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  "It says, 'No worry Tracy and me fix.' Nothing about coming here." September tried to give back the page.

  Claire tapped one corner of the page at the end of the highway. "There, see that? They're both on the highway, Lenny driving and Tracy with her medication and Grooby, the dinosaur. And there at the end of the road, the destination."

  September stood up. "It's a city, with the red sunset reflecting in the windows. Lenny's a talented boy, but it could be any city."

  "Look closer. Lenny's art communicates both literally and symbolically. Sometimes it's hard to understand but Elaine's gotten very good at reading his messages." Claire stabbed the paper again. "There are exactly twelve pills left in Tracy's bottle, and they left three days ago so she has only two or three days left before they're gone. You know what happens when they stop taking the meds. I know you do. It happened to Steven, I read about it in all the news reports. "

  September flinched. Other children, including Steven, suffered psychosis when the medicine stopped. Her nephew stole his father's antique gun, wounded the Doctor's mother, and a near miss blasted Shadow's ear. Only intensive therapy over the past several months allowed Steven to leave the Dallas hospital but he'd never be a normal child.

  "Please, September. Look again. And then if you don't see what Elaine and I saw, I'll ... I'll go away and leave you alone." Her voice broke.

  Reluctantly, September examined the paper. A frantic parent saw special meaning in everything, and she had no wish to deny that hope, and hurt Claire any further.

  Damn Gerald Baumgarten to hell. His accomplices including his recovered mother awaited trial, but he'd escaped, disappeared despite the manhunt. She wondered if the authorities knew the lunatic’s vision survived, and that he continued to devastate families with his quack drug, while sucking them dry of hope and funds. No parent deserved such anguish. Now Claire wanted to drag September back into the nightmare.

  "Right there, at the city destination. In the windows. I saw it driving in over the hill into town as the sun came up over the buildings. What do you see?" Claire prompted, eyes impossibly bright.

  Squinting, September held the page closer and then sucked in a breath. Rendered in intricate detail, Lenny had drawn signature buildings of Heartland, Texas in stylized but recognizable detail. To make the point irrefutable, what she'd thought to be sunlight reflection instead named the place. In the window of each building shined a tiny red heart.

  Claire smiled with triumph. “You see it, don’t you? You do.”

  September looked from the page to the woman, and Claire’s expression acknowledged her triumph; gaining a reluctant ally. Even if she’d wanted to, September couldn’t deny that Claire had won this round.

  Hands on hips and voice fierce, Claire stood as tall as her petite frame allowed. "You're going to find my daughter."

  Chapter 4

  Detective Jeff Combs took the rinsed plates from his daughter Melinda, and added them to the dishwasher. He kept an eye on her younger brother, Willie, as his son dumped clean laundry on the couch. The boy soon had sorted a small pile of his own socks and underwear. Melinda rattled silverware under the faucet, and dropped them into the dish rack.

  Combs treasured these times spent with his kids, even on mundane chores. He didn't get much time with his kids since the divorce. It had been a rough few years for their family, especially Melinda, his little drama-queen.

  "Hey Melinda." Willie snagged a pair of his sister’s hot pink undies, wrinkled his nose, and twirled it in the air around his finger, making sure she could see. "These'd make a great sling-shot." He launched them toward her.

  Her face flushed red. She'd turned thirteen, and no teenage girl wanted her brother—or her dad—to notice, let alone handle, her undies.

  Combs hid a smile.

  She tried to snatch them, missed, and the dog grabbed them and ran, a white streak of fluffy fur. "Dad. Make him quit." Melinda chased down Kinsler and had to play tug with the terrier mix to retrieve her underwear. The dog shook his head and sneezed, the tan saddle spot and contrasting ears striking against his snowy coat. Combs could swear the dog smiled, dark eyes twinkling through the curtain of disheveled fur.

  "Quit bothering your sister. Finish folding your own laundry." He tried not to laugh. He'd been a pest to his sister at that age, too.

  Willie launched another bit of lace toward the dog. "Kinsler likes them. Hey boy, go guard second base."

