The ones Rick had designed himself.
The middle-aged woman behind the table was sorting through a chipped china set when I approached.
“Where did you get these?” I asked.
My voice barely sounded like mine.
She glanced up and shrugged.
“Those came in a box of estate things a couple of weeks ago. Don’t know whose exactly. My son does the pickups.”
“Please,” I whispered. “I need them.”
She named a price.
I handed over the money without counting it.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the earrings.
I drove home gripping them so tightly in my palm that they left marks.
Rick was pouring coffee when I walked into the kitchen.
The moment he saw them, his face went pale, then red. He slowly placed his mug on the counter, but I could see his hand trembling.
“Why would you bring those into this house?!” he shouted.
I froze.
“Because they were Hannah’s!”
He stared at them for a long moment before shaking his head.
“Those aren’t hers, Marlene,” he said, his voice flat. “Lots of jewelers make piano earrings. It’s a common design.”
“Common?” I said. “You designed them yourself!”
Rick grabbed the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Throw them away! Hannah is dead!”
The words made no sense.
Hannah wasn’t dead.
She was missing.
And Rick wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I slept in the guest room that night, crying until morning with the earrings pressed against my collarbone the way I used to hold Hannah when she was little.
Sometime before dawn, exhaustion finally pulled me to sleep.
A knock woke me.
I pulled on my robe and opened the front door.
Two officers stood on the porch, badges visible, their expressions careful.
“Mrs. Rhodes?” one asked.
My heart climbed into my throat.
“Yes?”
The officer glanced past me.
I turned.
Rick stood barefoot in the hallway, still wearing his old robe.
“Ma’am, we need to speak with both of you,” the officer said. “We have significant new information about Hannah. This is about the earrings you found yesterday.”
NEXT PAGE
