“My daughter and husband,” she said. “Mark knows, of course, but we’ve never told Skylar about any of this. She doesn’t know what happened to my family.”

“We understand,” Vaughan said. “We’ll take our lead from you.”

Hadley stood. “In here.”

Mark and Skylar Foster appeared in the door, both pausing when they saw Vaughan and Spencer. Skylar was petite and blond like her mother. She wore capri pants, a loose top, and sandals. She clutched a jeweled pink phone case and had a red backpack slung over her shoulder.

Mark Foster was tall and lean and wore crisp black suit pants but had loosened his red tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“What’s the deal?” Skylar asked. “Everything all right?”

“Of course,” Hadley said. She rose and crossed to Mark, kissing him softly on the cheek. He stood straight and did not lean into the kiss.

“This is FBI special agent Zoe Spencer and Detective William Vaughan,” Hadley said. “They had questions about an old cold case that, turns out, has nothing to do with me. They were just leaving.”

Vaughan and Spencer both rose. The appearance of her family clearly made Hadley very uncomfortable. Like it or not, she was not going to say another word.

Mark extended his hand to Vaughan and Spencer. “What cold case?” he asked.

“A girl went missing eighteen years ago,” Spencer said. “We thought she might have known your wife.”

Mark glanced toward Hadley, as if trying to gauge her state of mind. He laid his hand on his daughter’s shoulder but said nothing.

Skylar’s frown was a mirror image of her mother’s. “What girl?”

“It would have been before you were born,” Mark said.

“Who was she?” the girl pressed.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Hadley said. “I don’t want to hold up the detective and the agent.”

The girl did not appear satisfied but seemed to sense she would get nowhere with her mother with them present.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more of a help,” Hadley said.

“Thank you again for your time,” Vaughan said.

Spencer followed. “I can call you if I have more questions?”

“Certainly,” Hadley said.

They each handed Mark and Hadley a business card, and the couple escorted them to the front door. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

Mark’s gaze grew more pensive. “Thank you.”

Vaughan nodded as a smiling Hadley Foster closed the front door with a soft click. The locks slid back into place.

The two walked down the steps and along the sidewalk. They moved past a black Lexus and an Explorer parked in the driveway. “Wasn’t that interesting,” she said.

“I would have expected more shock from Hadley about the recovery of her sister’s body. But she seemed more worried about why witnesses talk years later.”

“The more perfect families and homes appear, the less I tend to trust them.”

On that, they agreed. “Hadley’s created a picture-perfect life here.”

“She’s holding on so tight I’m surprised her knuckles aren’t white.”

“Sounds like experience talking.”

She arched a brow but pivoted away from the very overt attempt to know more about her. “I’d like to talk to Mr. Slater. He knew the family back in the day and might have a few insights.”

A breeze carried the soft scent of new perfume that he liked very much. “Would you like to go now?”

“I would.” In the car, she typed in the address of the business. “The website says they’re open until seven.”

Vaughan glanced at the time on the digital dash clock. He had pictured his first night without Nate to be a quiet affair featuring a cold beer, pizza, and the preseason football game he had taped.

In all honesty, the idea of quiet had been unsettling. He’d heard empty nesters got used to the silence, but he was not there yet. The more commotion in his life, the better, as far as he was concerned.

“Let’s go.” She scrolled through her phone messages. “Two missed calls from Nikki McDonald.”

“Persistent. I’ll give her that much.”

“She can wait.”

 

Wild Blue: I can’t make dinner.

Mr. Fix it: Why?

Wild Blue: Mom and Dad got bad news. Something about her sister.

Mr. Fix it: What about her?

Wild Blue: I’ll tell you later.

Mr. Fix it: Okay.

Wild Blue: U r the only one who understands me.

Mr. Fix it: We are one and the same. How is your mom?

Wild Blue: Lame. Like always. Next Monday?

Mr. Fix it: Yes.

Wild Blue: Luv you.

Mr. Fix it: Me, too.

CHAPTER FIVE

Monday, August 12, 6:00 p.m.

Alexandria, Virginia

One Day Before

Zoe had never seen Vaughan ruffled. He kept his tone easy and direct and could rope in a suspect, coworker, or even her with an easy smile. But she sensed those still waters ran deep, and he was not satisfied with the visit with Hadley Foster.

She flipped through the pictures in her case file until she reached the images of the blackened skull. “One thing to kill a young woman, but it’s another to pull her teeth and burn her remains.”

“That kind of death reminds me of a mob or cartel hit,” he said. “Makes me wonder if Larry Prince was into something he shouldn’t have been.”

“Kill the girl to punish the father? That’s possible, but it’s a stretch. Larry Prince was investigated thoroughly, and there was nothing that smelled of organized crime.”

“And cartels don’t usually call the media and tell them where to find the body,” he reasoned.

“Maybe Larry Prince pissed off the wrong person. Maybe someone pointed the finger at him, and he and his family paid the price.”

“It’s possible.”

Vaughan wove up King Street, angled down Telegraph Road, and turned on Richmond Highway, where the landscape quickly turned from new and modern to strip malls, fast-food joints, and light industry. Five miles down Route One, he drove onto the Slater Slurry Inc. lot.

He parked beside a line of trucks, and the two made their way to the front office. A bell rang over their heads. The office was small and covered in faux paneling that looked like it dated back to the seventies. The few guest chairs were chrome and red vinyl, and the front desk, piled high with files, was metal.

A door behind the desk opened to a stocky man with a thick crop of gray hair held back with reading glasses. His face was round and wrinkled and reminded her of a bulldog.

“Can I help you?” the man asked.

“We’re looking for Mr. Henry Slater.” Vaughan held up his badge and made introductions.

“You found me.” The man arched a brow. “What’s this about?”

“We wanted to ask you about Larry Prince.”

Slater pulled off his glasses and moved behind the desk. “He’s been dead seventeen years. Died of a heart attack.”

“I understand you two had a good working relationship,” Vaughan said.

“He was my boss,” Slater replied. “He treated me fairly, taught me the business. In return, I gave him a solid day’s work. Our relationship was strictly professional. When the whistle blew, we went our separate ways.”