Page 91 of Our Little Secret
Leah went on, “I know you’re out of your heads panicked, but I really think you should wait until morning to make those calls. If she hasn’t shown up by five or six, snuck back in, start calling around. If you wake up her friends, big deal. This is serious.”
Brooke barely heard her. Buried in Neal’s arms, her face crushed to his wrinkled shirt, she told herself that everything would be all right.
That Marilee would be found.
That Gideon would go away.
And that she wasn’t pregnant.
But she couldn’t convince herself.
CHAPTER 21
“Oh, Brooke, no, I’m sorry,” Andrea was saying on the other end of the connection, her voice clogged with emotion. “I’m sure she’ll be all right.”
That was a lie and they both knew it. Andrea wasn’t an idiot, and with Allison Carelli missing, the situation looked bleak. “Look, I asked Zuri if she had any idea where Marilee could be and she told me she doesn’t have a clue. But I’ll keep pushing her, keep seeing if any of their friends know anything.”
“Thanks.” Heartsick, Brooke slouched onto the kitchen table while Leah fussed with the coffee, muttering under her breath as she waited for the pot to brew.
Neal was gone, off in his Range Rover, searching for their child. He had scoured the park across the street and was now calling the local hospitals and police department while driving around to the places that were Marilee’s favorite haunts.
As if she would go to any of them.
Brooke was left calling Marilee’s friends. She’d started with Andrea, Zuri’s mother, without any luck. Now she called the Paszek residence, or at least she hoped it was. The number she had was old, from a list of volunteers at the elementary school that she’d kept on her phone. Meanwhile Leah, finally satisfied with the coffee, poured a cup and set it on the table in front of Brooke.
“Thanks,” Brooke said automatically, but her stomach curdled just looking at it.
A groggy female voice answered the phone after four rings. “Yeah, who is this?”
“Brooke. Brooke Harmon. Your son met my daughter at the dance last night.”
“Oh yeah. Marilyn.”
“Marilee.”
“Right. Right. Sorry. Friend of Tammi’s, I know. I guess I’m still half asleep. Holy God, what time is it? Six a.m.? On a Saturday?” Irritation had crawled into the muddled voice. “I need coffee. Strong coffee. Vats of it.”
“I know, I know it’s early, but listen, Renata, the thing is, Marilee didn’t come home last night,” Brooke said as Leah poured cream and sugar into a second cup of coffee and stirred, obviously listening. “I mean she came home, but now she’s gone.”
“What?” the woman said.
“Could you please just talk to Nick—ask him if he knows where she is?”
“Nick? Why would he know anything about it?” Renata asked, suspicion seeping into her words. Brooke heard the sound of a lighter clicking, then a deep inhalation as Renata lit a cigarette.
“Just ask him about it. Please. They—Marilee and Nick—met at the dance. She didn’t leave the dance with him, we picked her up, but I thought he might have some idea what happened.” Brooke tried to keep the panic out of her voice as she explained about not finding Marilee in her bed in the early morning hours. “She and I had a fight, a mother-daughter thing, you know?”
“I do know. Tammi? My daughter? You’ve met her, right? Then I don’t need to tell you. That girl can give me fits!”
“Yes, so, Neal and I, we’re calling all her friends. My husband has checked with the hospitals and—”
“Holy shit! Are you saying she’s missing—like Alli Carelli? Oh my fu—oh my God!” Renata was finally getting it. “Wait a sec. Just a sec. I–I’ll go see. Nick’s still asleep.”
Brooke heard footsteps and a door opening, then, though muffled, as if the phone was being held to her chest, Renata’s sharp voice, which had elevated an octave, “Nick! Nick! Jesus Christ, for the love of—And what’re you doing here—Holy Mother of God. Nick! Get out of bed and you—your mother is worried sick about you!”
“Mom! Get out!” a deep male voice yelled. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Saving your ass, that’s what I’m doing. Holy crap, Nick!”
