Alyssa flipped on a set of lights. Everything looked the same as it had earlier. There was no evidence of Destiny’s presence.

  She listened, her head cocked to the side. She heard a faint chiming sound coming from the direction of the bedroom, where the door hung ajar.

  She hurried across the area and pushed open the door. The room was dark. She switched on the lamp.

  Nothing had been altered since Destiny had vanished: the bed was neatly made, all items sitting in their proper place.

  The muffled ring tone came from inside the nightstand. Alyssa snatched open the drawer.

  Destiny’s iPhone lay inside, an older model protected in a battered, sky-blue case. As it rang from Eric’s call, Destiny’s identifier for him, “Eric Newton—Dad” flashed on the screen.

  Alyssa picked up the phone and called Eric back.

  “Her phone is in the basement bedroom. But she’s not here, and I don’t see any other evidence that she was here today.”

  Eric made a noise that was difficult for her to identify. Part moan, part muffled curse, and totally unnerving for Alyssa to hear.

  “Eric?” Alyssa asked. “Are you all right?”

  She heard him exhale, as if he were counting to ten.

  “She didn’t leave her phone last week,” he said slowly. “I looked in there. I searched every drawer in that room. I looked everywhere. So did Deacon when he came over the other day, and you know he wouldn’t have missed it.”

  “Do you think she came back and put it here, then? Perhaps to throw us off her trail?”

  “It was our best shot at finding her. Shit!”

  “We don’t have a security camera over the basement door.” Alyssa glanced toward the doorway. “But I’m not sure Destiny is aware of that.”

  “Did anyone come to the house today?” he asked.

  “I was out for part of the day running errands. Mom came here to hang out with the kids when school let out. That’s all, though.”

  “None of it makes any damned sense. Christ, this is like being punched in the stomach. I knew pinging the phone was going to be the game winner.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe you should stay down there overnight. You sound too wrung out to drive home.”

  “Right, I’ve still got business to handle here. I need to stay through tomorrow.”

  “Care to share any details?” she asked.

  “Later. I’ve gotta think on this.” He sighed again, and she could picture him dragging his hand down his weary face. “Either Destiny came back to drop off her phone, or someone’s helping her, someone who knows we were trying to track her, and who has a key to our house. Who would do that?”

  Alyssa had an idea, but she didn’t dare to voice her suspicion without any evidence to support it.

  Tomorrow morning, however, she would launch another investigation.

  23

  On Monday night, Lorenzo and Angel were working again.

  The Cannon family owned six skilled nursing facilities. That night, they were visiting one of their facilities in Locust Grove, a town northeast of Grisby. Driving his Lincoln Navigator, Lorenzo pulled into the parking lot a few minutes past eleven o’clock and parked at the rear of the building.

  They were on the usual tight schedule, needing to do their work within a twenty-minute window.

  The patient who had the privilege of their company was a Mr. Ezekiel Price, seventy-nine years old, originally from LaGrange and now a resident of their fine accommodations for the past nine months. Mr. Price and his family had fallen behind in their monthly payments and intel revealed that their getting out of arrears was an unlikely proposition.

  Further, Mr. Price’s daughter had been obstinate when a member of their staff politely requested permission to take possession of her father’s remains upon his eventual death, for the advancement of medical studies.

  In the end, the only reasonable course of action was to put the old geezer out of his misery.

  “What y’all doing up in here?” Mr. Price asked when Lorenzo and Angel entered his room. His bedside lamp burned, a dog-eared King James Bible resting in his big-knuckled hands. “Y’all ain’t part of the regular nursin’ staff.”

  “We’ve got something to help you sleep, sir,” Angel said, in her delicate way. She opened her black medical bag and removed the syringe and vial of poison.

  “I sleep fine, thank you.” Mr. Price’s face wrinkled. “Hmph. I don’t like this this one bit. I’m calling my nurse.”

  He reached for the handheld device that would have summoned the nurse on duty. Although Lorenzo had been informed that the head nurse was on break, and only their family contact was on call, he didn’t appreciate this geriatric prick’s attitude.

