“I’d like to say no.” Alyssa put her hands on her waist and gave him a direct look. “I’d love nothing more than for Destiny to call you out of the blue and say, what the heck, dad, I’m fine, stop bugging me.” Alyssa shrugged. “But I’m not convinced anymore that’s going to happen.”

  After church, they had dropped off their children with Alyssa’s younger sister. Her sister had a son the same age as Elijah, and Eric had decided that allowing the cousins to spend time together was preferable to his kids eavesdropping on the meeting with Deacon. It was bad enough that his children had overheard the fight with Clive a few days ago. He wanted to shield them from this ongoing drama as much as possible.

  He was still struggling, on his own, to accept the reality of what was happening. Was Destiny okay and just ignoring him? Had something terrible happened to her? Why had Clive gone to Grisby, of all places? Was Destiny with him?

  He could not simply sit still and hope everything worked out for the best. Life had taught him that sometimes, things didn’t just “work out” because you wanted them to—sometimes, you had to take decisive action. He worried that he was overreacting by hiring a private investigator, but with so many unanswered questions, he decided he could live with the consequences of his choice.

  At exactly three o’clock, the doorbell chimed. Eric hurried to answer. He found both Deacon and his sister, Val, waiting outside.

  Alyssa had thought it was a good idea to invite Val, too. After all, Val had helped Eric connect with Destiny in the first place. Val was equally concerned about what was going on.

  “We pulled into the driveway at the same time,” Val said. She winked at Deacon. “Buzz, why you didn’t tell me that you were friends with a GQ cover model?”

  Deacon chuckled in that self-deprecating way of his. He wore khakis and a button-down olive shirt that showcased his muscular arms. A series of tattoos were braided along his forearms and biceps, likely acquired during his service as a Marine.

  Eric noticed that Deacon also had a holstered gun attached to his waistband, and Eric figured he had a concealed carry permit. Until then, Clive had been the only other visitor to Eric’s house who carried a firearm. Eric found Deacon’s armed-and-ready demeanor comforting. He wanted Deacon to take this matter seriously, not indulge Eric like someone who needed to be talked down from a ledge.

  Deacon also carried a black attaché case. He shook Eric’s hand firmly and greeted Alyssa warmly.

  “Let’s get to it, family,” Deacon said.

  They settled in the family room, in matching armchairs gathered in a rough circle. Eric had filled in Deacon yesterday evening on everything he knew, but Deacon had insisted on this formal conference before he started working the case.

  If Deacon had been shocked to discover that Eric had fathered a daughter who was already an adult, he didn’t let on. Eric got the sense that the guy had seen and done things far outside of Eric’s experience and he was impervious to being taken by surprise.

  “I’d like to record this discussion, if I may.” From his case, Deacon produced a handheld digital recorder about the size of a deck of cards. He placed it on the coffee table in the middle of their circle. “Do I have your permission?”

  Everyone uttered their agreement.

  “Now, I’ve worked my share of missing persons cases over the years,” Deacon said. He took an iPad out of his case, along with a sheaf of papers held together with a paper clip. He distributed the papers to them. “I’ve located teenage runaways, deadbeat dads, you name it, I’ve tracked them and found them. A certain set of rules always applies. Please check out the list of Do’s and Don’ts I’ve passed around.”

  Eric scanned the list of tips. It was mostly common-sense advice. Talk to the subject’s friends; don’t touch their computer since it may contain clues for an investigator to review; file a missing persons report with the local police department, and so on.

  “Before we get into this,” Val said, “can we think about whether Destiny has actually run away? It seems she’s probably hooked up with her boyfriend and doesn’t want to be bothered with us.”

  “I thought about that,” Eric said. “According to Clive’s son, he went to Grisby. He didn’t know if Destiny was with him or not. Probably she is. But why isn’t she communicating with any of us? And why is Clive in Grisby? No one goes to Grisby unless you have a good reason.”

  “We’ve got a number of possibilities.” Alyssa sipped from her mug of mint tea. “I think that’s where Mr. Deacon here can probably assist.”

