to say.
Wendy was busy being a young woman with a social life, a new cop, and a graduate student in Criminology. Somehow, she found the time to be the cool aunt, hang out with the big girls on poker nights, and sometimes be the nuisance little sisters are supposed to be to older siblings.
Rainey had thought herself an only child for forty-three years, so the sibling thing was new to her. She watched Katie and her high-strung clan for sisterhood clues, ignored most of what she saw in that drama, and found it took no effort to spend time with Wendy. Despite growing up in separate homes, they were both Billy Bell’s daughters, and as Katie often noted, seemed cut from the same cloth.
Katie would shake her head when Wendy and Rainey had identical simultaneous reactions to a basketball game or shared a facial expression.
“That Billy Bell had some dominant genes. You two could never deny the blood relation. Bookends. You’re bookends.”
It was a new and enjoyable experience, this big sister thing, until the day a cop asked Rainey if she was Officer Wendy King’s mother. She was old enough, of course, if she had the girl at twenty, but it wasn’t a comfortable realization to live with. Besides, the cop was insinuating she had slept with Rex King, the only father Wendy ever knew, and someone Rainey loathed. She had to start telling people Wendy was her sister to stifle even the slightest supposition there might be another reason for their uncanny resemblance. Rainey also warned Wendy that being in her life was not the safest place to be.
With the mischievous smile of youth, Wendy had replied, “Yes, but it’s certainly never dull.”
Now, Rainey stood with her little sister as the task force briefing ended. The hallway filled with a swarm of law enforcement officers.
Wendy finally got around to why she was there. “Hey, do you have a couple of hours free this afternoon?”
“I was headed home to give Katie a break. With me leaving in the morning, she’ll be on her own.”
Wendy was prepared for that answer. “Katie isn’t alone. Her mom is there, and Grandpa John should be there any minute.”
Grandpa John was Dr. John Herndon, Rainey’s stepfather and doting grandfather to the triplets. A heart surgeon by trade, he’d been keeping a close eye on his grandchildren during the stomach virus episode.
Whatever Wendy wanted Rainey to do, it must have been important because she added quickly, “I talked to Katie, and she said you could go with me. Supper is at six, so you’re all clear until then.”
“You have permission from my wife to take me where, may I ask?” Rainey said with a grin.
“I have some kids I want you to listen to. They have a story I’m not sure I believe, but I’d like a second opinion.”
Rainey stopped smiling. “Is this an open investigation? You know I can’t be involved without an invitation from the investigating jurisdiction.”
“It’s not official. I’m looking for a kid who ran away. I used to babysit him when I was in high school. He was just a baby then. He’s sixteen now. His dad is a prick, and his mom is a traumatized useless fundamentalist, who keeps praying to God for a miracle and standing by her man.”
“You know that thing you said about knowing when I was evading the truth? It works both ways,” Rainey said, prodding Wendy for a more honest answer.
Wendy’s shoulders dropped, her plot foiled.
“Okay, look,” she began, “there is an official missing person report on this kid, but nobody is looking. He’s gay, so I started asking around in places homeless LGBT teens hang out. I heard these stories, almost identical experiences, from some of the boys. I don’t want to say too much. I want you to hear it from them.”
Rainey wasn’t about to cross the blue line without an invitation.
“If it is relevant to the missing person investigation, you should give that department the information.”
Wendy pled her case, undeterred by Rainey’s
Wendy was busy being a young woman with a social life, a new cop, and a graduate student in Criminology. Somehow, she found the time to be the cool aunt, hang out with the big girls on poker nights, and sometimes be the nuisance little sisters are supposed to be to older siblings.
Rainey had thought herself an only child for forty-three years, so the sibling thing was new to her. She watched Katie and her high-strung clan for sisterhood clues, ignored most of what she saw in that drama, and found it took no effort to spend time with Wendy. Despite growing up in separate homes, they were both Billy Bell’s daughters, and as Katie often noted, seemed cut from the same cloth.
Katie would shake her head when Wendy and Rainey had identical simultaneous reactions to a basketball game or shared a facial expression.
“That Billy Bell had some dominant genes. You two could never deny the blood relation. Bookends. You’re bookends.”
It was a new and enjoyable experience, this big sister thing, until the day a cop asked Rainey if she was Officer Wendy King’s mother. She was old enough, of course, if she had the girl at twenty, but it wasn’t a comfortable realization to live with. Besides, the cop was insinuating she had slept with Rex King, the only father Wendy ever knew, and someone Rainey loathed. She had to start telling people Wendy was her sister to stifle even the slightest supposition there might be another reason for their uncanny resemblance. Rainey also warned Wendy that being in her life was not the safest place to be.
With the mischievous smile of youth, Wendy had replied, “Yes, but it’s certainly never dull.”
Now, Rainey stood with her little sister as the task force briefing ended. The hallway filled with a swarm of law enforcement officers.
Wendy finally got around to why she was there. “Hey, do you have a couple of hours free this afternoon?”
“I was headed home to give Katie a break. With me leaving in the morning, she’ll be on her own.”
Wendy was prepared for that answer. “Katie isn’t alone. Her mom is there, and Grandpa John should be there any minute.”
Grandpa John was Dr. John Herndon, Rainey’s stepfather and doting grandfather to the triplets. A heart surgeon by trade, he’d been keeping a close eye on his grandchildren during the stomach virus episode.
Whatever Wendy wanted Rainey to do, it must have been important because she added quickly, “I talked to Katie, and she said you could go with me. Supper is at six, so you’re all clear until then.”
“You have permission from my wife to take me where, may I ask?” Rainey said with a grin.
“I have some kids I want you to listen to. They have a story I’m not sure I believe, but I’d like a second opinion.”
Rainey stopped smiling. “Is this an open investigation? You know I can’t be involved without an invitation from the investigating jurisdiction.”
“It’s not official. I’m looking for a kid who ran away. I used to babysit him when I was in high school. He was just a baby then. He’s sixteen now. His dad is a prick, and his mom is a traumatized useless fundamentalist, who keeps praying to God for a miracle and standing by her man.”
“You know that thing you said about knowing when I was evading the truth? It works both ways,” Rainey said, prodding Wendy for a more honest answer.
Wendy’s shoulders dropped, her plot foiled.
“Okay, look,” she began, “there is an official missing person report on this kid, but nobody is looking. He’s gay, so I started asking around in places homeless LGBT teens hang out. I heard these stories, almost identical experiences, from some of the boys. I don’t want to say too much. I want you to hear it from them.”
Rainey wasn’t about to cross the blue line without an invitation.
“If it is relevant to the missing person investigation, you should give that department the information.”
Wendy pled her case, undeterred by Rainey’s
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