Hot Flash by Carrie H. Johnson

together. I shielded him when he was a baby. As a rambling and roving two-year-old, everything he touched, every word out of his mouth, he heard, “Bad, bad, boy,” which often resulted in arguing the likes of which totally exposed our communication incompetence. Travis always came away asking why Auntie Reece did not like him. All I could say was that Auntie Reece loved him and her issues had nothing to do with him. After the twins’ birth, she changed, though. She started asking about Travis. She drilled for things, like how he was doing in school, what sports he played and whether he was the star player, whether he liked vegetables, whether he was smart, and then when was he coming to visit, spend a week with her, and meet his cousins? Travis and the twins, Rose and Helen, were acquainted by phone only.
    â€œDoes he like the college he’s going to? What is it, Lincoln University?”
    â€œYeah, he likes it. Look Reecey, I’m at work, I gotta go. Please just go home. I’ll call you later to check on you.”
    She rambled on about how fast time passed before finally acknowledging that she would go home and then clicked off. I called John to relay that Nareece was fine and on her way home. Then I tried Laughton’s cell. His final words were unacceptable. When his phone went to voice mail, I hesitated, then left a message that we needed to talk before I went to Boston for the weekend. I didn’t like the idea of letting him investigate his ex-wife’s death on his own, and I had no intention of doing so. I figured he would be more apt to return my call if I seemingly agreed to his request to back off for a bit. I definitely had to go to Boston anyway, and I expected Laughton could handle that much time without me.
    The black glint behind his eyes when he told me he didn’t need me made me think that something more than Marcy Taylor’s death had him twisted up. As close as we were, that much I knew. I was unsure who had me more twisted, Laughton or Nareece. Fact was, it did not matter. Between the two I would end up checking in to the senseless bureau in a minute.
    I started out the door, then went back. Laughton’s locked drawer opened easily with a gun-cleaning pick. As soon as it popped open, I felt guilty, rifling through his files like he was the enemy. I flipped through the file tabs. Then I pushed them back, revealing a manila folder lying flat at the bottom. On the tab was Mabley—Case #92-22-82965 . COLD CASE was stamped across the jacket. Emotional walls that had held steady for twenty years crashed down around me.

C HAPTER 5
    A fter I made a copy of the file, I debated driving to Laughton’s house and confronting him, but I was beyond exhausted from the day, and I decided on sleep first. Two murders in one day, Nareece losing her ever-loving mind, Laughton following close behind her, old wounds coming to roost—and it was only Wednesday.
    It was 9:00 p.m. when I finally turned the corner onto my block. I pulled up in front of the house rather than down the driveway and into the garage as I usually did. A noisy gaggle of teenagers swooped down on the otherwise quiet block, half in the street, the other on the sidewalk. I stayed in the car until they passed, too tired to act, praying for nothing happening that I’d need to act on.
    When I got in the house, I started up the stairs, my bed screaming for my attention, but then I paused midway, backtracked to the dining room table, took the file out of my briefcase, and dropped into the chair.
    I flipped open the file and fingered its contents, then dove in. This whole time I’d thought my sister was the only fragment of my life I had kept from Laughton. How did he learn about the file? Carmella Ann Mabley disappeared twenty years ago. She was now Nareece Troung. Before marrying John, she was Nareece Dotson. Why had Carmella resurfaced now? Nareece’s rants were too vague to determine what the