  He'd named the dog after Ian Kinsler when he still played for the Texas Rangers. Willie wanted to change Kinsler's name when Ian deserted The Rangers to go play ball for the Detroit Tigers, but Combs convinced him that would confuse the dog.

  "William Stanley Combs, stop bothering your sister and put away your laundry. I promised Rick you'd get chores done before he brings your mom home from the hospital. You may have the day off but I have to work. Detective Gonzales picks me up in fifteen minutes."

  He'd never imagined such an arrangement when Cassie left him for Rick-the-Prick. Normally Combs wouldn't lift a finger to help his ex-wife and her new husband. She'd been a bitch during the divorce, and made him fight to get joint custody. Now with her inability to care for their kids, and her CPA husband's fourteen-hour tax season rush, he could sue for sole custody, but couldn't afford the court costs. Besides, he didn’t want to put his kids through that tug-of-war, and his job schedule with the Heartland Police Department made time a challenge.

  So, he made a deal with the devil. It gave him a guilty sense of satisfaction to know Cassie would hate being beholden to him, even if these days, Cassie wasn't aware of much.

  Melinda caught the dog and retrieved her underwear. She stuck her tongue out at Willie when she thought Combs couldn't see, a gesture far younger than her teenager status. "Stupid dog. Now they need washing again, yuck." She disappeared into the laundry room.

  "You need to cut your sister some slack, champ." Combs finished rinsing and loading the breakfast dishes, and closed the dishwasher.

  Willie slowly folded his clothes. "Uncle Rick says you're only helping because Mom's sick and won't get better."

  "That's a lie." Melinda flounced back into the room. "Tell him, Dad." She punched Willie on the arm. "Don't say things like that, it's bad luck. Besides, they can cure all kinds of things, even cancer these days. Right Dad?"

  Combs pretended to wash his hands, to give himself time to form an answer. "I'm not a doctor, Melinda. I don't know if it's like treating cancer. Rick hasn't shared any details." Before her scowl melted into tears, he hurried to add, "But you're right. Lots of new medicines and treatments happen all the time."

  She punched Willie again. "See, brat? And you're folding wrong."

  He clutched his arm. "Bossy-pants."

  "Stupid face." She squealed when the dog leaped onto the pile of laundry, splitting the pair, barking and dancing, scattering the clothes onto the floor. "Daddy. Make them stop."

  "Both of you, that's enough. Melinda, pick up the clothes."

  "But Dad, Willie's the one—"

  "Don't want to hear it." He turned to Willie. "Take your dog outside. Keep him on the leash, or he'll try to catch every squirrel on the planet. And stay out of the mud, or I'll hose you both off. With ice-cold water. Got it?" He rubbed his eyes. Probably not a good incentive. Both Willie and the dog would relish a game of hose tag.

  Willie ducked his head, and whistled for the dog. Kinsler barked—he had an extraordinarily loud bark—and the pair clambered noisily out the door into the fenced back yard. Before Willie could attach the leash, the dog dodged away. Combs sighed.

  Melinda glowered. "Not fair. He's such a brat lately. Why does he always get off the hook?" She picked up the spilled laundry, and threw each piece one by one back into the basket. "Now he and Kinsler'll track all over and I'm the one who has to clean up the mess. Uncle Rick's barely here anymore." She sulked.

  "Nobody said life's fair. He's your little brother, and now you're a teenager, I expect more from you. This isn't easy
for any of us. I need you to take more responsibility." He crossed and pulled her into his arms. God, she was so much like Cassie, a redheaded firecracker ready to explode. She stiffened, and pulled away from his hug. That hurt but didn’t surprise him.

  "He won't listen to me." She turned her back, concentrating on the clothes. "How can I be responsible if Willie won't listen?"

  Combs ran a hand through his hair, and then searched his pocket when his cell phone buzzed. "I'll talk to him, okay? Dump Willie's on his bed. He can fold his own stuff later. Wouldn't want you to touch boy undies."

  "Oh, Dad." Melinda scooped the remaining laundry back in the basket, and carried it down the hall.

  The phone call brightened his mood. Talking to September always made him smile, especially since she'd finally relaxed enough to go out with him. He couldn't wait to surprise her with his belated Valentine's Day plans. She refused to go out that day, saying it made things too serious, but that didn't mean he couldn't turn a later date into a romantic evening. She needed someone to spoil her for a change.

