“Reagan was born on the same day as Amber’s baby.”

  “That’s what Buddy said.”

  “We talked about Amber and Elise last night,” Beatrice continued. “Then, when I saw you walking down the street, I thought about what a good friend you were to Buddy in high school.”

  “I don’t know about that. He helped me get a good grade in tenth-grade biology.”

  Beatrice handed the bouquet to Gracie. “Maybe the flowers can remind you to pray for Buddy. He has a lot on his mind,” she said.

  “I will.”

  At home, Gracie put the flowers in a clear glass vase and placed it in the center of the kitchen table. She’d always liked Beatrice Smith, but the gracious widow seemed more like a kindred spirit than ever. Praying for Buddy created a bond between them.

  * * *

  Buddy stopped off at a client’s place of business for an early meeting before driving to the office. Jennifer was receiving instructions from Millie. The new secretary greeted him, then stepped across the hall to her workstation.

  Buddy paused at Millie’s desk. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “I like her,” Millie replied. “I talked to her about our different bank accounts and how they work. She learned about attorney trust accounts at the community college and did basic bookkeeping at the restaurant. I’ll show her how we keep track of the rental business.”

  “So long as you supervise her.”

  “Of course.” Millie raised her eyebrows and added, “I have to supervise you too.”

  Buddy smiled. “And I appreciate it. I’m glad you’re not thinking about quitting this morning.”

  “No,” Millie said with a shake of her head. “I slept soundly last night.”

  “And I talked to my mother,” Buddy said. “She never knew about the payments to Amber.”

  “That’s not surprising. I hope she’s not upset with me.”

  “No. She was more interested in looking at photos of me when I was seven.”

  Buddy took the picture of him and his two sisters wearing their Sunday best from his shirt pocket and laid it on Millie’s desk.

  The bookkeeper adjusted her glasses and leaned forward. “At that age Maddie is a female version of you,” Millie said.

  “That’s what I thought. Is that how Elise looked when you saw her at the Southside Grill?”

  Millie picked up the photo for closer inspection.

  Jennifer’s voice interrupted them. “Mr. Smith, do you want me to go over federal court practice information or the corporate forms first?”

  “Uh, corporate documents. I do a lot more of that than federal court litigation.”

  Jennifer left. Millie handed the photo back to Buddy.

  “Elise definitely favors Maddie,” she said. “The shape of their faces, the eyes, the mouth.”

  Buddy took the picture into his office and positioned it in the corner of the frame that contained his certification to practice before the Georgia Supreme Court. He had a busy morning scheduled. Phone calls and unexpected interruptions were part of a lawyer’s normal routine. But today was especially disruptive. Jennifer buzzed him.

  “Sammy Landry is calling. Do you want me to take a message?”

  “No, I’ll talk to him. He’s returning my call.”

  The call came through.

  “Hey, Sammy,” Buddy said. “It’s been awhile.”

  “Yeah, too long. Thanks for contacting me. I hate that it’s about something like this.”

  “I want to help,” Buddy answered. “Would you like to get together over lunch and discuss it?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Sure. Can you take a break from work?”

  “Yeah, I have a good crew. My oldest boy is one of the foremen.”

  “How about Smoke?” Buddy suggested. “I haven’t gone there recently.”

  “That’s my language. You set the time?”

  Buddy quickly calculated what he needed to accomplish before taking a break. “Twelve thirty?”

  “Perfect.”

  The barbecue restaurant served traditionally smoked pork shoulders, country-style ribs, and chicken, all doused in a tangy red sauce that mixed sweet notes of local honey with the smoldering fire of red pepper flakes. But Buddy’s favorite item on the menu was Brunswick stew, accompanied by a thick slab of crusty corn bread. Named after its place of origin on the Georgia coast, the Brunswick stew at Smoke floated in a tomato roux with flavors as complex as a French bordelaise sauce or Mexican mole. It contained smoked chicken and pork along with fresh tomatoes, corn, diced potatoes, lima beans, bits of sweet Vidalia onion, and secret spices.

