had eaten. She looked in the refrigerator and found eggs. Bread for toast. Some jam. No bacon.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cooking breakfast. You need to keep up your strength. Besides, Callie will be hungry when she—” Rae glanced around the house. “Is she at therapy or school?”
His face darkened. “I kept her home.”
“Won’t that mess with her routine?”
“I’ll keep her routine the same as much as possible. This is why I can’t do anything to find Zoey!” Alan whispered the emotion-filled words. Frustration and fear poured from him. “I can’t drive around town looking for her. Callie needs me. She wants her mother. She asked for her constantly last night. Zoey was the one to read to her. I took up that honor, but Callie wasn’t happy and tossed and turned all night.”
Rae stirred together the eggs she’d cracked into a bowl. Zoey was a vegan—the eggs were for Alan—so Rae hadn’t found milk to stir into the eggs. Not even soy or almond milk. The refrigerator should have been loaded with fruits and vegetables but was oddly sparse. Zoey had been distracted before she disappeared.
Alan continued to pace and vent and maybe even unravel completely. “She wants her mother, and I can’t give her that.”
A fist squeezed Rae’s heart. “And you want your wife.”
At some point, if Zoey didn’t return or they didn’t find her, or maybe even if they did find her—depending on how they found her—the police would look at Alan. They would suspect he was responsible for whatever happened to his wife.
That news story ran somewhere in this country just about every day of the week. Husband kills wife. Hides the truth. Rae kept that to herself. Alan didn’t need one more thing to worry about.
She glanced at her still-pacing brother. He wasn’t a killer.
Zoey wasn’t dead.
She had to be alive. Rae wouldn’t accept any other outcome—for her brother’s sake. For Callie’s sake.
The first seventy-two hours were critical in finding a missing person, the first forty-eight key before the clues and evidence started to go cold.
After putting the bread in the toaster, Rae scrambled the eggs. “Look, I know this is grasping at straws, but it’s worth a try. Maybe she went home to see her mother. I know the police asked you if you two had argued and you told them no. But it’s just me here. Did you fight?”
“No. We didn’t fight.” But the way Alan said the words, the slight nuance that edged his tone, gave her pause.
As an investigative journalist who interviewed those who often tried to hide the truth, she’d trained herself to watch for such distinctions. Still, Alan wasn’t a liar. He wouldn’t hurt Zoey even in a moment of anger. He was gentle. Those characteristics had drawn Zoey to him in the first place. If he was hiding something from Rae now, it had to be because any disagreement he’d had with his wife was a private matter.
“Okay, well, did you call her mom?” she asked.
“No.”
Rae had never learned why Zoey didn’t speak to her mom. But had Zoey shared her secrets with Alan?
Rae wasn’t sure what to say next, so she busied herself with plating the eggs. Alan would have eventually cooked breakfast for Callie. He wouldn’t forget to care for his daughter in the midst of this crisis, would he? She set a slice of toast on each plate along with the jam, then looked down the hallway.
Though Rae wasn’t hungry, Alan might feel compelled to join her if she ate too. “Breakfast is ready. Should we wake Callie to eat?”
He glanced at the clock and quickly shook his head. “She ate earlier. Cheerios and the last of the almond milk. Then I put her in her room to play, but she fell asleep, so I put her in bed. I don’t know if this will mess with her schedule too much, but since she didn’t sleep well last night, she needs the rest. And I need the break. Callie has certain things she eats in certain ways.” He eyed the eggs, then he glanced at Rae but said nothing more.
Had she made them wrong? Rae sagged. “I only meant to help. But you and I can eat. How about that?”
“How can I eat?”
“You have to stay strong for Callie, if not for Zoey.” Rae slid into a chair at the table, hoping Alan would join her.
Frowning, he nodded. He approached the table and slowly sat, staring at the plate as if he looked right through it.