  “We can’t assume anything at this stage.” Deacon tapped his iPad; the scar on his cheek dimpled as his jaws tightened. “But we need to keep in mind, people, this young lady, at twenty-years-old, is an adult. Perhaps just barely, but legally she’s at the age of majority. Since she’s not a teenager, there are limits to how much legal machinery we can put to work on our behalf.”

  “That’s why I didn’t call the police,” Eric said. “She’s grown. I don’t have any real proof that her life is in danger and I’m not calling the cops without evidence. They’d laugh at me.”

  “You can file a missing person report,” Deacon said. “I strongly suggest you do so, for the record. But don’t expect miracles. I’ll walk you through all of the steps and what you’ll need to provide to law enforcement.”

  “Part of your hefty fee, huh?” Eric asked.

  “We won’t leave any stone unturned,” Deacon said. “That’s my motto in investigations like this one.”

  “No stone unturned.” Eric weighed the phrase in his mind. “I’m down with that. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “We need to review Destiny’s motives,” Deacon said. “Someone who voluntarily disappears always has a reason for doing so. Exactly what occurred prior to her vanishing?”

  Alyssa glanced at Eric. Reluctantly, Eric recounted Destiny’s argument with Clive, and his awkward intervention that nearly boiled over into violence.

  “She didn’t leave behind a note, a message of any kind?” Deacon asked.

  “Nothing,” Eric said, and Alyssa nodded.

  “Before we conclude our meeting, I’d like to check out her living area in your basement,” Deacon said. “Possibly I can spot a clue you missed.”

  “I didn’t miss anything,” Eric said. “But you’re welcome to look.”

  “It’s fair to say that this young lady was torn between wanting to stay with your family, and her loyalty to her boyfriend,” Deacon said.

  “I was a little too heavy handed, I guess.”

  “I would have done the same thing, brother,” Deacon said. “Don’t beat yourself up over trying to protect your daughter. But like I said, she’s an adult.”

  “An adult making bad decisions,” Eric said, and Alyssa and Val cut their eyes at him. “Sorry, but it’s the truth. She needs to leave that loser.”

  “What I want to explore, in more depth, is Destiny’s family background.” Deacon balanced a stylus above the iPad’s screen. “What do we know about this young lady’s life, before you discovered she was your child?”

  Eric told him what he knew, which was only what Destiny had shared with him: Destiny had been raised in the foster care system for the first half of her life, revolving through several homes in the Atlanta area. When she was ten, a husband and wife in Atlanta formally adopted her and she enjoyed a time of relative stability. But when the parents divorced, the father moved out, and chaos reentered her life; six months ago, her adoptive mother died of breast cancer. By then, Destiny was living on her own and hooked up with Clive.

  “Got it, got it,” Deacon said. “Did she mention having siblings from her adoptive family, maybe aunts, uncles?”

  “She told me about a couple of brothers,” Val said. “They were adopted, like she was. But I don’t know their names.”

  “I know the name of the adoptive mother, for what it’s worth,” Eric said. “I’ll provide that information to you. I don’t see how any of this will matter, though. She’s deceased.”

  “I like to be thorough.” Deacon’s eyes were sharp. He shifted to face Val. “And after her adoptive mother’s death, she connects with you on Ancestry.”

  “I knew right away that she was Eric’s girl.” Val smiled at Eric. “She’s a spitting image of him. He couldn’t deny her if he tried.”

  “I’ve seen the photo,” Deacon said. “I want to know about the maternal side for this young lady. What can you tell me?” His gaze drilled Eric.

  “Not much.” Eric felt beads of cold sweat gathering on his forehead. “I don’t remember her mother.”

  “Oh?” Deacon’s eyebrows arched. “You don’t seem like the type, Newton.”

  “What type?” Eric asked, probably more sharply than he needed to ask.

  “I’ve attended church with you for eight years. We’ve participated in the men’s ministry. You don’t seem like the type of brother who would father a child, even when you were in your twenties, and have no idea who the mother could be. I’m an astute judge of character and it doesn’t fit.”

