Page 18 of Little Last Words

“What man?”

I had an idea, but I wanted to be sure.

“I believe his name was Amos. He told me my daughter wasn’t there. They’d removed her from the house without so much as a phone call to us.”

“It takes time for the police to locate family members sometimes.”

“Didn’t seem to take your girl long to find me.”

I had nothing to say—Angelica was right.

Hunter was good at locating people.

Damn good.

“Did Amos say anything else while you were there?” I asked.

“He said Chief Foley wanted to speak to me. He asked me to wait, and he told a police officer to go to my daughter’s room and get him. I waited. One minute. Then five. He didn’t come. Too busy for me, it seemed. I gave Amos a piece of my mind, and then I left. I’m not the type of woman who waits around for anyone.”

“I understand.”

“I’m tired of asking about what happened to my daughter. I want you to tell me, right now, and I don’t want you to sugarcoat it. Give it to me straight. I can handle it.”

She seemed like the type of woman who had nerves of steel in public, never letting her guard down, never letting anyone see anything but a tough, impenetrable exterior.

Was she the same way in private when there was no one around to judge her?

I gave Angelica what she wanted, explaining how I’d found Sadie on the front porch and Penelope in the bathroom. Telling her that Penelope was indeed dead was a lot harder than I imagined. Then again, it always was, no matter how many times I’d done it before. While I spoke, Angelica was silent, clenching her jaw a few times, but never uttering a single word until I’d finished.

“Ever since the phone call with your colleague this morning, I’ve prepared myself for the worst possible outcome,” she said. “No preparation on earth could have readied me for what you just said.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t even know my daughter.”

“I know what it feels like to lose a child.”

“You know what it’s like to lose youronlychild?”

“I do.”

She raised a brow. “Oh, I see.”

She paused, as if waiting for me to elaborate, but it was an avenue I didn’t feel like going down today, so I didn’t.

My daughter, Fallon, had died at the age of three. While I was checking on the laundry, the gate to the pool in our backyard came unlatched. We never knew whether she’d fallen or slipped into the pool or whether she hopped in. All we knew was that she drowned.

After her death, I retreated from work, from life, and from everyone around me. When my marriage to her father ended, I bought an Airstream and drove to a wooded area a couple of hours out of town, secluded and off-grid. I thought it would be better if I was alone in my grief.

Looking back now, I realize being alone had made it harder as I relived the same day over and over in my mind, reprimanding myself because I hadn’t gotten to her in time. She would have been eight this year, and there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of her.

“Georgiana, did you hear what I said?” Angelica asked.

“Oh, no, I was thinking about … it doesn’t matter. What were you saying?”

“I said it’s a madhouse at my daughter’s house. Cops everywhere. Neighbors milling about, asking questions which aren’t their business. It’s no place for a child to be, and I wanted to thank you for getting Sadie out of there. I don’t want her to be any part of that circus.”

“I did it because it was the right thing to do.”