  Arriving before Sammy, he sat at a table covered with a plastic red-and-white-checked tablecloth. The waitress knew Buddy’s drink preference and automatically brought him a glass of sweet tea with three lemon wedges positioned on the rim. A few minutes later the construction supervisor hurried through the front door and saw him. Sammy had put on weight over the past seventeen years and lost most of the hair from the top of his head.

  “Thanks for taking the time,” he said, removing an Auburn hat and placing it on the table.

  “No problem, but please put that hat on the floor so I don’t have to look at it,” Buddy answered.

  Buddy had received his undergraduate and law degrees from the University of Georgia, one of Auburn’s rivals.

  Sammy grinned. “A supplier gave it to me. If something is free, it’s for me.”

  The waitress returned with a pad in her hand, and they placed their orders. Buddy could see dark circles underneath Sammy’s eyes.

  “Before we talk about Reagan, how is the rest of your family doing?” Buddy asked.

  The question seemed to relax Sammy. Except for typical life challenges, the rest of the Landry clan was okay.

  “We have six grandkids,” Sammy said. “I look old enough to be a grandpa, but Crystal doesn’t. She’s an amazing woman.”

  “Are you still playing golf?”

  “Every chance I get. It stresses some folks out, but it relaxes me. Would you like to join us sometime? We’re always looking for a fourth.”

  “So long as no one makes fun of me. My driver has a mind of its own.”

  Their food arrived. Sammy had ordered ribs with collard greens and pickled onions.

  “How are you going to corral your breath?” Buddy asked after they’d eaten a few bites. “I can smell the onions on your plate from here.”

  “I’ll stay off the roof. I don’t want anyone to get a whiff and fall.”

  Buddy focused on the stew. He waited a few minutes before bringing up the reason for their meeting.

  “Tell me about Reagan,” he said. “What happened?”

  “I don’t really know.” Sammy shook his head. “She’s the baby of the family, so I guess we spoiled her. Things have been rocky for the past year, but I left it mostly up to Crystal to deal with her. She’s always been better with the kids when they have problems. I’m the one who takes the boys fishing and hunting and the girls to sporting events. Anyway, there were a bunch of big blowups with Reagan over the past three months, and about the time the school year ended, she started spending a lot more time with friends instead of at our house. Crystal didn’t like it, but I thought it was better to keep the peace than start a war.”

  Buddy remembered a similar pattern with Amber but couldn’t imagine that Reagan was fleeing an abusive home life.

  Sammy continued, “A couple of weeks ago she didn’t come home from an overnight, and we haven’t seen or heard from her since. We called everyone we could think of, and nobody could help.”

  “Could help or would help?”

  “Yeah, I thought a couple of her friends might be covering for her, but we sat them down with their parents and they swore they didn’t know anything.”

  “Did Reagan have a car?”

  “That was another mistake. All the others had to work and pay on a vehicle, but we just dumped one in Reagan’s lap. The sheriff’s department entered the license plate number into some database in case she gets pulled over, and her name is in another database for missing children.”

  “What about social media contacts?”

  “I don’t know anything about that stuff. Crystal gathered up the information along with the passwords, and we took it to the sheriff’s department when we filed the missing person report. The guy we talked to said it would take awhile for them to sort through it. I got huffy at the way he treated us. It made me feel like they had more important things to take care of.”

  “That’s where Gracie Blaylock may be able to do some good. She’s going to contact the detective in charge.”

  “Yeah, government people scratch each other’s backs. I’ll take the help any way we can get it.”

  Buddy took another bite of food. “I’m a lawyer, not an investigator, but I’ll be glad to see if there’s anything I can add to the search. Give me your email, and I’ll send over a contract and release forms since Reagan is a minor.”

  “We’ll pay whatever it takes. I try to be upbeat, but we’re worried sick.”