  “I didn’t think I was the so-called type either until a month ago.” Eric dragged his hand down his face. “Do you think I’m proud of that?”

  “Eric had an accident many years ago, shortly before Destiny was conceived,” Alyssa said. “He was in a coma for two weeks. Did he tell you about that, Mr. Deacon?”

  “Do tell.” Deacon leaned forward in the chair.

  “There isn’t much to tell.” Eric shrugged. “I was out driving one night—in Grisby—and a deer crossed the road and I swerved to avoid hitting it. I don’t remember anything after that, but apparently, I had a head-on collision with a tree. Hit my head, blacked out. Someone driving past saw the truck and called an ambulance. I was in the hospital for two weeks, in a coma.”

  “Two weeks in a comatose state?” Deacon whistled. “Brother, you are fortunate to have survived. Quite blessed. Did you have any permanent brain damage, spotty recollection of events?”

  “I checked out with a clean bill of health.”

  “But you have no memory of Destiny’s mother,” Deacon said.

  “Listen, my wife is a licensed counselor, she’s got a PhD in psychology. If I had memory problems, I think she would have noticed by now.”

  “Why don’t we discuss Destiny’s records on Ancestry?” Alyssa said. “Babe, show him what Destiny gave you.”

  Eric opened the manilla folder on his lap. It was a screen print from Destiny’s DNA matches on Ancestry.com. She had given it to him a couple of weeks ago, fishing for information about her mother.

  The family tree broke out matches in order of closeness of relation. In the “Close Family” and “1st or 2nd cousin” sections, there were names that Eric recognized: his sister Val’s for one, and a few other members of their family, on their mother’s side, who had Ancestry profiles.

  There was also a name in the cousin section that Eric didn’t recognize: Maurice Turner. Val didn’t know the name, and the person wasn’t linked to her profile. That meant this individual wasn’t connected to Eric’s family. Maurice Turner was on the side of Destiny’s mother, whoever that was.

  Eric passed the sheet of paper to Deacon. Deacon scrutinized the data, brow furrowed.

  “Maurice Turner is the mystery name.” Alyssa glanced at Eric. “I think your girlfriend from the period of your accident would be worth contacting again. Put that name Maurice Turner in front of her and see what she says.”

  “She already told me she didn’t have a child by me—or anyone,” Eric said.

  “Heaven forbid she could be lying,” Alyssa said. “She could have given birth to Destiny and immediately put her up for adoption. Not everyone wants the responsibility of raising a child.”

  “She makes a valid point,” Deacon said. “I’d like you to follow up on that, Newton.”

  “Pointless.” Eric shook his head. “We need to focus on Grisby. Why is Clive there? We find Clive, we find my daughter.”

  “We’ll loop back to that angle.” Deacon gave a dismissive wave. “I need to fill in more background data. Let’s talk about Destiny’s friends, hangouts, et cetera.”

  Alyssa, Eric, and Val shared what they knew—which wasn’t much—about Destiny’s hangouts and friendships. Deacon wanted to know if Val’s daughter, Jalen, might have some insight, perhaps a closer connection to her newfound cousin. Val looked doubtful but promised to ask her.

  “Now back to the real leads,” Eric said. He sent Deacon a text message with a photo attached. “That’s a picture of Clive’s license plate. I snapped it yesterday when I went to his house.”

  “I’ve got contacts who can run this plate.” Deacon nodded. “We can find out if he’s got any priors.”

  “Can you ping Destiny’s cell phone while you’re at it?” Eric asked. “I know that’s possible. What’s involved there?”

  “Whoa—are you trying to do my job for me, brother?” Deacon chuckled. “Technically, I don’t have access to ping a phone, but I’ve got connections who might be able to assist. We’re not going to miss any steps. No stone unturned, like I said.”

  “Pinging her cell phone seems like the most straightforward approach,” Alyssa said. Val murmured in agreement. “How long would it take for you to do that?”

  “These things take time, folks.” Deacon used his stylus to swipe and tap the tablet screen. “I’ll provide daily updates for the first week.”

