We differed again. Thoughts of Marlow only reminded me of what I’d lost. Of what I’d never have.
“Do you have any idea why Alex and Kristen met?”
“She needed money. He needed oxy.”
“And you didn’t think I should know this before now?”
“You want to point fingers in any direction but mine.”
“I’d prefer to figure out who the hell took that little girl and where she is.”
Something in him shifted. I sensed the change, but didn’t know what it was.
“I didn’t know he was dealing until I overheard him and another of our friends after a softball game.”
“Before or after you and Shel got involved?”
“Before.”
I scribbled a timeline on the yellow paper. “He ever hint to you about his sideline?”
“No.”
“Did Shel know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you tell her?”
He glanced past me. “No.”
“Why?”
A meaty shoulder lifted and lowered. “She had enough to deal with. Her sister. The kids. Alex.”
“Was she on any kind of substance?”
“No.” The word shot at me as if I’d asked the most offensive question he’d ever heard.
“Why was Christopher removed from his mother’s care?”
Another look as if I’d insulted his intelligence. “She’s whacked out.”
“Who stood to gain the most if Dara disappeared?”
“No one.”
“Do you think it was random?”
“No.” His chin dropped to his chest.
“Fact or instinct telling you that?”
“Instinct.”
I gathered up my things. “Think about who wanted Dara out of the picture. Who benefited, or at least believed they did. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Christopher.” The word was so low, I barely heard it.
I placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. “Are you covering for him?”
“He’s just a kid.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“If I were, would I have just said his name?” The vein in his neck throbbed.
“I have no idea, but I need to know everything you’re hiding.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Marlow
“She’s systematically trying to take us down.”
My father stared at the carpet, unmoving in his chair.
I slapped the papers down on the coffee table in front of him. “Child Protective Services sent me this.”
Forty-eight hours. That was all it took for her to take action.
“I didn’t do anything to Blake. Since when is a picture of pushing another adult grounds for a home check?”
If it weren’t for the rise and fall of Dad’s chest, I’d have thought he was dead he was so still.
“Does Mrs. Quinn know anything about how to deal with this?”
He lifted his eyes up, pain and irritation in them.
“I’m sorry things are rough between you two right now, but Daddy I need all the help I can get.”
“Phone’s on the nightstand.” His voice was scratchy, like he hadn’t spoken for days.
I retrieved it and a glass of water, thrusting it in his hand. He held it, but didn’t drink.
My heart twisted. Mrs. Quinn’s number was stored as a favorite along with the rest of our family, Patrick included. All I knew was Dad had been gone overnight and she said they spent the night together.
I didn’t blame Mrs. Quinn for being upset, but she needed to give my father the benefit of the doubt. Seeing him so torn up over her was killing me.
Don’t blow up. Don’t blow up.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to get my brain and mouth on the same page.
“It’s Marlow,” I said as soon as she answered.
“If you’re calling about Mills—”
“I got a letter from Child Protective Services. She’s coming after Blake. Can you help?” My voice broke and I sank down onto the sofa.
“Where are you?”
“Dad’s.”
There was a long pause. “Give me half an hour.”
I greeted her at the door, letter in hand. I thrust it into her palm before she’d crossed the threshold.
She scanned it in the foyer, earning a little bit of my respect. The woman understood the urgency and set aside her own pain to help me out. Because she was definitely in pain.
I’d never seen her unkempt. But her short hair was held back with a thin headband, pieces of it loose in her face. She had on jeans and a worn-out Paths of Purpose long-sleeved T-shirt that was wrinkled to hell and back.
“You go to work like that?” Her nostrils flared. “He looks a thousand times worse than you.” I offered a sorry to be so blunt pinch of my lips.
“I know this woman.” She pointed to the papers.
“Can you talk to her? Tell her I’m not a bad mother.”
She placed a hand on my arm. “I’ll do what I can, but she’ll still make the visit.”
I balled my fist. “She’ll take him. I’ll say something stupid and never see my baby again.” My nose tingled as tears stung my eyes.
“I’ll be there with you.”
“You will?” I blinked rapidly, but my vision blurred. “Why would you do that?” I whispered. “I’m awful.”
She squeezed, and my chest ached. This was what a mother’s love felt like.
“You’re strong. Fierce. And Blake is the amazing little boy he is because you kept yourself together in the worst of circumstances.”
“What if he says ass?” Panic flooded me.
“Then we’ll laugh. Kids pick up all kinds of things.”
I flung my arms around her and buried my face in her shoulder. She rubbed my back, promised we’d get through this together. I swallowed a sob, inhaled deeply, and pulled myself together.
“He loves you,” I said, dropping my arms. She recoiled, fresh pain washing over her face. “I don’t know what he did, but whatever it was, it was for me and Blake. He won’t talk. Won’t eat. He needs you.”
“He won’t tell me what happened or where he was. I have no choice but to assume the worst. And I can’t live with that.”
“Tell him,” I pleaded. “At least that would be a start.”
“I already know.”
Mrs. Quinn’s eyes rounded as she peeked past me to where my father stood. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” His voice was strangled. “I thought I could fix things, but I didn’t.” His face pinched in pain. “I love you, Audrey. I know you don’t believe