  As they were finishing their meal, Sammy took a long drink of tea. “Tell me, what’s going on in your world?” he asked. “And don’t give me the standard ‘Everything is fine’ answer. Did you ever get married?”

  “Not yet. I’ve dated a lot but never got close. My most recent girlfriend was a travel agent in Savannah. Things were going great until she went on a free cruise and met another guy. I’ve been out of commission for the last three months.”

  “Better to stay off the aisle than walk down it with the wrong woman,” he said. “And marriage ain’t easy for anyone.”

  “To be fair, I’m not sure I was the right man for any of them.”

  Sammy ate a bite of collards. “And your daughter who was born the same day as Reagan? When I told Crystal we were meeting for lunch, she said to ask how she’s doing.”

  “I don’t know. Elise has been out of the picture since she was a few days old and her mother left town. I’ve tried to find them for years but haven’t had any luck.”

  Buddy could tell his answer shook Sammy because of what he was now facing with Reagan.

  “I’m sorry,” Sammy said, his face showing the empathy he felt. “That’s a long time to be looking.”

  Eight

  Turning on her laptop, Gracie read her profile for the dating site. She then took a deep breath and said a quick prayer to supplement what she’d already written and pressed the send button. Not waiting even a minute to see if she received any responses, Gracie closed the top of her computer and texted Lauren:

  It’s done!

  Her sister replied with a succession of happy faces, red hearts, and a tiny couple in formal wedding attire holding hands.

  As soon as she arrived at the courthouse, Gracie tried to set up an appointment with Mayleah Harkness, but the detective wasn’t available, and she had to leave a voice-mail message. Criminal jury trials were scheduled for the following week, and Gracie received a steady stream of phone calls from people wanting to avoid jury duty. Some of the excuses were more creative than others.

  “My cat is going to be neutered on Monday, and I’ll need to be with her during surgery and take care of her the rest of the week,” one woman said breathlessly. “There’s no way I can serve on a jury. I have written proof from the veterinarian’s office.”

  Medical excuses from a potential juror’s treating physician and single-parent situations with a minor child or children at home were the most common types of justification authorizing a person not to report to the courthouse. The pet-care plea was rare.

  “If you or a close family member was undergoing surgery, you could be excused,” Gracie replied evenly. “But not for a pet.”

  “Lucy is like a member of the family,” the woman responded. “I found her abandoned near the trash bins at the supermarket on Baxter Street and brought her home. She’s had two litters of kittens. I gave some of them away, but now I’m taking care of eight cats. I live in a tiny two-bedroom apartment, and this has got to stop.”

  Gracie could imagine the feline chaos in the confined space. “Have the other cats been spayed or neutered?”

  “No, I was going to start with Lucy. And I’m worried one of her daughters may be pregnant. I thought about taking her to see the vet on the same day as Lucy’s surgery. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s usually best to spay and neuter all pets.”

  “Then I’m going to take Ninny in on Monday too. She is the craziest little thing. You’ve never seen a cat act like she does. When someone rings the doorbell, she will—”

  “Wait, wait,” Gracie cut in. “I didn’t say that taking your cats to the vet is a legal reason to avoid jury duty.”

  “But I thought you understood what I’m facing.”

  Gracie paused. All Judge Claremont cared about was having a large enough pool of jurors to move forward with trials. The judge didn’t monitor the excuses issued by the clerk’s office.

  “If I put your name on the list for the next term of court, will you be able to make arrangements to be here regardless of your pet situation?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Gracie checked the calendar and gave her the date.

  “I was going to visit my aunt in Tallahassee around that time—” the woman began.

  “No,” Gracie interrupted. “That’s not a legal excuse.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” the woman surrendered.

  “I’ll make a note in my records. I hope Lucy’s surgery goes well.”

  One of Gracie’s assistants overheard the last part of the conversation as the call ended.