  “We’re here to assist you.” Lorenzo snatched the device out of the man’s grasping fingers. “Remain calm and this will be over shortly.”

  Mr. Price spat at him--a massive, greenish wad of phlegm. It landed on Lorenzo’s chest, effectively ruining his uniform.

  Lorenzo’s first impulse was to cold cock the old fart in the nose. He could have balled his fist and smashed the man’s nose like a soft potato. In the past, he might have done it. But Mama had counseled him about harnessing his temper. She said that “cooler heads prevailed” and that if he were to ever lead the family business, he had to use his brain, not his fists, to gain the upper hand and assert his dominance.

  So instead of punching Mr. Price, Lorenzo removed a cotton hand towel from the pocket of his scrubs, folded it, and pressed it against the man’s mouth.

  Mr. Price’s eyes bulged. He shouted against the gag, trying to wrest his head away, but Lorenzo’s hand on his mouth was like an iron clamp. The old man’s arms flailed, striking Lorenzo’s chest. Lorenzo doubled the pressure of the gag against his mouth.

  “See, I can be nice.” Lorenzo grinned at him. “Remember my face when you go to hell, sir.”

  After about a minute, Mr. Price’s eyes fluttered shut. His arms flopped like dead birds to the bed.

  Lorenzo checked his pulse. “He’s still alive, only resting now.”

  “Thanks, cousin,” Angel said.

  She slipped the needle into Mr. Price’s arm.

  Just another day in the office . . .

  “You did a good job back there, cousin,” Angel said, when they were back in the Navigator. “You kept your cool. I thought you were going to pulverize that sucker.”

  Lorenzo smiled at the compliment. Angel was notoriously stingy with praise. Mama, too, would be so proud of his conduct.

  To reward himself, he opened his phone and clicked on the first song of a new Spotify playlist that he had created based on a macabre theme: recording artists who had died in airplane crashes. Good ole’ Otis Redding started singing, “Try a Little Tenderness.”

  Predictably, Angel returned to her cat videos.

  Three hours later, their shift concluded, and Lorenzo dropped off Angel at her house in Grisby. He headed to the family compound on the other side of town.

  As he steered down the long, winding driveway, he noticed that the light in the upper floor window of the mansion was still aglow. Mama was awake. Did she ever sleep?

  After Lorenzo parked in the six-car garage and entered the house, he heard Mama summon him from her sanctum upstairs.

  “Baby boy?” she said. “Are you home?”

  “Coming, Mama.” He mounted the steps of the grand, spiral staircase.

  The mansion was enormous, with a dozen bedrooms and just as many bathrooms, and lots of places to hang out and chill. Lorenzo never remembered living anywhere else, but Mama often reminded him that there had been a time when their family had not been so prosperous. That time, she liked to point out, was prior to her assuming control of the family’s business.

  He knocked on the door of Mama’s master bedroom, though the door was open.

  “Come in,” Mama said from the depths of her suite.

  Lorenzo found her sitting at her desk, reading by the glow of a candle, a cup of tea at her elbow. She was reading her favorite book in the world: an accounting ledger detailing the finances of their business empire. Her bifocals were perched on the bridge of her nose, giving her an owlish look.

  She set down the ledger when Lorenzo approached. “How are you this evening, baby boy?”

  “Exhausted but satisfied. We got a lot of work done tonight.”

  “You know I’m proud of you, don’t you? You’re making the right steps. Everything is going to be yours someday. You’re my chosen one.”

  That was the goal that pulled Lorenzo forward; it was why he put in the long hours when others slept. Why he did the tasks that no one else wanted to do, or could do. It was his preparation for becoming the next leader of the family.

  “Thank you, Mama.” Lorenzo tried to stifle a yawn, but Mama only chuckled at him.

  “You can go to bed now, baby.” She tapped her cheek with a ring-encrusted finger. “Kiss.”

