But now, with Celeste missing, Mia could barely keep the ghosts of her past at bay, and she couldn’t stand to think her own actions might have played a part in Celeste’s disappearance.
What if Celeste had accepted a ride with a stranger because she didn’t have her keys?
Unlikely.
Celeste was a smart woman who knew how to take care of herself. And she had plenty of friends around that night to give her a lift. Mia had nothing to do with Celeste going missing. That was just her guilty conscience messing with her head.
She was truly sorry for what she’d done, but sorry didn’t help anyone. Volunteering, on the other hand, might. The community was really pulling together for Celeste, and Mia planned to do her part—whatever it took. She understood, too well, what the Coopers were going through.
She shook out her shoulders.
Crowds of strangers weren’t exactly her thing, but she owed it to Celeste to be here—even though it meant facing her fear of social gatherings. It’d taken her two hours and three cups of coffee to work up the nerve. If the other teachers turned out, maybe she could join them, but if there’d been a group text or other information sharing, Mia hadn’t been included. No one had filled her in about what happened, and she was hungry for details. Thank goodness for the note on the preschool door. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have even known about today’s search.
On a deep inhale she opened the gate, hands jittering from all the caffeine, and entered Pocket Park. She fixed her gaze on a red-brick border surrounding a circle of gray cobblestones. Feet clad in shoes of all sorts—heels, hiking boots, tennis shoes, and even flip-flops, greeted her. After a few beats, she found the courage to look around and size up the crowd. At this point about thirty or so people milled beneath the park’s giant magnolia trees. Blow-up photos displayed on easels were strategically placed between the benches around the park’s perimeter. Mia spun, and images of Celeste, with her shiny auburn hair and lovely hazel eyes, kaleidoscoped around her. Unnerved and dizzy she came to a stop, steadying herself by focusing on the nearest stationary object: a bronze statue of a dog.
“You know the story of Bum, the mutt?” A white-haired woman, her steps buzzing with energy, approached.
“I’m reading it now.” Mia pointed to the engraved placard bolted onto the statue. “Bum sounds like quite a character.”
“San Diego’s town darling and its biggest mooch. I’m Cora, by the way.”
“Mia.”
“Did you get one of these?” Cora handed over a packet of papers in a laminated folder.
“Not yet.” As she accepted the packet, the knots in her stomach loosened, just a little. This woman seemed to welcome Mia, without question, into the volunteer group, and that gave her a good feeling. “Thank you, Cora.” She smiled, happy she’d remembered to use the woman’s name. Focus on the other person, not yourself, Dr. Baquero always said.
“Thank you for coming.” Cora’s gaze swept the park. “A lot of the volunteers have already gone out but there’s still plenty of time left.”
Mia wasn’t sure what duties volunteers would be given, but she was prepared to do whatever was asked of her. “Gone out?”
“Door knocking. The sign-up table is over there.” Cora pointed as she hurried past Mia to greet another newcomer.
Mia opened the folder Cora had provided. On the first page she found a handwritten thank you note from Celeste Cooper’s mother, Alma. Imagine writing so many thank you notes at a time like this. Alma Cooper was living up to the image Mia had gleaned from the papers. “People have big hearts,” she said aloud.
“Some people do.” Paul Hudson, Ruth Hudson’s soon-to-be-ex, shaded his eyes from the late morning sun and sidled up to Mia.
Other Harbor Youth parents would, no doubt, be volunteering, too. It was especially good of him, the vice president of a local bank, considering he must’ve had to take the day off. “Good to see you, Mr. Hudson.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Under these circumstances?”
Her face grew hot. “I didn’t mean… This is truly awful. I shouldn’t have said… I’m so sorry. I was being polite.”
“And I wasn’t.” He towered above her, blond, broad-shouldered and handsome, wearing just the right expression: worried but not overwrought; confident but not arrogant. “I don’t know why I said what I did, either. This is all so unsettling. Please forgive me.”
She blew out a breath, relieved the tension had dissipated as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d come. Obviously, she wasn’t the only one on edge. “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s hard to know the right thing to say or do in such a terrible situation.”
“Thanks for being a sweetheart.” His gaze swerved away from hers. “We’ll talk more, Mia, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my wife. Have you seen her?”
Strange. Ruth had told Mia she wouldn’t take Paul back if he swam naked through a sea of electrified eels to get to her, but the way he’d said my wife—his whole demeanor, in fact—made it seem as though nothing were amiss between them. “I haven’t bumped into her, yet. But I just got here.”
“Well, good to see you.” Then he half-laughed, apparently realizing he’d reenacted her initial gaffe, and disappeared back into the crowd.
As she headed for the sign-up table, Mia kept an eagle eye out for anyone or anything that didn’t fit in—a routine she’d developed partly because she held out a secret hope her mother would magically appear one day, and partly because Aunt Misty had taught her danger might be lurking around every corner. Dr. Baquero discouraged what she called post-traumatic hyper-vigilance, but Mia hadn’t quite managed to lose the habit. Suddenly, her gaze boomeranged back to a group of trees providing cover for a man, who, from his concealed spot, peered surreptitiously between a
