Free Blood Trails by Sharon Sala

what the media might do to you if your father was arrested as she was about making sure you were out of his reach .
    “Lord, Lord,” Holly whispered. As awful as it was to consider, it actually backed up some of the things she was beginning to remember.
    She closed the journal and then dropped it into her purse. Today she was going to find the cleaners where her mother used to work, and if she was lucky, she would also find someone who remembered her, but first, she needed to find her shoes.
     
    It didn’t appear to Holly as if Dalton’s Quality Cleaners, In Business Since 1978, had updated their storefront since the day the place opened. It wasn’t exactly seedy, but one could definitely say it lacked curb appeal. She got out of her car and walked inside, curious to see the place where her mother had spent so much time.
    The interior was about the same as the exterior, but the place was busy. Mechanical racks of bagged clothing filled a good two-thirds of the place. She stepped into line behind two other customers—one who was picking up, the other dropping off. The twentysomething woman at the register would certainly have been too young to have known her mother, but Holly was optimistic. Finally the other customers were gone and Holly stepped up to the counter.
    “Name, please,” the woman said.
    “I’m not here to pick up,” Holly said. “I have a question. Is there anyone who would have been working here twenty years ago?”
    The young woman looked up. “I don’t know. Why?”
    “My mother worked here back then. I’m trying to find someone who would have known her.”
    “The owner is here. Give me a minute, and I’ll go back and ask.”
    Holly’s tension grew as she waited. Finally the clerk came back with a fiftysomething woman at her side. The older woman stopped at the counter, eyeing Holly curiously.
    “I’m Lynn Gravitt. Bonnie said you wanted to talk to me.”
    Holly nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Is there someplace where we could talk for a few minutes?”
    “What about?” Lynn asked. “You’re not some process server, are you?”
    “No, no! Nothing like that,” Holly said. “My name is Holly Slade, and my mother used to work here twenty years ago. I was hoping to talk to someone who might have known her.”
    Lynn’s demeanor shifted noticeably as she smiled. “Oh…well, Lord knows I’ve been here that long and then some. What was her name?”
    “Twila Mackey. She—”
    Lynn gasped. “Sweet Lord! Are you Twila’s girl? No, wait…her name wasn’t Holly, it was—”
    “Harriet, but I go by Holly now.”
    Lynn’s eyes widened. “Harriet! That’s right.” She waved at the clerk behind the counter. “I’m taking my break now,” she said. “Back in a few.” She took Holly by the arm and led her outside, and then around the side of the building to an old iron bench sitting up against the outer wall. “We can sit here.”
    Holly scooted onto the bench. There was so much she wanted to ask, but Lynn spoke first.
    “What happened to you two? One day you were here, and the next you were both gone. Your father filed a missing persons report. I heard he hired a private detective, too, but it came to nothing. Where is Twila these days?”
    “That’s part of why I’m here,” Holly said. “I haven’t seen my mother or father in twenty years. In fact, I don’t remember much of anything about them or the first five years of my life.”
    Holly watched the color visibly fading from Lynn’s face.
    “You’re not serious?”
    “Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid I am. How well did you know my mother? Were you close friends? Did you know anything about my parents’ relationship?”
    Lynn swept a shaky hand across her forehead. “I knew plenty. I knew your father was an asshole. He was abusive and controlling, and Twila was afraid of him.”
    “Why did she stay with him?” Holly asked.
    “I used to ask her the same thing. She would always shrug and say that she couldn’t make enough