The last time I saw her was yesterday at Alexandra’s funeral. Why did you think she was with me?”
“I overheard her last night on the phone, talking to her fiancé. She said she was going to call you. She needed to talk to you about something.”
“Did she say what she wanted to tell me?”
“No.”
Now who was lying?
“We got into another argument last night,” he continued. “It was bad. Worse than the others.”
“What was the fight over?”
“She said she didn’t want to be part of my life anymore. I was angry. I left, went to a hotel. I returned to the house this morning. She was gone, and the house was destroyed.”
“When you say destroyed—”
“I mean the place has been torn apart. Drawers pulled out, dumped over, shelves emptied. Chelsea’s been pissed at me for weeks, but this ... this is ridiculous. To desecrate her mother’s house just because she’s angry, or grieving, or whatever the hell she’s going through right now is—”
“How do you know it was Chelsea who trashed the house?” I asked.
“Who else could have done it?”
“Porter, I’m going to give Murphy a call. I’ll call you back.”
I hung up the phone and dialed Murphy. He answered on the second ring.
“The officer you assigned to Chelsea,” I started. “When did you hear from him last?”
“I’m not sure,” Murphy said. “I’m headed into work now. Why? What’s happened?”
I relayed my conversation with Porter.
When I finished, he said, “Huh, hang on a second. I’ll get an answer for you.” I waited for him to return to the line. “You’re sure you haven’t seen Chelsea?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I said. “Why?”
“Open your door.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, Miss Jax.”
I walked to the door, opened it, and found Chelsea standing on the other side dressed in jeans and a puffy pink coat. Her fist was clenched like she was about to knock. In her hand she held a thin, black planner. Standing next to her was her fiancé and the officer assigned to keep an eye on her. The officer held a phone to his ear.
I looked at Chelsea. “Your father just called me. He’s really worried about you.”
“He doesn’t need to worry. I can take care of myself.” She thumbed to her left. “Plus, I have this guy.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She paused. “We need to talk. Can I come in?”