Close to Home by Lisa Jackson Page A

off?” Sharon asked dubiously. Rosalie would never have done that, never taken off without saying good-bye, not for good, like Mel was suggesting.
    â€œWhat? You think she was, like, kidnapped?”
    â€œGood Lord, I hope not,” she whispered. But her husband was tapping into her most primal of fears.
    â€œC’mon, Sharon. She was probably just out partying with some of her friends and crashed somewhere.”
    Sharon sent up a silent prayer that her husband’s assessment was somehow the truth. “She’s not answering her phone.”
    â€œMaybe she’s just sleeping it off.”
    She glared at him. “You’re no help.”
    â€œYou know, honey, you were a teenager once, and had your own share of trouble. Least that’s what your brother says.”
    â€œYeah, but this is different. I can feel it.”
    â€œYou want me to do something? Is that it?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t know!” She heard the panic in her voice and hated it.
    â€œAh, hell.” Mel rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw, then reached onto the floor, found yesterday’s jeans, and yanked them over his legs before standing, pulling them up so that they rode just below his belly. Sharon couldn’t help thinking he’d gained more weight, but then who would be surprised? This man could down two bacon cheeseburgers, an order of fries, and untold beers at one sitting. She held her tongue about his weight, though, since he’d been quick enough to notice when she’d gained five lousy pounds last Christmas.
    â€œSo what’d’ya want me to do?”
    Care, she thought silently, but said, “I don’t know. Start looking for her, I guess.”
    â€œShe’ll show up.”
    â€œHow can you be sure?”
    â€œCuz I remember what it’s like to be a kid her age, even if you can’t or won’t.” He yanked a T-shirt over his head and stretched it over his belly. “Give me a chance to piss and drink a cup of coffee, then I’ll do whatever.” He let out a sigh, saw how upset she was, and whispered. “Oh, for the love of God, Sharon.” Walking around the foot of the bed, he reached the doorway, where he pulled her into his arms. She tried not to notice the foul odor of his breath. “We’ll find her.”
    She almost broke down. Felt her legs go weak.
    â€œCome on. It’ll be all right.”
    If only she could trust his words.
    â€œLook, I’ll fire up the Harley, and you and me, we’ll go out searchin’. But when we find that little girl, I’m tellin’ ya, she’s gonna be in big fuckin’ trouble. Okay?”
    â€œOkay,” she whispered, grateful he was on her side and hoping beyond hope that he was right, that she was freaking out for no reason. But try as she might, as he let her go and playfully swatted her behind to get her moving toward the kitchen, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

C HAPTER 4
    S arah checked her watch. It was after ten in the morning, and the girls were still asleep. She considered waking them, then thought better of it. Moving had been difficult enough yesterday, and then the night had been interrupted by Gracie’s bad dream, or ghostly encounter, or whatever.
    As she mounted the stairs, she paused in the spot where she’d found Gracie clutching the rail. In the light of day, the staircase looked absolutely normal, with no hint of paranormal activity.
    â€œBecause there was none,” she said aloud. She noted that one or two steps on the first set of risers probably needed to be repaired, but the old banister, the one her brothers had slid down on a daily basis, was still strong. She tested it, putting all her weight into trying to rip it from the wall, but it didn’t move.
    Good. Her intention was to keep as much of the charm and character of the house intact as she