‘Partying days’ might undersell it a bit. After what happened, I found solace the only way I knew how—by joining the Ruthless Kings down in Oklahoma and immersing myself in all the drugs, sex, and partying they did. I kept it on the down-low during my day job with the police department, but there were definitely more than a few nights that I woke up still drunk from the night before, some random cut-slut in my bed whose name I didn’t even know.
“No, actually, that makes us feel better. The cops frowned when they got the story and they won’t take us seriously but…” She places her hand on her heart and her lips pinch as another wave of tears falls. “I feel it, Mr. Walker. Something is wrong. A mother knows. And I know something is wrong with my baby.”
A mother’s intuition is one I hold a bitter pill against because of what happened with Amber, but I don’t doubt that there are good mothers out there who really do know when something is wrong.
“And there is no boyfriend? Girlfriend? Does she plan on giving the baby up for adoption? I’m just trying to make a connection.”
“No, none of that. We are ready for our grandchild. We just want them home.”
“I understand, Mr. Lillard. Where did she go today? For her to leave the house at nine months pregnant alone is unusual.”
“She had an appointment at the doctor. My husband had to work this morning and I had a migraine. Morgan insisted she would be fine to go alone. I knew I should have gone with her. God, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Where is her doctor located?” I ask.
“I have the address on my phone. I’ll send it to you now.” Mr. Lillard’s hands are shaking as he tries to type on the screen. It takes longer than usual, but my phone eventually beeps.
“Thank you. Can I see her room? I just want to look around and see if there is anything that will take me elsewhere. Maybe she went somewhere she didn’t tell you about and wrote it down. I need to look everywhere,” I tell them.
“Of course, absolutely. Whatever you need,” she says, scurrying away from her husband’s side. “Follow me.” She dabs her nose and walks around the staircase. “Her room used to be upstairs, but we didn’t want to risk her falling.”
“That was a good thought,” I say, following the petite woman into a room on the right.
“This is Morgan’s room now.” Mrs. Lillard flips on the light and an open, fashionable room greets me. The walls are painted a pale yellow and there are white curtains with lace draping over them. The crib is next to the bed along with boxes of diapers stacked on top of each other.
It’s hard to stop the memories from flooding back. She doesn’t have nearly enough diapers. I remember how many I went through, but I only got to enjoy that for the first two months before… just before.
It’s clean. There aren’t random receipts lying around or books scattered about. I decide to browse and open up a few drawers, invading her privacy as I search through each one thoroughly. I’m coming up empty. It’s just maternity shirts and pants.
I call it quits on the dresser, heading to the nightstand. A quick look through it only reveals tissues and pens.
What kind of girl only keeps tissues and pens in her nightstand?
Something out of the corner of my eye glitters against the light and I turn my head to see something peeking from under the mattress.
“Is this necessary?” the mother asks, watching me pry through her daughter’s belongings.
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. I’ll make sure to leave everything as I found it.” I lift the mattress and notice a small leather-bound book.
A journal.
“Were you aware she kept a journal?”
Mrs. Lillard shakes her head. “No. I didn’t know. We always respect her privacy.”
“Absolutely, but I’ll need to break that privacy rule, okay?” Luckily, the journal doesn’t have a lock, just a leather tie that hooks around it. I tug on the tie and open it, feeling like a real bastard for having to read a woman’s innermost thoughts.
I skim quickly, not wanting to focus on the baby kicks and wishes that the father knew. I’m looking for a place or possibly an appointment time that she didn’t want anyone else to know about it.
This room is very clean and in order. I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right. I remember when Haley was about to give birth. Our house was a mess. There was baby stuff everywhere. There didn’t seem to be a place for all of it, but for some reason, this room feels more like a guest room.
I’m not doubting her parent’s love, but I am doubting whether Morgan wanted this baby. This room feels too unsure. I take a break from the journal and head to the closet, narrowing my eyes when I only see a few pieces of baby clothing.
Yeah, even I know from the ol’ ladies at the clubhouse that the closet gets filled up with baby clothes and the parents’ clothes end up elsewhere.
I continue to flip through the journal and, on the last page, finally see something that catches my eye.
Going to see Mr. Zachary tomorrow. I need options.
And the date this was written was yesterday.
“Do you know who Mr. Zachary is?”
Mrs. Lillard’s eyes widen with surprise, and she shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of him before.”
“Okay, I’m going to go check out a few places and hopefully retrace her steps. I’ll call with any news, okay?”
“Thank you, Mr. Walker. Thank you for taking us seriously. Even if we have no reason to worry, it speaks volumes that you want to try anyway.”
Not knowing what to say to that, I dip my chin to show my appreciation and then walk out of the room, giving Mr. Lillard a firm handshake on the way out. Without any other goodbyes, I walk outside and pass the pink potted flowers again on my way to my truck.
When I’m safe inside the vehicle, the first thing I do is search the words Zachary and babies. It’s what my mind is conjuring up.
And the first hit is Peter Zachary, a representative at the local adoption agency.
Yeah, my gut was leaning toward that. “Looks like I have someone to go see,” I mumble with smug satisfaction.
I feel like I’m already on a good pace to close this case.
I’m so fucking excited, and I shouldn’t be. I want to find this woman and bring her home safely.
“Next time, Mr. Zachary.” I place the truck in drive and notice Mrs. Lillard looking out her window, watching me leave.
Mr. Zachary better have some answers for me.
I haven’t gotten my hair done in so long. The last person to touch it was Patricia and I’m ready for something new. I want to keep the length, maybe brighten the color, and cut off the dead ends, but I’m nervous.
“It’s okay,” Dawn whispers, taking my hand in hers as I try to figure out what I want.
It isn’t a big deal. It’s just hair.
But this hair was chosen for me for other people’s pleasure. I’m ready to get rid of it, but I don’t know who I am without it.
“I know,” I reply. “You guys don’t have to wait for me before we get our nails done.”
“We want to be here.” Ruby flips through a magazine and lifts her eyes from the page. “You know, your roots are a little darker. I think you should change it up completely. A new look for your new life.”