Broken Toys Read online

Were the police officers gentle with Nana when they broke the news? Or were they brusque because of who the family was? Did she mourn, or was she glad I was finally out of her hair once and for all?

  His chest tightened as he envisioned the scene: her gray head shaking in denial; a hand to her bright pink lips to hold back a cry of anguish; Grandda wrapping her in his arms, supporting her. I wonder what they placed in the casket to accompany me to the afterlife. Did they even bother with a casket since there was no body? Hot tears stung his eyes. I’m so sorry, Nana. I didn’t know what else to do.

  Rhyden tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “You okay over there, buddy?”

  Noah took a deep, cleansing breath and straightened his shoulders. He blinked back the tears. Patting his shirt pocket, he verified his badge was present and recognizable. He removed the keys from the ignition. He exhaled slowly before turning to face Rhyden. “Yeah, man. I just hate these things.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  Noah opened the pickup door and sat for another moment before stepping out. Straightening his hat and taking another deep breath, he said, “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

  Together, they approached the front door. Noah pressed the doorbell. Peals of classical chimes rang out. Footsteps echoed in response to the call of the bell before a slightly rounded blonde in her mid-forties opened the door. Noah whipped the cowboy hat from his head and held it between his hands where he turned it nervously.

  The blonde looked from their faces to their badges to the hats in their hands before returning her gaze to their faces. She looked past them to the unmarked truck sitting in her driveway. Confusion and fear clouded her eyes. “May I help you?”

  Noah asked, “Are you Mrs. Charlotte Sanders? I mean Whittier. Mother of Alyssa Sanders?”

  She nodded, a hand going to the strand of pearls at her neck. “Yes, I am. Is she at the hospital? Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have let her go stay with him. Why didn’t that blasted man call me?”

  Noah turned to his partner with a raised eyebrow. Rhyden shrugged. “Ma’am? Who is Alyssa supposed to be staying with?”

  Mrs. Whittier rolled her eyes. “Only the biggest mistake of my life—her father. Not that I’m not grateful for the children but that man. Sometimes I wish I had never met him. Just let me grab my bag, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Ma’am,” Noah asked, “may we come in, please?”

  She gestured toward his truck. “Shouldn’t we be going? My baby girl needs me.”

  “Please?”

  “Oh, of course. I’m so sorry. Where are my manners?” Flustered, she stepped back from the doorway, motioning for them to enter. “Please. Please come in.”

  Mrs. Whittier led the way into a comfortable living room filled with an eclectic mix of simple and ornate furnishings. A wall of windows flooded the room with warm light. She rolled the pearls between the fingers of her left hand and gestured to an upholstered sofa with her right. “Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, ma’am. Thank you.” Both rangers remained standing. “Is your husband home?”

  As if summoned by Noah’s question, a gangly young man in his late teens, wearing a sweaty university T-shirt and matching forest green gym shorts, walked in from the back of the house. He wiped perspiration from his face with a paper towel. He glanced around the room, taking in Noah and Rhyden before turning to Mrs. Whittier. “Mom? Everything okay?”

  “Yes, sweetie, everything’s fine. Your sister got hurt at his house and these men are here to take me to her. I told Peter it was a bad idea to let her go stay with your father. The man hasn’t been a part of your lives in years and suddenly pops up out of the blue and wants her to come stay with him. She’s not strong enough, and God knows he’s not responsible enough to care for a young girl. Now she’s been hurt—in his supposed care—again. One thing’s for sure, it will never happen again. My poor baby. I was just coming to find you.”

  Noah watched the color fade from the young man’s face.

  “Are you Justin Sanders?” Rhyden asked, holding out a hand. “Alyssa’s brother?”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man wiped his palm on the leg of his shorts before taking Rhyden's hand in a firm grip. His voice wavered just the tiniest bit. “What’s this about?”

  “Sweetie,” Mrs. Whittier placed her hand on her son’s shoulder. “I told you what it’s about. Alyssa’s hurt. We need to go to the hospital.” She turned to the rangers. “Which hospital is she at?”

  “Would you please be seated? Both of you?” Noah nodded toward the floral sofa opposite two matching wingback chairs. “Is Mr. Whittier home?”

