If I Go Missing by Leslie Wolfe

Author:Leslie Wolfe [Wolfe, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781835251393
Published: 2024-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

I look at the date, realizing the entry must’ve been written before Chloe found out about Taylor. I still don’t know how she could’ve learned Taylor is my daughter, but, in her warped mind, that might’ve been one hell of a motive for me to push Nikki off the cliff. She could’ve thought that I’m out to get all women who were after Ray, perhaps including her. I stare at the diary as if a monster is about to leap off its pages and rip my throat open, knowing at some point I will find the entry that links the pregnancy and the reason why she thinks, in her deranged reality, that I killed Nikki.

But I still haven’t found a lead, something I could use to find who took her. I know I should keep on reading, but I can’t bear it anymore. Yielding to the sudden urge to find out if there’s anything new with Taylor, I hide the diary in my nightstand and drive off to her house.

This time, I stop my car at a distance, looking with fear and frustration at the reporters camped outside the house. Everything I do or say will be reported and twisted and misquoted. Yet I can’t let it stop me.

I walk the remaining distance briskly, not giving a crap I left the house in sweatpants and a worn-out shirt, and elbow my way through. Then I stop in front of the door, my hand hovering above the doorbell.

I don’t ring it, though. The sheers behind the side window move gently, and Mrs. Winthrop’s face appears veiled behind them, pale as a specter. She shakes her head slowly, then turns and walks away. She obviously doesn’t want me there, or she would’ve opened the door.

I give her a minute to change her mind; she doesn’t. Pushing back through the horde of reporters, I make my way to the Subaru at a light jog, then drive off fighting tears.

If Monica Winthrop had any news, she would’ve told me.

My sweet baby girl. Will I ever see her again?

I gasp as doubt slices through my gut, seeding fear and burning every bit of reason in its wake.

The rest of the drive home is merely a moment long, as I don’t recall any of it, my weary mind absent from reality while it battles demons and despair.

But as I turn onto our street, I see Daniel’s Ford in the driveway.

When I’m reasonably sure I can control the expression on my face, I unlock the door and walk in.

Daniel is seated on the sofa, still wearing his jacket and shoes. He’s grim and looks at me with a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, the silence unbearable.

He doesn’t answer immediately but shifts his gaze away from me and toward the floor, his shoulders hunched, his hands clasped together, white-knuckled. “The cops were at the diner today, interviewing everyone.”

“Oh.” The syllable barely carries any sound as my gut churns, trapping my breath inside my lungs.

“They were asking questions about me and my whereabouts the day your friend Chloe was taken.

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