“She wasn’t terrible. Ever.”

  “But when do you have time for yourself?”

  *

  LISTENING TO THESE questions filled Valerie with both anger and sorrow. She knew why they needed to be asked, but she hated that they were being directed at her sister as if May were capable of mistreating Lizzie.

  “You know when it was hard?” May demanded. “Her infancy when she had colic. When I felt like a failure because there was nothing I could do to help her. When I walked the floor for hours in the middle of the night listening to her cry.”

  “Difficult,” Guy agreed. “But time for you?”

  “Day care for four hours three times a week. It gives me time to do the things I need to do, it gives me time to exercise my mind, to just relax or whatever. Oh, I had my own time, Detective.”

  Guy pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped through a few pages. There was more, Valerie knew. Much more. Her hands ached from clenching them. From fighting the urge to go to May.

  “You say you discovered she was missing at around seven a.m. Is that right?”

  “God, yes. The instant I opened my eyes I knew something was wrong. She always woke me around six. She never lets me sleep late.”

  “So you heard nothing at all? No one moving in the house, no unusual sounds from Lizzie?”

  “Nothing,” May said, her voice stretched tight. “Not one peep.” She shook her head. “Not a thing. I don’t understand why! I should have heard her making some kind of noise. If someone took her, she should have made some sound at being disturbed. She’s at the point where she’s afraid to be away from me, even when I take her to day care. She always cries.”

  “That’s a normal stage,” Chet said. “Normal. Right now she cries when I take her home with me. It doesn’t last long, but she cries.”

  Oh, God, Valerie thought. This was getting worse and worse. It sounded as if May might be concealing something. Then came the most fearful question of all.

  Guy asked it. “But you said yesterday that you have a baby monitor, right? Could it have been turned off?”

  “It’s on all the time!”

  And there it was, a hole in her claim to have heard nothing at all, not Lizzie crying or any other sounds. God in heaven. Guy would be suspicious now, and justifiably so. Now Valerie was clinging to the hope that her sister couldn’t be a monster.

  “How often do you change the batteries?”

  “The units are rechargeable. They beep to tell me the charge is getting low.”

  “So none of that?”

  May shook her head. Now Chet was staring at her as if doubt were creeping into him as well.

  Guy rose. “Mind if Detective Brighton and I take a look at them?”

  May shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  Valerie rose with Guy and walked with him to Lizzie’s room. The bedding in the crib was rumpled, the blanket thrown back as if the girl had been taken, not as if she had climbed out on her own. She pointed to it with a finger and Guy nodded.

  God, she hoped she wasn’t helping to deal a blow to May.

  He found the monitor near the crib and lifted it, studying it. Then he summoned Valerie over with a crook of his finger. He’d slid the back off the monitor and Valerie stared into an empty space.

  “Someone took out the battery,” she murmured. “Oh, sweet Mother Mary.”

  She looked into Guy’s strong face and for the first time saw past his impassivity. Pain filled his dark gaze.

  “Kidnapping.”

  * * *

  VALERIE GAVE HER sister a hug before she and Guy departed. He spoke.

  “I’m going to send my team to knock on doors. They got nothing from the neighbors yesterday, at least the ones who were still home. A lot of folks were out in the search parties. But maybe someone will have remembered something if we jog them again.”

  “Maybe. Listen, I need just a minute to make a phone call.”

  “Go ahead.” A phone call? At a time like this when he could almost feel the pain and anger that enveloped her?

  Then she surprised him when she lifted her cell phone to her ear.

  “Hi, this is Valerie Brighton. I brought in a small black-and-white dog yesterday. The stray hit by a car? How’s he doing?” She listened, then said, “Do it. I’ll cover it.” As she disconnected, she saw him staring at her. “A dog I found by the roadside. Broken hip. He’s going to need surgery.”

  Well, that gave him a whole new spin on this woman who seemed both demanding and dubious of him. In the midst of all that must be tearing her apart, she had rescued a dog, had brought her to the vet and was now ensuring he received proper treatment.

  Maybe there was a generous soul beneath all those roiling emotions, a soul that could save a dog despite everything. That, however briefly, could spare a little attention for an injured animal.

  His opinion of her climbed a notch or two. “I’m going to check in with the command post. Then let’s get some coffee while we discuss next steps.”

  She gave him a brief nod.

  * * *

  MAUDE’S DINER, AS the City Café had been known for years, wasn’t very busy. Just a few retirees too old to join the search. Coffee was easy to come by, delivered in thermal carafes that recently had replaced the individual cup-by-cup service. Maude’s daughter Mavis, a clone of her stout and usually angry mother, had insisted on it. No time to waste pouring bottomless cups of coffee at all the tables.

  Guy shoved a menu toward Valerie. “Get some breakfast. You’ll need the energy. When was the last time you ate?”

  “None of your business.” But she hadn’t eaten a thing since her departure from Gunnison. Fear and worry were good appetite suppressants. She took the menu, seeking something that wouldn’t roil her stomach more.