  Melinda called from her brother's room. "Dad, it stinks in here."

  "Then hold your breath." He answered the phone, still smiling. "What can I do for my favorite lady?"

  "Hi Jeff, sorry to bother you at work."

  He didn't correct her, and checked the clock. Gonzales should be here any minute. "No problem, the day's still young. What's up?"

  "Can you recommend a private investigator?" Her voice sounded hushed, as if she didn't want someone to hear.

  Combs crossed to the front door to watch for his ride. "Why? What’s wrong?"

  "Don't worry. It's not for me. A friend asked."

  Melinda came back into the room, and checked the oven. "Your breakfast burrito is ready."

  Combs mouthed 'thanks' as Melinda poured coffee into a mug and secured the lid before he answered September. "Sure I can't help?"

  "For now, she wants to keep it private. I found out this morning when she dropped by the house a couple hours ago."

  He checked the clock and frowned. Awfully early for someone to stop by. She sounded nervous, too, and he wondered who among their friends needed a P.I. He knew all of September's local friends. She'd not been back home in Heartland long enough to make many new connections.

  "There's a guy I considered working with last year." He'd nearly left the police force when summarily demoted over a scandal. It ultimately blew over but had been the straw that broke his marriage’s back. "If he's available, I'll ask him to reach out to you directly." He cleared his throat. "On another note, I want to pick your brain about an animal issue."

  She laughed. "Kinsler acting up again? Or your sister’s cat, Simba?"

  "Kinsler's a mess. Acts demented around squirrels and keeps digging out from under the fence. But your cat tips did the trick." Simba had been Mom’s cat and probably still missed her, hence the litter box indiscretions.

  Melinda leaned across the counter. "Is that September? See if she'll take the mutt off our hands." She batted her eyelashes, clearly not meaning it.

  Combs shook his finger at her. He knew she loved the dog as much as Willie did, if not more. “September, we’re working on something up your alley and the Captain authorized you to consult on the case. We got a lead on a dogfight ring.”

  Her voice turned cold with outrage. "Here in Heartland? That's disgusting. What is wrong with people?" She took a beat, and he could imagine her finger combing her hair, a nervous but endearing habit. "Does this have something to do with the dogfight bust two weeks ago in Oklahoma? You know, the ASPCA has a whole division devoted to shutting down dogfights. They even have a veterinary forensics team. That's how they nailed Michael Vick."

  Combs turned around when a car honked outside, and nodded at Melinda when she held out the hot burrito in a bag, with the coffee ready. "Listen September, Gonzales just got here. We can meet later, and I’ll share what I can and pick your brain.”

  “Sure. I’m in and out today, too. Got a consult about a stray cat that ought to be a hoot. I keep waiting for the number of AWOL pets to diminish, now that the wildlife die-off has abated. And then thanks to you, I’m playing cello over at the theater.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and was delighted she enjoyed the gift so much.

  She’d created a unique business tracking lost pets with Shadow. Combs admired her ability to celebrate happy reunions as well as accept sad outcomes. The latter seemed to outnumber the live finds. He knew from his own experience with missing persons that finding the body, while tragic, also offered closure to loved ones. Maybe it was the same for pet owners.

  “Have a good show at the theater. Do I say break a leg? Or a string?” Combs grinned when she laughed. After he disconnected the call, he quickly texted a brief note to the P.I. for September. He set his phone down beside the coffee. "Where's my coat, honey?"

  Melinda retrieved it from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "You promised to talk to Willie."

  "Right, right." He hurried to the back door, cracked it open and shouted into the back yard without stepping outside. "Willie, listen to your sister. When I'm not here, she is the boss of you." He winked at Melinda, and she smiled back as he shut the door. "Melinda, you watch your brother. It's a boy rule to be obnoxious to older sisters, so you'll have to put up with it. Okay? I'm counting on you."

  The horn honked again. Melinda offered the bag in one hand and coffee in the other, and once his hands were full, she held the door for him. When she got back inside, she didn't notice he'd left behind his phone.