  She perched nervously on the edge of the sofa cushion while her son balanced on the arm beside her. She shook her head. “No, he’s at work but should be home soon.” She stood. “Justin, call Peter, please. Have him meet us at the hospital. Shouldn’t we be going?”

  “Please, Mrs. Whittier, be seated.” Noah gestured to the chairs. “May we?”

  She checked her watch. Tapped her toe impatiently. “Of course, of course. Please.” She settled back onto the edge of the sofa.

  Noah and Rhyden each took a seat on one of the wingback chairs.

  Justin wrapped his arm protectively around his mother’s shoulders. “What’s going on? This is about my sister, right? Is she hurt?”

  An edge of anger showed in Mrs. Whittier's voice. “If my baby girl is hurt, I need to get to her. We’re wasting time here.”

  Rhyden began to speak, but Noah gave a subtle shake of his head, indicating he would handle this. Scooting closer to where the pair sat, he began, “Mrs. Whittier, Justin, I regret to inform—”

  “No. No, no, no.” Mrs. Whittier stuck her fingers in her ears and shook her head like a kindergarten child. “I’m not listening, and you can’t make me. The bastard paid you to do this, didn’t he? I am not listening. I bet you aren’t even real rangers.” Her voice ramped another couple notches. “It isn’t true, and it won’t get him out of paying child support, either. Oh, no. He’s got four more years to go. Sorry bastard.” She pulled her hands from her head and glared at Noah. Jumping to her feet, she pointed at the door. “Out. Get out, get out, get out.”

  Rhyden stood and stepped toward Mrs. Whittier, but before he could reach her, Noah embraced her and gently edged her back to the sofa. He kneeled beside her and turned to Justin who stared blankly in shock. “Is there anyone we can call for you? Your father? Your stepfather? Another family member or friend?”

  Justin stared back with no expression on his face.

  Noah gently shook the grief-stricken young man. “Justin?”

  As Mrs. Whittier wailed, Rhyden withdrew the file from his binder and found Mr. Whittier’s cell phone number. As he was dialing, a voice from the entryway called out. “Charlotte? Honey? Who’s here?”

  A man stepped into the living room, taking in the scene. Immediately, he rushed to his wife’s side. “Here now, what’s going on?” His chest puffed up. “Who are you people, and what have you done to my wife?”

  Noah stood and stepped back a few paces, giving him and Justin room to comfort Mrs. Whittier. He introduced himself and Rhyden to the man.

  “Sir,” Rhyden said, “I was just trying to call you. I’m glad you are here. We have news of your stepdaughter.”

  “Alyssa? What has that man done now?” he demanded. “She’s staying with her biological father for a month. Is she hurt? In trouble?”

  “Mr. Whittier.” Noah glanced over at the man’s wife who glared at him from the protection of her husband’s arms. He stopped and took a deep breath before beginning again. “I regret to inform you your daughter is dead.”

  Mr. Whittier staggered, caught himself, then straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. “Impossible. She’s at her father’s. If anything had happened to her, he would have called us.” An expression of uncertainty crossed his face. “Unless…was there an accident? Was he drinking and driving again?”


  Mrs. Whittier shook her head. “No, Alyssa is fine. I would know. A mother always knows.” She rounded on the rangers, hands fisted at her sides, eyes shooting sparks. “Why are you doing this to us? I don’t understand.”

  Noah tugged a miniature spiral notebook from his shirt pocket. “What is the name of her father? Where does he live? When did she go, and when was she expected home?”

  Justin squirmed beside his parents. He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt before shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Um…”

  Noah waited.

  “Oh, crap.” The boy turned to his parents; tears rolling down his cheeks. “She didn’t go to Dad’s.”

  “What do you mean she didn’t go?” Mr. Whittier yelled.

  Justin tucked his head and mumbled.

  “Speak up, son,” his stepfather demanded.

  Justin raised his head and blurted, “She skipped as soon as you dropped her off last weekend. She said she was tired of being treated like a china doll and wanted to have some fun. She and her friends were going to the beach. One of the girls’ cousins had a beach house on Port Aransas. They were gonna crash there.”

