Free Hades by Candice Fox Page B

whispered, glancing at her husband. “Derek and I have been fighting ever since . . . ever since that night. We sent Monica to stay with Derek’s mother. In Richmond. So she. You know. So she . . .”
    “So she would be protected,” Eden said.
    “Monica and Court sometimes swap bracelets. They have a matching pair. I don’t know why they do it,” Eliza sniffed. “They’ve always done it.”
    I noted the mother’s use of the present tense. It made me want to chew my fingernails. I looked around and took a closer look at the photographs I’d been avoiding and noticed that, yes, there were two daughters. They looked so alike that on first impression it seemed an extensive collection of school portraits and dance troupe action shots and grinning Christmas pictures of one girl. Courtney and Monica—two peas in a pod. There were only a couple of them together and they seemed like twins.
    “None of our other victims were found with jewelry,” Eden said carefully. “We’re missing wedding rings and earrings and piercings. Can you think why Courtney might still have had this with her when we found her?”
    Eliza and Derek looked at each other. He shrugged.
    “The girls were very protective of these bracelets. Court was almost paranoid. Maybe she . . . hid it from him. I don’t know.”
    “Seems to suggest she knew what was going on. That she felt threatened,” I said.
    “Jesus.” Derek rubbed his eyes.
    “So, Derek, you’re the girls’ stepfather?” Eden asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Where’s their biological father?”
    “He died. In 1998,” Eliza chipped in. “Heart attack. Monica was four when Derek and I married. Courtney was two.”
    Eden continued writing.
    “Ever had any problems with the two girls, Derek?” I asked.
    “Why is that relevant?”
    “I’m not suggesting anything. If I was trying to ruffle your feathers, you’d know about it. Everyone has problems with their step-kids. I’m just trying to get a picture.”
    “They were both pretty good about it,” Derek sighed. “They were young enough that it didn’t really matter. Courtney gave me some a few years ago about not being her father but . . . I guess that’s pretty normal.”
    “Did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around your neighborhood or your house in the days before Courtney’s disappearance?” I asked. “Did you have any strange phone calls?”
    “No.”
    “My colleagues tell me you guys moved into the area just a few months ago,” Eden said, looking at her notes. “The girls started at a new school. Anyone at the school you’re having trouble with?”
    “No, no one.” Eliza sniffed. “Everyone’s been lovely. All the neighbors . . .”
    “We answered this sort of stuff with the missing persons people,” Derek murmured.
    “I know. We have to ask again, in case anything new comes to mind.”
    “Courtney’s blood type was O negative,” Eden said carefully. “Which is reasonably rare. If you had to make a list of people who knew that, who do you think you’d start with?”
    “Jesus. I don’t know.”
    “Try,” Eden said. “As best you can. Take your time.”
    Eden passed her notepad to Eliza. Eliza took one look at it and rose from her seat, walking drunkenly into the kitchen.
    “I’ll make tea,” she said. “We should have tea.”
     
     
    “That’s rough,” I said. We were in the car. The rain had cleared and the afternoon sun was blazing red between the billboards advertising new apartment buildings over fenced-off sandy wastelands. I’d offered to drive but Eden said she liked it. I could understand what she was talking about. Concentrating on the road. Avoiding hazards. Analyzing and predicting the actions of others. Anything but the thought of your child suffering. Anything but the thought of the years ahead without her.
    “For the money or for the love. What do you reckon?” Eden asked eventually.
    I thought about the question. How much was our killer making by offering a new life to