  “How long do you think it’ll take you to find her?” Eric asked.

  “Most young people who run away don’t plan far ahead,” Deacon said. “They’re acting impulsively, and don’t bother to effectively cover their tracks. I expect we’ll get resolution soon.”

  “Within a week?” Eric asked.

  “Ninety-eight percent of similar cases are closed within nine days.” Deacon pointed at Eric with his stylus. “But I’ve got work for you to do, too.”

  “I’m going to Grisby,” Eric said. “Not sure if you want me to or not, but I’m going. I know people there. I can ask around about Clive. It’s a small town, people talk.”

  “An outsider would stick out,” Val said.

  “Before you rush off to play amateur sleuth, there are some other steps you ought to finish,” Deacon said.

  “I’m all ears,” Eric said. “Whatever it takes to get to the bottom of things.”

  “Print out some missing person flyers,” Deacon said. He handed Eric another sheet of paper that had a grayed-out photo and the word “Missing” on top in bold letters. “This is a template for you to follow. I’ll also email it to you. Paste in a good, color photo of your daughter’s face and some details about her appearance—height, weight, notable physical markers such as tattoos—and provide a phone number for people to call with information. Offer a reasonable reward if you can.”

  “We can definitely offer a reward,” Eric said, and Alyssa nodded in agreement.

  “Also, I suggest using a burner phone on the flyer,” Deacon said. “You don’t want a bunch of crackpots getting your regular phone number and cluttering your voice mail with false leads. When money is offered you can open the floodgates to the loonies.”

  “Burner phone, got it.” Eric bobbed his head. “I can work on this flyer today, then head over to the FedEx shop and make a hundred copies or so.”

  “Hand them out when you go sleuthing in your hometown,” Deacon said. “If you insist on doing that.”

  “I insist—I’m driving to Grisby tomorrow morning.” Eric looked at Val. “You heard that, sis. I’m taking the day off from work. This is my top priority.”

  “Do what you gotta do, Buzz,” Val said. “I’ve got your back.”

  “So do I,” Alyssa said. She reached out and grasped Eric’s hand. “I’ll think about what I can do to help, too. We’re all in this together.”

  14

  The next day, Monday, Eric started driving to Grisby at ten o’clock in the morning, after rush hour had ended. Without traffic the drive took about ninety minutes; there was no point in leaving his house until folks had gotten to work.

  He had been hoping, perhaps naively, that he would wake that morning to find a text message or a voice mail from Destiny. Hey, I’m back! Sorry, my phone was broken and I couldn’t reply, I’m staying at a friend’s because I needed to get some space . . . but there was nothing. His text messages to her in the past few days documented an increasingly desperate, one-sided conversation.

  From: Destiny, it’s your father here. I’m sorry for what happened last night. I really need to talk to you. Are you there?

  To: Hi, me again. I haven’t heard from you. Are you okay? We’re worried. Please text or call. You can talk to Alyssa if that’s easier. Here’s her number.

  And the latest: Destiny, please, if you get this, text me or call me back. Please.

  On the passenger seat lay a manilla folder bulging with flyers that he had printed at the local FedEx store the day prior. Missing: Destiny Chambers stated the headline. He had found a good color picture of Destiny and pasted it onto the flyer. He did the best he could to recall details of her appearance that could stand out. The battle angel tattoos on her arms were a distinctive marker. He also included her ethnicity (if it wasn’t obvious to someone looking at her photo), eye color (light brown, like his own eyes), height (five-four), weight (about one hundred and fifteen pounds), and date of birth in October.

  Deacon had suggested purchasing a burner phone and putting that number on the flyer, and Eric had followed his advice. The prepaid phone rested in a compartment in his truck, all charged and ready to go.

  I’m going to help, too, Alyssa had said before he left the house. But his wife was coy about the details of what she planned to do, probably because she knew he wouldn’t approve. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to track down his ex-girlfriend.

  Waste of time, he thought.

  Traffic flowed smoothly, and on the last leg of his trip, he exited I-75 South and hopped onto Georgia State Highway 155, which would carry him right into Grisby.