She Wore Mourning by P.D. Workman (best desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

had happened and how it felt. They pretended that nothing had happened and all was well, leaving people like Isabella to grieve alone, unable to let it all out.

“I was painting. Deck was outside. I was turning to look at him, to make sure he wasn’t getting overheated or tired. Or bored. All those things you’re supposed to watch out for. But he wasn’t. He was happy. Then I looked once, and I couldn’t see him. I thought maybe he was somewhere I couldn’t see him. Beside the house,” she gestured, “or up against it,” she indicated the angles. “I waited for him to come back to where I could see him. He didn’t. I opened the window and called him.” Isabella paused as if waiting for him to answer, but they both knew he would never answer. “I went outside. He wasn’t there. I panicked. I was so scared. I looked everywhere in the yard. In the front. In the house. I looked everywhere, top to bottom, and he wasn’t here. I went and got Spencer, and we looked together.”

She started to sob. Zachary thought he should show her sympathy, but he froze in place with no idea what to do about her tears. In his experience, trying to calm a crying woman just made her cry more, or made her angry. He didn’t want to do either one. So, he waited.

“Then we called the police. They got here pretty quickly. They took our statements. They started a search. They made announcements and called for volunteers to help canvass the streets around the house before it got dark.”

“Do you think one of your neighbors had something to do with this?”

That was one of the problems with bringing volunteers in too soon. The police had contaminated the crime scene. Too many people had gone tramping through the neighborhood looking for him. Had someone drowned him in the pond, or had it been an accident?

Isabella was shaking her head. “No one would do that to us. Who would do that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“People who harm little children rarely make sense. To anyone but themselves. Children aren’t killed out of jealousy or greed, like adults. It’s completely different.”

“I don’t see how anyone we knew could have had anything to do with it. I don’t think it was one of our neighbors.”

“You believe it was an accident?”

Isabella wiped away tears and sat there on the end of the bed, her eyes red and puffy, staring into the desolate back yard.

“Yes. It was an accident. Just… one of those things.”

Zachary nodded. “Okay. All right. Is there anything else you think I should know?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Can I see Declan’s room before I go? Or have you redecorated it?”

Her eyes widened. “Redecorated? Why would we do that? I don’t think it could ever be anything but Declan’s room. Ever.”

“May I…?”

“It’s just next door.” She motioned. “So, when he was a baby, I could hear him if he cried.”

Zachary took this as his invitation to see for himself. He went down the hall to Declan’s bedroom.

It wasn’t much smaller than the master bedroom. The walls were painted several shades of blue. He had a kid’s laptop computer or gaming system. Toy boxes and shelves. Clothing neatly arranged in the closet. Zachary could see Spencer’s influence more than Isabella’s. He had expected at least a wall mural for her only child. Zachary walked around the room slowly, looking for anything suspicious or out of place. He wasn’t really expecting to find anything. If it had been a stranger abduction as Molly had suggested, there certainly wouldn’t be any sign of it in Declan’s room. He never knew when he might see something that would become important later in the case.

“Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.”

Zachary startled and turned to see Isabella standing in the doorway. She wasn’t looking at him and hadn’t been speaking to him. She was just looking at the room, feeling her loss. She ran her fingers over her jewelry as if accounting for each piece. She stared down at the tattoo on her arm.

“Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand,” she repeated.

Zachary walked over to her. He touched her shoulder gently as he stepped back out of the room.

“I think it’s time for me to get on my way.”

Isabella nodded. She looked down at her watch. “Just let me feed the cat, and then I’ll walk you out.”

“Okay.”

He walked with her into the kitchen. Bright and airy. Zachary watched Isabella as she mechanically picked up a bowl of cat food, dumped it into the garbage, refilled it from a big bin in the closet, and put it back down where it had been. He looked around the house but didn’t see any other sign of a pet. They didn’t seem like the kind of people who would keep a pet.

“Do you… have a cat?” he asked Isabella, as they walked back to the front door. The food in the dish didn’t appear to have been touched. No cat came running when she filled it. The cats that he had known had always come running and yowled for their food as soon as they heard a food can, box, or bag being rattled.

Isabella stopped with her hand on the front doorknob.

“Yes. Mittens.” She didn’t open the door. “It’s been a long time. He wandered off one day and didn’t come back… just like Declan.”

Zachary suppressed a shudder at her tone. Was there a connection between the two disappearances?

“When did your cat disappear?” he asked. A long time ago could be months back, when Declan had disappeared. Had the boy followed the cat? Had the cat followed him? Was there some other connection between the two?

“When we first got married.”

“Eight years ago?” Zachary demanded, remembering the story of the plate.

“Yes… that sounds about right. Eight years ago.”

She turned the doorknob and opened the door for him.

“Until we