Close to Home by Lisa Jackson

an old root cellar and what had once been a laundry area gave her a serious case of the willies.
    â€œStupid,” she said as her phone rang; she saw a local number on the screen. “Hello?”
    â€œSarah?” a gravelly voice asked. “It’s Hal down at the shop.”
    â€œHi, Hal. What’s up?”
    â€œAfraid I’ve got some bad news,” the mechanic said. “Looks like your daughter needs a new transmission.”
    Sarah felt her shoulders sag. “And how much will that be?”
    He rattled off an estimate that would vary once they were inside and the parts had come in, but it was enough to give Sarah pause. Right now, with no steady paycheck, and every dime she had going into the house, she didn’t need any big hits to her budget.
    â€œI’ll let you know more as I get into it,” Hal promised, and Sarah hung up, hoping that Jade’s car wasn’t going to be the next money pit. This house was bad enough.
    Â 
    â€œRosalie didn’t come home last night.” Sharon Updike was a little worried and a lot pissed. She’d gone upstairs, peeked in Rosalie’s sty of a bedroom and seen no sign of her daughter. Nor was there any message or text on her phone explaining where Rosalie was. That girl! Why couldn’t she just toe the line, Sharon wondered as she cradled a cup of coffee in one hand and stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “Did you hear me?” she said, a little more loudly to the lump on the bed that was her husband, who, despite the fact that the sun had been up for several hours, was still trying to sleep.
    â€œWha—?” he said, then cleared his throat.
    â€œI said Rosalie didn’t show last night.”
    â€œUh. So?” He blinked open a bleary eye, snorted, and ran his hand under his nose. Pushing up a little on the bed, he found his glasses on the night table and in the process caused a pillow to tumble to the floor.
    â€œShe didn’t call. Didn’t text. Nothin’.”
    He looked as if he wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, but catching the expression on his wife’s face, he changed his mind and threw off the covers. “Prob’ly just with a friend.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œYou worried?”
    â€œYeah, a . . . bit.” More than a bit, but she was trying to rein in her concern.
    â€œYou call that Dixon girl, what’s her name?”
    â€œDebbie. Yeah, I left messages for both her and her mother.” Not that Miranda Dixon would give a flying fig about Rosalie, who, Sharon sensed, wasn’t good enough to be a friend to her little “innocent” princess. What a snob. Just because Miranda had been married to her husband forever and had a nice house? Big effin’ deal. The way Sharon heard it, Miranda had been knocked up when she’d gotten married. Sharon didn’t really care about any of that ancient history. Who was she to judge? But the woman’s holier-than-thou attitude really rankled.
    Now, though, she didn’t want to dwell on all that; she just needed to know Rosalie was safe.
    â€œWhat about that guy she was hanging out with? Y’know, the one you didn’t like?”
    â€œBobby Morris?” Sharon pulled a face and took a sip from her coffee. She didn’t just not like him; she detested the punk. He was always getting Rosalie into trouble. “That was over. Month or two ago.”
    â€œHumph.”
    â€œYou don’t think so?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œWe should have let her get that car,” she said, sipping from her coffee cup and trying to think straight. Where would she go? Who would she have taken off with? Was she hurt? No, she was okay. She had to be okay.
    â€œBelieve me, a seventies Toyota with two hundred thousand miles on it wouldn’t have changed nothin’. Except maybe she would’ve took off earlier.” Mel gave her a look.
    â€œYou think she just took