  He kissed her cheek. Mama smelled of Chanel perfume and mint tea.

  Lorenzo retired to his own bedroom, which was located across the hallway from the master suite. He stripped out of his clothes and, nude, did fifty push-ups on the rubber mat next to his bed. Afterward, he took a cold shower and finally, climbed onto the mattress.

  He dreamed about leadership. About being the one who was willing to do whatever it took. The one who did the tasks that others would not. Or could not.

  The chosen one.

  24

  Tuesday morning, Alyssa visited Newton Real Estate’s headquarters in Roswell’s historic district.

  The family-owned company worked out of a restored, Craftsman-style residence in the commerce section of the quaint neighborhood. A yoga studio was located next door in a vintage Victorian home; on the other side, a hair salon operated out of a charming cottage.

  As Alyssa pulled into the gravel parking lot at the back of the house, she saw Val’s Mercedes SUV parked in the shade of a magnolia tree. A Joro spider had erected a gigantic web between the low-hanging branches, the big, yellow-striped arachnid motionless as it waited for prey to tumble into its trap.

  Inside, Alyssa saw her niece, Jalen, working at the front desk. She was nineteen and worked part-time at the office while attending classes full-time at Georgia State. It was exactly the path that Eric wanted for Destiny; the problem was that Destiny didn’t want it for herself. You couldn’t force a round peg into a square hole. In her counseling practice, Alyssa frequently encountered parents who wanted to shoehorn their children into their own dreams, and it rarely worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. Destiny would have to discover her own path.

  “Hey, Auntie.” Jalen looked surprised to see her. “Is everything all right?”

  “Good morning, sweetie. Is your mom available?”

  “She’s in her office.”

  “Have you talked to Destiny lately?” Alyssa asked.

  It was a gotcha-question. Alyssa wanted only to register Jalen’s response.

  “Umm, no.” Jalen glanced down at her smartphone. “Everyone is still looking for her, aren’t they?”

  “We had an interesting development last night.” Alyssa let the comment hang in the air. “Anyway, I’ll go chat with your mother now.”

  Jalen didn’t reply, but she looked relieved to see Alyssa turn her attention elsewhere. Alyssa strolled down the main hallway, passed Eric’s vacant office, and knocked on the door of the next one.

  “Hey, come in, girl,” Val said. She was stylishly attired in a green business suit, her face freshly made up. “I’m about to head out. I’m meeting a seller in Buckhead.” She clasped her hands together, her eyes shining. “This will be a big one, we hope.”

  “Did you hear what happened last night?” Alyssa asked.

  “No one said anything to me. Did Eric get some news?”

  “Mr. Deacon pinged Destiny’s phone. As it turns out, the phone was in the bedroom in our basement.”

  “Was it?” Val asked. “Then, clearly, it must have been there the entire time. Destiny left it behind. She could have known it could be tracked. She’s a smart one, that kid.”

  “She must have been thinking several steps ahead of us. I find that interesting because I’d say she’s a bit impulsive, like many young people her age.”

  “She’s had a harder life than many, must have street smarts,” Val said. “Girl, I’d love to chat, but I really need to get going. Traffic on 400 South is crazy. Keep me posted, okay?”

  Val hustled out of the office. Alyssa used the restroom and returned to the front of the house. Jalen gazed intently at her laptop display.

  “I’ll be going now,” Alyssa said.

  “Oh, okay,” Jalen said. “Tell Uncle Eric and the kids that I said hi.”

  “Did you talk to Destiny yesterday?”

  Jalen lowered her head, wouldn’t meet Alyssa’s gaze.

  Guilt could be like that, Alyssa knew: literally a weight hanging like an anchor around your neck.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Jalen said in a near-whisper, as if afraid her mother would hear even though Val had left the office.

  “Your uncle is worried sick, Jalen. This is breaking his heart.”

  “I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t tell.” She sounded like a little child, not a young woman going on twenty.

  “You promised who?” Alyssa asked.