  Guy chose a double serving of biscuits and gravy. Valerie selected pancakes, the only thing that looked bland enough to swallow. She couldn’t even face eggs. It was all about energy anyway.

  She was surprised when she received a double order of the pancakes. She looked up into the face of Mavis. “I didn’t order a double.”

  Mavis frowned. “I heard you. Eat as much as you can. Long day ahead.” Then she stomped off.

  Valerie stared at the heap of pancakes then looked at Guy. He shrugged. “She’s right.”

  Then she studied her overly full plate, evading his gaze, which reflected concern, and she was sure some of it was about her. Of course. He didn’t want her on this case and he had no idea what kind of problem she might become. Too bad.

  For her own part, she honestly wasn’t certain how objective she might manage to be. It was a good thing, though she hated to admit it, that she wasn’t the lead on this one. Even though she wanted to batter her way through every obstacle at any cost.

  Which made her a loose cannon.

  She forced herself to eat despite all the worries and emotions careening around inside her. With each mouthful her stomach began to fill and the sugary syrup hit her bloodstream, energizing her.

  “Okay,” he said when he’d cleaned his whole plate and Valerie had eaten three quarters of hers. He poured them both fresh cups of coffee. “How many kidnapping cases have you worked?”

  “None.” But she had worked on a case where the mother had killed her child. She suppressed a shudder. Not May.

  “Tell me more about Chet,” he suggested. “He’s a doctor, right?”

  “Obstetrician. He shepherds mothers through their pregnancies and delivers their babies. He’s fond of saying that his are the first hands that hold a newborn.”

  “He’s proud of that?”

  Valerie bridled. “He should be. Delivering a baby is an important role.”

  Guy shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it.”

  Valerie sat sipping the hot coffee. Mavis stomped by to remove their plates.

  Guy’s gaze remained steady. This man, Valerie realized, wasn’t going to give an inch.

  “So,” he said presently, “what brought about the divorce?”

  It was Valerie’s turn to shrug. “They’d been married five years. They seemed happy. Then May got pregnant.”

  “Joyous?”

  “At first.” Val took a napkin from the dispenser and began folding it aimlessly. God, she hated to talk about this. To become a witness, rather than a detective. But there was no escaping it. She shredded the napkin, trying to suppress her inner turmoil.

  Guy spoke quietly. Almost gently. “I know this is hard.”

  “I was on the outside looking in,” she told him defiantly. “Anything I say isn’t gospel.”

  A brief nod. “Got it.”

  Valerie sighed, then stuck her toes in the water. “Chet’s job has irregular hours. Babies don’t get born on a schedule. He’s not, as he’s said, one of those doctors who will set up Caesarians to make a convenient schedule either for himself or the mother. He wants those babies to come to a natural full term. Unless there are complications, of course. So he can be called out at any hour of the evening or night for a delivery or a problem with a pregnancy.”

  Guy nodded again. “I can understand that.”

  “Well, May didn’t seem to have a problem with that. At least not until she became pregnant. Then she started complaining to me about how little he was home.”

  “Okay.”

  Valerie’s jaw had clenched. She forced herself to relax it before she gave herself a major headache. “It got worse after Lizzie was born. Chet had his regular office hours, of course, but he also had all those urgent calls to deal with. May felt she was the only one taking care of Lizzie. The only one who paced the floors at night with a colicky baby.”

  Valerie grabbed another napkin and began to treat it like the first. God, this was killing her. Her niece was out there somewhere but here she sat playing witness. With every word she felt as if she were betraying her sister.

  “It wasn’t true, of course,” Valerie said, her hands tightening until her knuckles turned white. “Chet was there as much as he could be. But I guess that was the problem. Anyway, she felt abandoned and divorced him.”

  “There was a custody fight? I heard something about it through the grapevine.”

  “Double damn,” Valerie said vehemently, hating this man and his questions. “When do I get to stop being a witness?”

  Guy leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “Would you ask these questions in a similar case that didn’t involve your sister?”

  The words felt like a slap in the face, all the worse because she knew he was right. It mattered now, all of it mattered. He was just being a good detective, despite her initial doubts, and she should give him credit for that.

  “All right. There was a brief custody fight. Chet wanted joint custody. May argued against it, talking about Chet’s hours and how he’d have to hire a nanny to take care of Lizzie. She didn’t want her daughter being raised by a stranger. She didn’t want Lizzie’s life to be upended every six months.”

  “And she won.”

  “Obviously.”

  Valerie closed her eyes, feeling her chest squeeze until she thought she might not be able to breathe. She’d done it. She’d given both of them a motive, especially Chet. She hated herself.

  Then her eyes popped open and she looked straight at Guy. “So tell me, Detective Redwing, just what good would it serve either of them to kidnap Lizzie? How hard would it be to conceal my niece in this town? Impossible. And if either of them put Lizzie in another’s care, how often could they see that child? What’s more, May’s statement in court mitigates against that. She doesn’t want Lizzie being raised by a stranger.”

