taken Susan’s spending habits into account. Still, there had to be some way to figure out what she’d bought and whether or not she was wearing it….
Caleb took another turn around the room, thinking. She would’ve carried her purchase inside from the car, possibly tried it on, admired herself in the mirror and cut off the tags.
The tags…
Moving to the small garbage can on the other side of the nightstand, he found a crumpled Nordstrom bag with two tags inside. “Bingo,” he said.
Holly took the tags from him. “What’s so exciting about these?”
“We can use the SKU numbers to find out what Susan bought. Maybe she was wearing it when she went missing.”
“What if she wasn’t?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “We have to start somewhere. Susan always liked the unique and ultra-trendy. Maybe she was wearing an outfit that really stood out.”
Holly smiled up at him. “I knew I was right to have you come out here, Caleb.”
“Slow down, Holly. We don’t even know if this means anything.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to help me,” she said, and he hoped to God she was right.
C ALEB GOT HIS WISH —at least in one regard. The short, worn-looking denim skirt and leopard-print halter top the Nordstrom saleswoman draped across the counter thirty minutes later was certainly conspicuous. He doubted that scrap of fabric the saleswoman called a skirt would cover much, but he had more to worry about than Susan’s general lack of modesty.
“You’re positive these items match the tags?” he asked.
“Check for yourself,” the saleswoman—Deborah, according to her badge—held them up for comparison.
“Did you see anything like this in her apartment?” he asked Holly.
“No. I’ve never seen a halter top like this before in my life,” she told him. “And I’d definitely remember it.”
“I know Susan bought this because I sold it to her,” Deborah insisted. “Just last week. She comes up here from cosmetics all the time or—” she looked slightly abashed “—she used to, anyway. And it was on clearance, so she got a great deal.”
A great deal? Caleb touched the flimsy material. “Would someone really wear something like this in mid-September?” he asked. “Seattle doesn’t exactly have beach weather.”
“She was going clubbing,” Deborah volunteered, trying to be helpful. “And it’s so hot in those places. Especially when you’re dancing, you know?”
Caleb knew all about clubs, but not because he’d visited one recently. He’d quickly grown tired of them after his divorce.
“It’s too much of a long shot,” Holly said. “Let’s go.”
She started for the door, but Caleb pulled her back. “Not so fast. It’s better than nothing. I say we take a picture and add it to the flyers, just in case.”
Holly studied the outfit with a critical eye, then sighed and shrugged. “If you say so.”
“We’ll take it,” he told Deborah.
While he was paying for it, Holly looped her arm through his the way she used to while they were married. “This is just like old times,” she murmured.
Caleb carefully extricated himself. “I’m not going to be in Seattle long,” he said, and was determined to make sure she remembered that.
M ADISON WAS EXHAUSTED by the time she returned home, but she felt a definite sense of relief the moment she drove off the Mukilteo-Clinton Ferry, which had brought her across Puget Sound from the mainland. After the unwelcome media attention she’d received during the past twelve years, and the crushing disappointment she’d experienced for her daughter’s sake when Danny announced he was leaving her, she’d wanted to relocate as far from Seattle as possible. Start over. Forget. Or go into hiding until she was strong enough to face the world again.
But her divorce agreement stipulated that she couldn’t move more than two hours away from Danny, who had joint custody of Brianna and lived on Mercer Island. And she felt too much responsibility toward her mother to leave without a backward glance. Annette was talking more favorably about moving than ever before, but she was still set in her ways and didn’t want to go very far from the city where she’d been born and raised.
Whidbey became the compromise Madison had been searching for. With the island’s sandy, saltwater beaches, damp, green woods, towering bluffs and spectacular views of Puget Sound and the Cascade Mountains, it felt remote. Yet it was still basically a suburb, with eateries and fast food, gas stations and convenience stores. And it was…familiar.
“Brianna!” Madison called as she let herself into the small cottage she’d used her divorce settlement to buy, along with her new business, the South Whidbey Realty Company. Located just off Maxwelton Beach, tucked into a stand of thick pine trees, the house itself reminded Madison of something from a Thomas Kinkade painting—romantic to the point of being whimsical. Built of redbrick and almost completely covered in ivy, the house was more than fifty years old. But it had always been well-loved and well-maintained, and the previous owners had done a fabulous job with the garden. The garage, which was detached, resembled an old carriage house and had been converted some years ago into a sort of minicottage.
“Hey? Where’s my girl?” she called again, putting her briefcase next to the hall tree.
This time the television went off and Brianna came running, clutching Elizabeth, her stuffed rabbit, in one arm. “Mommy, you’re home!”
“Yes, sweetie, I’m home.” Madison gave her daughter a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry I had to be away. Grandma needed me. And then I had to swing by the office to pick up all the paperwork I didn’t get around to today.”
“Why couldn’t I go with you to see Grandma? She loves it when I come to visit. And Elizabeth misses her.”
“You and Elizabeth see her at least once a week, kiddo, and you weren’t out of school yet,” Madison said. But she wouldn’t have taken Brianna to the Sunset Funeral Home and Memorial Park even if she’d been available. Madison tried to shield her daughter as much as possible from the taint of her grandfather’s legacy.
Joanna Stapley appeared behind Brianna, toting a backpack. “Your timing’s good,” she said. “I just finished my homework.”
“Perfect.” Madison gave her a grateful smile and dug through her purse for the money to pay her. “Did anyone call while I was gone?”
“You had an ad call on the rental place.”
“An ad call?” Brianna echoed. “What’s an ad call?”
Madison shook her head. Her daughter was only six years old, but nothing slipped past her. “I’m trying to rent out the carriage house. Did the caller leave her name?” she asked Joanna.
“It was a he.”
“Oh.”