  Chapter 5

  September hated withholding details about Claire's missing daughter from Combs. She sympathized with the woman, but she couldn't help directly. Hooking her up with the private investigator salved her guilt.

  Claire reentered the study that doubled as September's music room, dabbing her face with a clean hand towel. "Thanks for letting me freshen up, and for helping me find Tracy. And Lenny, too. I promised to keep Elaine updated." Her smile hinted at the attractive young woman beneath the frazzled worry.

  Bracing herself for an argument, September tried to let Claire down gently. "I want to help you, I really do."

  "I read all the newspaper stories about how you found Steven after he got lost in that blizzard. And how that dog saved your life." Claire watched Shadow and took a seat on the nearby piano bench. “Tracy doesn’t have much time.” She leaned forward, elbows on her thighs. "You know this town, know the people, and have resources that I don't have.”

  September had only a handful of connections and Claire’s refusal to inform the police cut out Combs. It still amazed her that Combs not only forgave her involvement in his mother's death last November, but also had become one of her dearest friends. Maybe even more than that.

  September took a breath, cutting off that thought. "I still think you should call the police." She raised a hand to stop Claire’s protest. "Just tell them Lenny's a runaway, or it's a joyride gone on too long, or something. The police can put out a bulletin with the license plate. You have the number?"

  "Sure. But I can't risk it." Claire balled her fists. "Believe me, I’ve thought everything through. If the police find Tracy before we do, they’ll call CPS and they’ll take my daughter away. You said you’d help.”

  "I’ve contacted a private investigator to help."

  "Oh." Claire bit her lip. "I thought you'd do this by yourself." Her voice rose, worry the constant undertone. "I can't afford some fancy investigator."

  It wasn’t her problem. If she had any hope for a normal life, a future without the threat of flashbacks and panic attacks, she couldn't subject herself to constant reminders of the past.

  "Claire, I appreciate your confidence in me, but I train dogs and cats, help solve behavior problems, and sometimes Shadow helps me find lost pets." September shook her head. "I don't find missing kids, that's not what I do. You need a professional for that."

  "But you found Steven."

  "He's my nephew. M
y sister begged me to help, I couldn't say no. And I got incredibly lucky." She leaned forward in the chair, elbows on her knees. "A private investigator—"

  "I drove straight through the night to get here and you blow me off, won't even try?" Claire rose, a thunderous expression making her ugly. "You're a selfish, despicable person, September Day. You got called a hero, but what about Tracy and the other kids? You made the cost go up. If it wasn't for you, Tracy could still get her medicine. She'd be home safe." She breathed heavily, and impatiently swiped tears away.

  September bowed her head. Claire and the other parents believed their own version of the truth. The fees would have gone up regardless, but Tracy and Lenny going missing added to the tragedy. "I'll pay for the P.I., but that's all I can do."

  "That's right. You can afford to throw money at your problems. I read about your lottery winnings. Must be nice."

  September hunched her shoulders. She couldn't save the world, and had enough trouble taking care of herself, despite what the public might think. The winnings had been enough to move home to Heartland, buy this house and renovate it, but medical costs—she owed it to Steven and her sister April—had depleted the balance substantially. That didn't matter, as long as she had a chance for a life now, one without drama.

  She cleared her throat, fidgeting. “Do you have a place to stay?"

  Claire sank back onto the piano bench, and dropped her face into her hands. "What am I going to do?"

  September felt even more like a heel. "You're going to rest. Stay here. I can do that much, there's two extra bedrooms. You can't do anything until I hear from the P.I."

  Claire, ready to collapse from nerves, exhaustion, and worry, could have been a lost child herself. "Thank you. I don't mean to be such a bitch; I know I'm asking a lot."

  "You're a mom. I get it. And in my world, being a bitch isn't such a bad thing." September’s phone ping reminded her the day's busy schedule meant leaving Claire, a virtual stranger, alone in her house, and was surprised it didn’t bother her. Well, not much. In the past, the thought might have triggered a panic attack. She was better. Besides, with a little luck—and Claire deserved good karma—the promised help from Combs should quickly take Claire off her hands.