  “But her father,” Mrs. Whittier said. “If she didn’t show, he would have called us. Even he isn’t that irresponsible. Right?” She turned from her husband to her son and back again. “Right?”

  Justin’s face reddened. His voice dropped an octave lower, shame coating every syllable. “He didn’t know she was coming. He never called in the first place. Alyssa made it all up.” He faced his mother and stepfather, begging forgiveness in his voice. “We didn’t think it would hurt anything. I’m so sorry. She just wanted to live a little bit.”

  Eyes rounded in what Noah assumed was shock and anger, Mrs. Whittier reached out a palm and slapped her son’s face. The resounding crack reverberated through the now silent room. Grabbing her phone, she dialed Alyssa’s number. The tinny sound of a voicemail greeting echoed through the speakers. She dialed again with the same results. “Alyssa Lynn Sanders, you call home immediately. This is not funny.”

  She threw the phone down on the sofa cushion and turned back to her son as if to strike him again. Her husband grabbed her hands and whisked her away from Justin as more tears rolled past the reddened handprint on the teenager’s face.

  She jerked away and spun on the rangers. She jabbed a finger into Noah’s chest. “And you. How much are they paying you to play this horrible joke on me? Hmm? How much?”

  “Mom, it’s not a joke,” Justin pleaded. “Nobody’s paying anybody. Alyssa just wanted a little freedom. We didn’t think…”

  She rounded on him once again. “No, you didn’t think. You never think.”

  “Mom.” He ran a hand through his sweaty, blond hair, leaving a row of porcupine quills in its wake. “Ever since the accident, you treat her like she needs to be kept in bubble wrap and placed on a shelf. She’s a teenage girl, not a doll. She just wanted to live a little.”

  Mr. Whittier turned from his stepson to the rangers. “Where is our little girl?”

  Noah and Rhyden exchanged another uneasy look. Rhyden went first. “Mr. Whittier, the coroner’s office will be in touch when they can release Alyssa’s—” He paused, his voice faltering. “—remains.”

  “Remains?” Mr. Whittier collapsed onto the sofa next to his wife. “You mean her body, right?”

  An awkward silence filled the room as Noah and Rhyden exchanged another weighted glance. Noah motioned Rhyden to stay close to Mrs. Whitter who dissolved into tears. “Mr. Whittier, may I speak to you in the other room for a moment?”

  “What? Why?”

  With another uneasy glance at Mrs. Whittier, Noah said, “Please, sir, if we could step into the other room for just a moment.”

  “Fine.” Mr. Whittier squeezed his wife’s shoulder before standing. “Justin, take care of your mother. I’ll be right back.” He led the way into the kitchen, a bright, breezy room with a beachy feel just off the living room. “Now, what is it you so obviously don’t want my wife to hear?”

  Noah pulled a wicker chair out from the kitchen table. “Would you please have a seat?”

  With a heavy sigh, Peter Whittier dropped into the chair. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Spit it out already. Please.”

  Still, Noah hesitated, gathering the words in his head, trying to make what he needed to say easier for the man sitting in front of him to hear. Finally, realizing there was no easy way to put it, he sat in the chair next to the man and looked him straight in the eyes. “Sir, there is no body for the coroner to release to you. I can’t go into too much detail, and believe me, you don’t want me to, but what we found of your daughter—stepdaughter—included her hip implant, some bone chips, and a handful of teeth.”

  A bemused smile lit Mr. Whittier’s face. “No body? So you don’t know if it is my Alyssa, do you? It could be anyone else who has had a hip replacement. Maybe some old guy. How do you even know those are human remains? Maybe they are animal bones? And the hip replacement was defective and never used? Huh? What about that? It’s not my Lyssa.” He stood. “I know it’s not. You can leave. Now.”

  “Sir, please. The serial number engraved on the implant matched that of the appliance the surgeon installed in Alyssa after her car accident a few years ago. That’s how we were able to track you down in the first place. I would like to ask your wife and stepson for a DNA swab so we can do a reverse comparison with one of the teeth. Then we will have one hundred percent confirmation on identity.”