  “Is that someone related to Lucy Brogden?” the assistant asked. “She’s having gallbladder surgery next week.”

  “No,” Gracie replied. “We were talking about Lucy the cat.”

  “A cat?”

  Gracie held up her hand. “Don’t ask.”

  Shortly before 2:00 p.m., Detective Harkness called.

  “Thanks for getting back to me,” Gracie said. “I’d like to meet with you and discuss the Reagan Landry case. Let me know when you’re available, and I can swing by the sheriff’s department.”

  “No,” the detective said, then paused.

  Gracie swallowed. Apparently her status as an elected official wasn’t as potent as Buddy Smith thought.

  “Let me see,” Detective Harkness continued. “I have an appointment with one of the assistant DAs later this afternoon and could stop by the clerk’s office when I’m finished. Would that be convenient?”

  Tonight was the first softball game of the season, and Gracie wanted to leave work promptly at five so she could prepare for the game. The district attorney’s office was on the second floor of the courthouse.

  “Could you be here by four thirty?” she asked.

  “Yes, that should work.”

  “Great.”

  The clerk of court and the tax appraiser’s office shared use of a small conference room on the first floor. Shortly after 4:00 p.m., Detective Harkness arrived. The detective was a woman about the same age as Gracie, with dark hair and an olive complexion. She stood at the counter with a folder in her hand.

  Gracie introduced herself: “Call me Gracie. This is a small office, and we’re not formal except when it comes to the judges.”

  “I’m Mayleah,” the detective replied with a friendly smile.

  Gracie led the way to the conference room and held the door open for the detective, whose cowboy boots made a tapping sound on the tile floor. They sat down at the table, and Mayleah opened her file.

  “It looks like Reagan Landry is set up as a runaway,” the detective said. “We haven’t done anything except flag the license plate number on her vehicle and enter her name and personal information into a national database for missing children. What’s your interest in her disappearance?”

  Gracie explained the personal connection between her mother and Frances Mulhaven. “I also talked to Buddy Smith, a lawyer who represents people in cases of parental kidnapping. He suggested we check Reagan’s social media accounts,” she added.

  Mayleah opened the folder. “The mother provided access to that information. I’ll run the names through our database and see how many have a criminal record. When I was in Oklahoma, I worked several cases like this. Sadly, some of the young women ended up being trafficked.”

  Gracie’s mouth went dry. She’d considered that possibility, but to hear it spoken so bluntly was a blow.

  “It’s only been a couple of weeks,” Mayleah continued. “Which is good, but you’re right to want to move quickly.”

  “What else can I do?” Gracie asked.

  “Let the family know I’m working on it.” Mayleah paused. “And if you’re willing to look at Reagan’s Instagram account and other online contacts, it often helps to have a second set of eyes involved.”

  “Okay.”

  Mayleah handed the information to Gracie, who left the room and copied it. The detective seemed like an efficient, organized woman.

  “How are you adjusting to life in Clarksburg?” Gracie asked when she returned.

  “It’s a change from Tulsa,” the detective replied. “But one of my sisters and her family live in Atlanta. After I went through a divorce, I decided to relocate, and she convinced me to apply for jobs in Georgia.”

  “Did you try to find a position in Atlanta?”

  Mayleah shook her head. “No, it’s too big. But Clarksburg and Milton County are pretty small, which is going to take getting used to.”

  Gracie had a busy life, full of interaction with family and people in the community and at church. But she instantly liked Mayleah.

  “Let’s get together sometime,” she suggested.

  “I’d like that,” Mayleah replied.

  The detective took out her business card, wrote on the back, and handed it to Gracie. “Here’s my cell phone number.”

  Gracie held the card lightly in her fingers for a moment, then had an idea. “I know it’s short notice, but I coach a girls’ softball team,” she said. “We have a game tonight at seven o’clock, and if you don’t have any other plans, you’re welcome to come. We play at the Milton County High School field.”