have to.”
“Call me when you’re finished. Maybe I’m seeing things.” Now the face looked like a shapeless blob. He reminded himself that the clue left on the geocaching site was the same one left at Eve’s house. He already knew the outcome—he just didn’t want to face it.
“Maybe. You’ve been under a lot of stress. Your dad can take a look when it’s done.”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” Nick bolted to his feet and left the room. Driving to his parents’ house, he kept blinking moisture out of his eyes. He parked on the street and swiped the back of his hand over his cheeks. He’d had maybe four hours of sleep a night ever since Eve and Keri had vanished. Now he understood that knowing their fate wouldn’t bring him rest. He might not truly rest again until he brought Eve’s murderer to justice.
Feeling older than his thirty-five years, he threw open the car door and dragged himself up the walk. Even the aroma of mousalia wafting out the screen door failed to lift the lead from his feet.
His parents had lived in this Victorian-era neighborhood in Bay City all his life. The three-story home held memories of kids running in and out, lots of good food and laughter, and almond biscuits in front of the TV while the family watched Family Ties .
Some hard memories lived on, too, like the night his father had been shot by a robber fleeing a convenience store when Cyril was a city policeman.
Nick walked inside the house. “I’m here,” he called.
His mother came from the kitchen, wiping flour on her apron. “Nicky, you said you weren’t coming.” Her smile changed to a frown that deepened when she glanced at his face. “You’ve probably lost fifteen pounds. Are you sleeping?”
“Not much,” he admitted. He dropped a kiss on her upturned cheek. “Everyone else here?” He wanted to tell her about Oliver’s sculpture, but he couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.
“Layna is making the salad. The boys are watching baseball with your father. Go on in. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’ll say hi to Sis first. Besides, I hear those black olives calling me.”
The kitchen had always been his favorite place growing up, and not just because he liked to eat. The white cabinets always held surprises like loukoumades , Greek-style donuts his mother made weekly for his father. Fresh cookies always filled the cookie jar. But mostly it was the room where his mother was likely to be found, dispensing advice and love to her family.
His sister, Layna, looked up briefly when he entered. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to make it.” Two years his senior, she’d been divorced five years ago and had two boys who adored their uncle Nick. The divorce had twisted her mouth and hardened her eyes, which saw the bad in everything.
Nick loved her, but it was hard to spend much time around her. “I wouldn’t miss playing Super Mario with the boys.”
She finally smiled then, an expression that transformed her into the girl he used to know, the one who borrowed his clothes during the grunge trend and who cheered at his football games.
She tapped her fist on his shoulder. “You’re a great uncle. It’s a good thing when their father cares so little.” She slapped his arm. “You haven’t been around much either lately.”
“Sorry, Sis.” He made no excuses.
“Any new info?”
He fished a black olive out of the jar and avoided looking in her direction. Once Oliver finished painting the actual bust, he’d let someone else make sure he wasn’t putting Eve’s features onto it.
Layna pressed on with the questions. “You don’t have to be so driven about it. You’re divorced.”
“Sure, bring that up.” He made a face. “It doesn’t change a thing.”
“You need to move on with your life, Nick. Once you find them, I mean. Don’t make the mistake I did of clinging to the past.”
“You’re still holding on to it,” he pointed out. “It’s still all you talk
“Call me when you’re finished. Maybe I’m seeing things.” Now the face looked like a shapeless blob. He reminded himself that the clue left on the geocaching site was the same one left at Eve’s house. He already knew the outcome—he just didn’t want to face it.
“Maybe. You’ve been under a lot of stress. Your dad can take a look when it’s done.”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” Nick bolted to his feet and left the room. Driving to his parents’ house, he kept blinking moisture out of his eyes. He parked on the street and swiped the back of his hand over his cheeks. He’d had maybe four hours of sleep a night ever since Eve and Keri had vanished. Now he understood that knowing their fate wouldn’t bring him rest. He might not truly rest again until he brought Eve’s murderer to justice.
Feeling older than his thirty-five years, he threw open the car door and dragged himself up the walk. Even the aroma of mousalia wafting out the screen door failed to lift the lead from his feet.
His parents had lived in this Victorian-era neighborhood in Bay City all his life. The three-story home held memories of kids running in and out, lots of good food and laughter, and almond biscuits in front of the TV while the family watched Family Ties .
Some hard memories lived on, too, like the night his father had been shot by a robber fleeing a convenience store when Cyril was a city policeman.
Nick walked inside the house. “I’m here,” he called.
His mother came from the kitchen, wiping flour on her apron. “Nicky, you said you weren’t coming.” Her smile changed to a frown that deepened when she glanced at his face. “You’ve probably lost fifteen pounds. Are you sleeping?”
“Not much,” he admitted. He dropped a kiss on her upturned cheek. “Everyone else here?” He wanted to tell her about Oliver’s sculpture, but he couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.
“Layna is making the salad. The boys are watching baseball with your father. Go on in. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’ll say hi to Sis first. Besides, I hear those black olives calling me.”
The kitchen had always been his favorite place growing up, and not just because he liked to eat. The white cabinets always held surprises like loukoumades , Greek-style donuts his mother made weekly for his father. Fresh cookies always filled the cookie jar. But mostly it was the room where his mother was likely to be found, dispensing advice and love to her family.
His sister, Layna, looked up briefly when he entered. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to make it.” Two years his senior, she’d been divorced five years ago and had two boys who adored their uncle Nick. The divorce had twisted her mouth and hardened her eyes, which saw the bad in everything.
Nick loved her, but it was hard to spend much time around her. “I wouldn’t miss playing Super Mario with the boys.”
She finally smiled then, an expression that transformed her into the girl he used to know, the one who borrowed his clothes during the grunge trend and who cheered at his football games.
She tapped her fist on his shoulder. “You’re a great uncle. It’s a good thing when their father cares so little.” She slapped his arm. “You haven’t been around much either lately.”
“Sorry, Sis.” He made no excuses.
“Any new info?”
He fished a black olive out of the jar and avoided looking in her direction. Once Oliver finished painting the actual bust, he’d let someone else make sure he wasn’t putting Eve’s features onto it.
Layna pressed on with the questions. “You don’t have to be so driven about it. You’re divorced.”
“Sure, bring that up.” He made a face. “It doesn’t change a thing.”
“You need to move on with your life, Nick. Once you find them, I mean. Don’t make the mistake I did of clinging to the past.”
“You’re still holding on to it,” he pointed out. “It’s still all you talk
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