  * * *

  NONE OF IT mitigated against murder, however, Guy thought as they left the restaurant. Revenge? A deep grudge? Especially on the part of Chet. Gentle obstetrician he might be, but he’d been denied joint custody. Then to be told he didn’t have the right to just drop in to see Lizzie? That had to have angered him. But enough to kill a child just to deprive May of it? If I can’t have it, neither can you.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Anger churned in him. But he had to give props to Valerie Brighton. She’d given him as much as she knew because, as a detective, she understood its importance. Even though she had known where it might lead.

  “Thank you,” he said as they crossed the street toward the sheriff’s office. “I know that wasn’t easy.” It hadn’t been. She probably displayed a totally impassive face when she was working, a detective needed one, but she hadn’t been impassive as a witness. He’d seen the play of terrible emotions run across her face. The awareness of what she might be doing. She was a strong woman.

  “I need to go out to the command post,” he said. “Check up on things.”

  “I’ll come along. I’d like to see.”

  Of course she would want to make sure they weren’t handling the matter like a bunch of rubes. That must be her opinion or she wouldn’t have forced her way into this investigation. As a detective, she’d known better than to do so because she was personally involved.

  Then he caught himself. More eyes, more ideas, might be useful.

  * * *

  THE MOBILE COMMAND CENTER, such as it was, had been positioned not far from the Chamberlain house in a grassy area, still browned from winter. He led Valerie inside and introduced her to Connie’s replacement, a deputy named Sarah Ironheart. Sarah had a bit of a storied background, too, having years ago broken up a bar fight started because some locals objected to the presence of a Native American man. Sarah, herself partly Indigenous, had broken up the fight with a well-timed shotgun blast into the air. Later she had married the man, Gideon Ironheart, who was the long-lost brother of Micah Parish, also a deputy. Micah had his own stories to tell about the bigotry around here, although it had lessened somewhat since his day. Lessened but not vanished.

  The extensive Parish family, however, had achieved a measure of acceptance through their long years in law enforcement. Connie, who had been in the command post earlier, had married Micah Parish’s eldest son.

  That acceptance did not entirely extend to Guy, a relative newcomer whose roots lay in a reservation. He figured he’d always be something of an outsider around here but had long since resigned himself to it.

  It is what it is.

  “Good setup,” Valerie remarked after she and Sarah had been introduced.

  Sarah smiled. “It’s pretty good, Detective.”

  “Valerie, please. Or Val if you prefer.” Valerie pointed to the screens, one in particular. “What’s that?”

  “A GPS map of where the searchers have been. Cell phones are good for something besides calls, texts and surfing the web. I’m sure you know that. Anyway, all the searchers have been advised to turn on their mobile data so we can track them.”

  Valerie pulled over a chair and looked. “The search area looks blocky.”

  Sarah nodded. “Uneven ground, uneven pace. Guy?”

  “We’re extending the radius again today. Have the K-9s found anything?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Not a trace.”

  Valerie exchanged looks with Guy. He returned a brief nod.

  Kidnapping.

  *

  FEELING ALMOST ILL, Valerie left the command post with its monitors and humming, crackling radios. Outside, she paused to draw several deep breaths.

  “Are you okay?” Guy asked quietly.

  “Trying to be. At this point the only damn I give is for my niece. For Lizzie. And I’m not liking the chances.”

  “There’s always a chance,” he said firmly. “A better one if she hasn’t been in the dark and cold all night. Someone could well be giving her decent care.”

  She looked at him from eyes that felt swollen, although no tears fell. “But why?” The obvious question.

  “If we knew that, we’d know where to look.”

  “The obvious answer,” she retorted. “Maybe this person will get in contact soon. Give us some kind of direction.”

  “I hope to God he or she does. The sooner the better.”

  * * *

  ETTA MARGOLIS FOUND an envelope in her mailbox that afternoon. She regularly walked the half mile to the rural mailbox at the end of her rutted drive to collect the mail, mostly advertising flyers and the few monthly bills. This time there was a hand-addressed envelope. She barely looked at it and curiosity touched her only slightly.

  She lived on a small piece of land outside of town, a parcel cut from a larger ranch, originally intended for the family of the rancher’s son.

  That family no longer lived there, having skedaddled to a bigger city with more opportunity. The rancher, who’d fallen on tough times, had been only too glad to rent the house to Etta and her ex-husband for a song. A property he now didn’t have to maintain.

  Etta had lived there alone since her divorce, and the maintenance was more than she could handle alone. She lived in expectation of being evicted.

  She also lived with terrible grief over the loss of her only child, a boy who’d been stillborn. Her grief and her husband’s drunken anger, an anger that blamed her and her doctor both for the child’s death, had ripped them apart. He had offered her no comfort as she’d wept and ached—just his fury. For two years they had had no contact and she wanted it that way. His anger, his blame, had been intolerable in the midst of her bottomless grief.

  Once back at the ramshackle house, she recognized her ex’s handwriting on the envelope. God, she wanted nothing to do with that man ever again. She tossed it unopened into the trash can outside the house, where it would disappear beneath coffee grounds and food scraps and eventually into the compost heap.

  Like the rest of her life.

  Chapter Four