  Jalen still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “She’s scared. I’m scared for her. She’s got that crazy boyfriend . . .”

  “Do you have another phone number for her?” Alyssa asked. “Give it to me, please.”

  “I don’t know, Auntie.”

  Alyssa stood in front of the desk, not moving, not taking her gaze away from Jalen. Just calmly waiting for her niece to acquiesce. Most people—certainly, Jalen—wanted to do the right thing and were uncomfortable keeping secrets. Alyssa got people spilling their innermost secrets as a regular part of her job. She could wait out Jalen’s reluctance.

  “I’ve got all day,” Alyssa said. “I took the day off.”

  “I shouldn’t be doing this, but whatever.” Jalen scribbled a number on a Post It note and handed it to Alyssa. “Please don’t tell anyone I gave this to you. I don’t want to be called the snitch.”

  “Thank you,” Alyssa said, but she would promise no such thing. “You’re making the right decision.”

  Outside, Alyssa immediately called Eric.

  25

  Eric was parked at the Grisby Chick-Fil-A working through a chicken biscuit and cup of coffee when Alyssa called him with the news. He nearly spat a mouthful of coffee onto the dashboard.

  “Jalen happens to have a backup phone number for Destiny,” Eric said. “But she doesn’t know where she’s hiding? Did she say if Destiny’s okay?”

  “I was fortunate that she shared the phone number,” Alyssa said. “If she knows more, she’s not telling.”

  Eric tossed the remaining portion of the biscuit into the take-out bag. He had lost his appetite.

  “Does Val know?” he asked.

  “I think you’d have to ask your sister yourself. She was rushing out the door when I saw her.”

  “Do you think she was behind the phone showing up in the basement?” Eric asked. “Val is one of the few people who has a key to our house.”

  “That sounds like another topic of discussion between you and your sister.”

  “But what do you think? You’re the psychologist.”

  “I’m not a mind reader, babe. I ask questions. People either answer them or they don’t. Usually, what they don’t reveal is as telling as what they choose to share.”

  Eric drained the rest of his coffee, suddenly desperate for caffeine, as he expected he had another long day ahead of him. He was going to call Val; he was going to call his niece, Jalen. Someone owed him some answers.

  “I’ve texted the number to you,” Alyssa said. “I suggest that you do not reach out to her via this new channel. If she’s okay and simply doesn’t want us to find her, we need to try to understand what’s going on.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing down here?” Eric said. “Sightseeing?

  “I think her fear of her boyfriend is still at play,” Alyssa said.

  “I promise not to call her, okay? But I need to find her.”

  He heard Alyssa sigh. “What’s next on your agenda?”

  “I’m going to see Maurice Turner at home. He’s in the phone book. He’s the only Maurice Turner in town.”

  “Please keep me posted on developments.”

  “What exactly have you been doing?” he asked. “You been quiet about your activities, but I know you’ve been up to something.”

  “We’ll talk soon, and I’ll share all the details. Love you.”

  She ended the call. He loved Alyssa to death, but sometimes her habit of keeping her cards close to her vest drove him nuts.

  Eric rang Deacon and pleaded for a new ping—expedited—on the second phone number. Deacon promised to do his best and repeated Alyssa’s same warning: don’t try to call Destiny on the new line. If his daughter was in hiding, blowing her cover might trigger her to take off again.

  Why was she avoiding him? It didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t the bad guy here. He was only trying to help her.

  Eric next called Val, but she didn’t pick up; neither did Jalen. Were they stonewalling him?

  He pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. Maurice Turner lived in an older section of Grisby, not far from where Eric had grown up with his grandparents. It was likely that he and Eric had passed each other in the neighborhood and had never formally met.

  Turner resided in a split-level house that probably had been built in the 1960s. It was mint-green, with black shutters. The front lawn looked freshly mowed. Two satellite dishes bristled from the roof like insect antennae.

  The carport housed a twenty-year-old Cadillac DeVille with a rusted bumper and a cinderblock in place of the left rear tire.