Nikki woke up in a cold sweat.
At first, she couldn’t quite put her finger on why until she leaned across and picked up her phone to check for messages. That was when she saw one from Paul:
What time do you want us to come over?
Her eyes widened, and her heart started racing. They were supposed to meet with the private investigator. Once more, feelings of paranoia, excitement, and anxiety overwhelmed her, and she slipped from the bed to wash up.
She splashed cold water onto her face and smoothed her hair back with her damp palms. It didn’t matter how she felt—she wanted to meet Amy, and it was—is—what Trish wanted her to do.
She returned to the bedroom and replied to Paul before she made a beeline for the closet to pick out something decent enough for a visitor.
It was already nine, so she had roughly an hour to get ready. She was sitting by the kitchen island, clutching her coffee mug nervously between her palms when the doorbell rang.
This is it!
“Hello,” she said as she pulled the door in. “Come in.”
“Hello,” the gentleman replied and walked by her.
She smiled up at Paul and followed the man, allowing him to close the door. The private investigator looked just as she imagined he would—military-cut hair, clean-shaven face, and a sturdy gait. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, a white polo shirt, and loafers—very textbook, but he had a kind and gentle demeanor as he turned to face her with an extended hand.
“I’m so sorry about your sister,” he said.
Nikki took his hand. “Thank you. I have no doubt she’ll dodge this. She’s very good at making narrow escapes.”
The man smiled broadly. “I hope you’re right.” His eyes shifted to Paul, and he lifted the large manila envelope he carried. “I don’t mean to be hasty, but I have another appointment in an hour.”
“Oh yeah, no problem,” Nikki replied, showing him to the living room. “Please, have a seat. Would you like anything? Coffee? Water? Juice?”
“If it were another time, I’d ask for chicken parm, but not now,” he said as he made a crack at Paul.
Paul laughed. “Anytime, Greg. What do you have?”
He rubbed his palms and motioned for Nikki to join him. She felt like her heart was creeping up her throat, and when she sat next to Paul, she could barely breathe.
Greg was very deliberate in his motions, it seemed to her—it took far too long to take a couple of pictures and a few sheets of paper from the envelope. But then, she wasn’t sure if he was moving too slowly or her mind that was just going too fast. She sat gingerly on the edge of the seat; her hands clasped together.
She jumped when Paul reached out and took her hand. “It’s okay,” he told her.
She was relieved that she wasn’t alone. Greg looked at them, his hands suspended in the air and gripping Nikki’s heart at the same time.
He leaned forward and handed her a large picture. “This is Amy Foster.”
Nikki’s hands shook as she took the picture, and instantly, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened as she stared at the young girl looking back at her.
“Wow,” Paul said over her shoulder. “She looks just like her.”
“I guess it’s safe to say then that we have the right person,” Greg replied humorously.
Nikki laughed nervously. “You could say that,” she said as she stared at Amy. Her hair was long and had ombre highlights. Her eyes were happy and kind. She seemed to have had a good life. “I can’t wait to meet her,” Nikki said listlessly.
“What else do you have?” Paul asked while Nikki continued to stare at the picture. Her eyes welled up with tears as she reflected on the fact that Trish had looked just like that when they had gotten into the fight.
“She was adopted by Bob and Linda Porter, and she lived with them in Seattle until she graduated from high school. Bob is a factory worker, and Linda worked at a daycare. Amy is currently living in an apartment with a roommate and working as a server.”
“Already?” Nikki asked and knitted her brows. “She isn’t in college?”
Greg sighed. “There’s more,” he said and pulled out another sheet of paper. “Over the years, Amy and some of their neighbors have called the police.”