  Mr. Whittier shook his head. “My wife needs me. You can show yourself out.” He turned to face Noah, anger painted across his features, and said, “I can’t believe you came in here and scared her. I know it’s not our Lyssa. It can’t be our baby girl.” He walked back into the living room where his wife, still weeping, clung to her son.

  Placing one hand on her shoulder, Mr. Whittier placed the other beneath her chin and lifted it so she could meet his eyes. “Honey, it will be okay.” He stroked her hair. “They don’t know for sure it’s Lyssa. They don’t even have a body.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “Then why the hell did they do this?” She glared at Noah and Rhyden. “How could you?” She pulled away from her son’s arms to advance on them. “Do you get some kind of perverted kick out of causing pain?”

  Noah cut him off with a shake of his head. In a voice as smooth as glass, he said, “Mrs. Whittier, I apologize for upsetting you. We have compelling evidence pointing to this being Alyssa. To confirm it or disprove it completely, we need a DNA cheek swab from you and your son. Can we do that now, please?”

  “Fine. Do your swab, then get the hell out of my home and don’t come back.”

  Rhyden collected DNA samples from the lady and her son with quick efficiency. While taking Justin’s sample, he asked, “Can you provide me with names and numbers of your sister’s friends?”

  He glanced at his parents. Turning back to face Rhyden, he shook his head.

  “Please. It could be important.”

  “I—” He clamped his mouth shut and left the room.

  Meanwhile, Noah again kneeled next to Mrs. Whittier. “I’m terribly sorry to have upset you. Is there anyone I can call for you? A friend or family member? Maybe a neighbor?”

  She shook her head, looking oddly composed and in control. “We don’t need anyone. It’s not our Lyssa. You’ll see. It can’t be.”

  With a nod, Noah laid a business card on the arm of the sofa. “If you think of anything or have any questions, please feel free to call me, day or night. My cell number is on the card as well as my office number.” Rising to his feet, he asked, “Mr. Whittier? Could you please walk us to the door?”

  Mr. Whittier held his wife tight for a moment before releasing her and stalking to the door, stiff spine and choppy steps betraying his fury.

  At the door, Noah stopped and turned to face the man. “I know it’s hard, but for a moment, please set emotion aside and think ab
out this logically. How else could the implant from your stepdaughter’s hip have ended up in our crime scene? You know I’m telling you the truth. What reason would I have to lie to you?”

  As denial faded from his face, despair hit the man hard. Noah saw the exact moment hope disintegrated and crumbled to dust. Grief stole his voice. Moisture gathered in his eyes as he nodded.

  Noah placed a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “Please. Prepare your wife. We will need to come back a little later to ask more questions about Alyssa, her friends, and her disappearance. We hate to intrude during this painful time, but we really need those answers if we are going to bring the person or persons who did this to justice. Please don’t be too hard on your stepson.” Noah paused and stepped back. “Again, I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  Back at the truck, both men silent and lost in thought, Noah placed the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. “Well, that sucked.” A million questions raced through his mind, one on top of the next. “How could they not know she was missing? I don’t get it.”

  Before Rhyden could answer, a knock on the driver’s side window startled them. Justin stood beside the truck, a hot-pink, faux-leather journal in his hands.

  Noah rolled down the truck window.

  Justin thrust the journal into Noah’s face. “Here. It’s Lyssa’s diary. Maybe something in here will help. I didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad, but it wasn’t her friends she was going to the beach with. It was a new boyfriend she’s been hiding. He’s older, and she knew our parents would pitch a bitch fit if they found out she was seeing him. She’s not supposed to date until she’s sixteen according to Mom. I don’t know his name. She called him by some silly initials. Maybe you can find his name.” He wiggled the journal. “I haven’t read it.” Guilt blanketed his features. Tears filled his eyes. “If only I…” His voice broke.

  Noah took the journal and handed it across the seat to Rhyden. Opening the truck door, he stepped out and opened his arms to the young man. As Justin clutched onto him like a drowning man hanging onto a life preserver, Noah said, “Son, this is not your fault. Should you have tried to stop your sister? Probably, but it was her decision. Should you have told your parents? Most likely, but I don’t think it would have changed anything. If she didn’t want to be found, they would not have found her whether you ratted her out or not. Let go of the guilt. You can’t change anything.”