Read Online Never Die Alone (A Bentz/Montoya Novel Book 8) by Lisa Jackson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Jackson
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don’t know that anything’s wrong, and you’re a great mom.”
“Didn’t I ask you not to patronize me?” she demanded, anger spiking only to immediately dissolve. Balling a fist, she placed her curled fingers to her lips as she struggled with tears. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help. The last I heard from them was last night, a text after I had dinner,” she whispered, guilt clouding her features. “And you know what they say about the first forty-eight hours after a crime has been committed?” Meeting Brianna’s eyes, she added, “After that short window of time, if the crime isn’t solved, if a person is still missing or the perpetrator disappears, the trail goes cold fast.” Tears slid down her cheeks and she angrily swiped them away.
“Whoa, slow down. You’re not sure there’s been a crime,” Brianna said, but even to her own ears her argument sounded patronizing. Placating. “Have they ever been out of touch with you before?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course. They’re always pushing me away, telling me that I’m a freak show because I worry about them. Once they turned eighteen and went off to school, they would go for days without letting me know where they were. They’re still in college. Seniors in the fall. So they resent my need to mother them.” She sighed loudly. “I guess . . . I guess I’m ultra-protective because I know what it’s like to lose someone close to me.” Her voice cracked a bit. “God, I wish Sandra were here,” she admitted, bringing up her own sister. Selma, like Brianna, was a twinless twin, part of the support group that included Tanisha.
“It’s normal to want to protect your child, no matter what the age.”
“Really? Because their father never seemed protective.” Selma shook her head, her graying ponytail brushing the back of her shoulders. “He certainly gives them their freedom, but then he’s pretty preoccupied with his new family.” She said it bitterly, referring to the fact that Carson now had two sons, one four, the other less than a year. Brianna knew the history; she had heard it often enough in their group sessions.
“Have you gone to the police?”
“I called the Baton Rouge Police Department before I came here. But they weren’t all that interested. Because it hasn’t been that long and, you know, the girls had been out celebrating.”
“Have you talked to Carson?”
“Their father doesn’t communicate with me.” She closed her eyes for a second and sighed. “But I had to get in touch with him. I mean, what if the girls had gone there? So I texted his sister and she was going to call him. But have I heard back? No. No surprise there. He’ll probably think . . . oh, that it was some kind of ploy for me to, I don’t know, gain his sympathy or attention, but that’s just nuts. Hopefully Bette can get through to him.” She lifted her cup to her lips, then set it down before taking a sip. “Of course, I’ve contacted everyone I could think of. I left messages for the dean of students at the college. I spoke with the resident director at their dorm, Harmony Hall.”
“They’re still in a dorm?” At twenty-one, the twins had to have been older than most of the students residing in campus housing.
“Yeah, I know, most kids move to an apartment after their first year, and believe me the girls lobbied long and hard for their own place. They called living on campus ‘archaic,’ and—what was the term Zoe used?—uh, Machiavellian. But it’s the one thing their father insisted upon. If he was going to pay any part of their schooling, then the deal was that they had to stay in a dorm or a co-op or some other type of campus-run housing and go to school in the summer to make sure they graduated on time. I went along with it. Carson hasn’t been exactly generous with his daughters, you know, and he owes them at least part of their education. Besides that, I thought it would be safer.” Her lip trembled at
“Didn’t I ask you not to patronize me?” she demanded, anger spiking only to immediately dissolve. Balling a fist, she placed her curled fingers to her lips as she struggled with tears. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help. The last I heard from them was last night, a text after I had dinner,” she whispered, guilt clouding her features. “And you know what they say about the first forty-eight hours after a crime has been committed?” Meeting Brianna’s eyes, she added, “After that short window of time, if the crime isn’t solved, if a person is still missing or the perpetrator disappears, the trail goes cold fast.” Tears slid down her cheeks and she angrily swiped them away.
“Whoa, slow down. You’re not sure there’s been a crime,” Brianna said, but even to her own ears her argument sounded patronizing. Placating. “Have they ever been out of touch with you before?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course. They’re always pushing me away, telling me that I’m a freak show because I worry about them. Once they turned eighteen and went off to school, they would go for days without letting me know where they were. They’re still in college. Seniors in the fall. So they resent my need to mother them.” She sighed loudly. “I guess . . . I guess I’m ultra-protective because I know what it’s like to lose someone close to me.” Her voice cracked a bit. “God, I wish Sandra were here,” she admitted, bringing up her own sister. Selma, like Brianna, was a twinless twin, part of the support group that included Tanisha.
“It’s normal to want to protect your child, no matter what the age.”
“Really? Because their father never seemed protective.” Selma shook her head, her graying ponytail brushing the back of her shoulders. “He certainly gives them their freedom, but then he’s pretty preoccupied with his new family.” She said it bitterly, referring to the fact that Carson now had two sons, one four, the other less than a year. Brianna knew the history; she had heard it often enough in their group sessions.
“Have you gone to the police?”
“I called the Baton Rouge Police Department before I came here. But they weren’t all that interested. Because it hasn’t been that long and, you know, the girls had been out celebrating.”
“Have you talked to Carson?”
“Their father doesn’t communicate with me.” She closed her eyes for a second and sighed. “But I had to get in touch with him. I mean, what if the girls had gone there? So I texted his sister and she was going to call him. But have I heard back? No. No surprise there. He’ll probably think . . . oh, that it was some kind of ploy for me to, I don’t know, gain his sympathy or attention, but that’s just nuts. Hopefully Bette can get through to him.” She lifted her cup to her lips, then set it down before taking a sip. “Of course, I’ve contacted everyone I could think of. I left messages for the dean of students at the college. I spoke with the resident director at their dorm, Harmony Hall.”
“They’re still in a dorm?” At twenty-one, the twins had to have been older than most of the students residing in campus housing.
“Yeah, I know, most kids move to an apartment after their first year, and believe me the girls lobbied long and hard for their own place. They called living on campus ‘archaic,’ and—what was the term Zoe used?—uh, Machiavellian. But it’s the one thing their father insisted upon. If he was going to pay any part of their schooling, then the deal was that they had to stay in a dorm or a co-op or some other type of campus-run housing and go to school in the summer to make sure they graduated on time. I went along with it. Carson hasn’t been exactly generous with his daughters, you know, and he owes them at least part of their education. Besides that, I thought it would be safer.” Her lip trembled at
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