Will picked up and looked at the snapshot of the woman again. This had to be Miriama’s ­mother—­the resemblance was striking except for one thing: the older woman’s face displayed none of Miriama’s sunny joy in life. Her eyes were jaded despite the smile that curved her lips, her face set in lines that hinted at petulance.

When he flipped the photograph over to look at the back, he found a note in the same large and generously looped handwriting as in the journal:

Ma just before she found out she was pregnant.

It struck him as an odd thing for Miriama to have put on the back of the picture; most people would’ve used another marker for their mother’s life. Will had the bleak feeling Miriama had grown up knowing her existence had forever changed her mother’s. Matilda would never say a hurtful thing to a little girl. Which meant the ­message—­and the ­rejection—­had come directly from Miriama’s mother.

What did that do to a child?

Did it leave holes in the soul?

A hunger to be wanted, to be loved?

Just the kind of vulnerability a smart, selfish man might exploit.

Putting down the photograph, Will finished looking through the other items in the tin box. Nothing that immediately jumped out, though the two ticket stubs from an exclusive stage show were ­interesting—­dated months before Miriama began seeing Dominic, they must’ve cost in the hundreds.

He’d follow up, but he knew the chances of tracing Miriama’s lover through the tickets was unlikely. If the unknown male had stuck true to form, the tickets had been purchased either in cash or in person ­or—­more ­probably—­by Miriama after her lover gave her the cash to cover the credit card repayment.

Will’s hand fisted.

An affair was one thing, but for this man to protect himself with such caution, even using Miriama as a shield, it spoke of an intense and manipulative ­self-­interest. Miriama had been right to fear that her lover would never fulfill his promises to her. And she’d been smart to break away.

But had she stayed smart?

Love could make people do stupid things.

Sometimes, that stupidity led to death. And to screams Will had never heard, but that haunted him each time he closed his eyes. As long as he lived, he wouldn’t understand why a loving mother would pick up the phone and invite a monster to visit. Daniella Hart had been safe. Her little boy had been safe.

But she’d picked up the phone.

So no, Will didn’t trust that Miriama had stayed smart.

33

Anahera walked into Josie’s café just after nine thirty the next morning, the world sunlit around her, knowing she’d see this through to the bitter end. Something bad had happened and was continuing to happen in Golden Cove and Anahera wasn’t about to ignore it. People did that too often. Just ignored things because those things were uncomfortable or awkward, and in the end, all they had left were broken pieces and blood.

She forced a smile onto her face as Josie bustled around the side of the counter. “Shouldn’t you be sitting down?”

White lines bracketing her mouth, Josie used both hands to cradle her bump. “I can’t sit still,” she said. “I’m so worried about Miri. Working in the café, making sure the fire station is supplied with tea bags and milk and sugar and whatever else they need, it gives me a way to be in the thick of things, get any news as it comes in. The idea of sitting at home and just ­waiting…”

Anahera nodded. “I’m sorry, Josie. I know you two are close.”

Her best friend smiled tightly before walking over to fuss with a table ­centerpiece—­a tiny glass bottle that held a couple of freshly picked daisies. “We’re too far apart in age and interests to be friends like me and you,” she said. “I like to think of myself as her older sister, someone she can come to for advice.”

Not particularly liking herself for pumping her friend for information, Anahera nonetheless knew she had to take advantage of this opportunity. If Miriama had confided in her, Josie could well know things no one else did. “Did she tell you anything that could explain her disappearance?”

Josie stopped fussing with the table decoration and went around to the coffee machine. “Cappuccino, right?” She began to make one without waiting for an answer. “I’ve been digging through my memories since she went missing.” The high sound of steam, of milk being frothed. “But the thing is, even though I like to think of myself as her older sister, I’m not sure Miriama thinks of herself as my younger sister.”

Taking a seat near the counter, Anahera shrugged off her anorak. “Why? Did she say something?”

Josie didn’t reply until she’d finished making the cappuccino. Bringing it out with an ease that made it clear she’d done the same a thousand times, she placed the drink in front of Anahera, then took the seat across from her. “No, it’s ­just…” Her friend pushed both hands through the fine strands of her hair, the light brown intermingled with a glint or two of silver. “I feel like I’m gossiping about her behind her back.”

“You can’t think like that.” Anahera got up to grab the chocolate shaker to dust the fine granules over the froth of her coffee, more to give Josie space than because she wanted it. “Not if what you know might be helpful in finding her.”

Swallowing hard as Anahera retook her seat, Josie stared at the wood grain of the smoothly planed table. “I heard her on the phone a few times,” her best friend said at last. “She had that look on her ­face—­the same look you had on your face that weekend I came to stay with you up in Auckland. It was right after you’d met Edward, and you were glowing and giggly and happy.”

Anahera could barely remember that version of herself. “That can’t be an unusual thing for a girl as beautiful as Miriama,” was all she said.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Josie said. “­But—­and this is before ­Dominic—­Miri’s never really dated as much as you might assume. She has big dreams and she’s determined to make them happen. She did go out on the odd date, don’t get me wrong, but it was a year and a bit ago that she got that look on her face and I knew it was serious.”

Anahera just nodded, the fingers of one hand around her coffee cup.

“I sort of teased her about it,” Josie continued, tracing the wood grain with a fingertip. “Like I did you about Edward. Nothing pointed or mean. Just kind of saying how she was looking happy and when was I going to meet the lucky guy.”

Leaning forward, Anahera took one of Josie’s hands in her own. “You’re ­ice-­cold,” she said with a frown, and began to rub Josie’s hand between her own to warm it up. “Do you want me to get your shawl?” She could see it draped over the chair behind the counter.

But Josie shook her head. “The cold is from inside,” she whispered. “It’s from fear of what might’ve happened to Miri.”

“Just tell me if you change your mind.” Anahera didn’t stop attempting to warm Josie up. “How did Miriama react to your teasing?”

“­She—­” Josie paused, bit her lower lip. “Her reaction was ­odd… ­hurtful.” Hazel eyes held Anahera’s. “My response feels so immature now, but back then, I was badly wounded by what she did.”