“Did you try her cell phone?”
“It goes right to voice mail. I had your card in my backpack. You said to call you whenever, no matter what. I’m sorry for calling, but . . . we’re scared.”
“Don’t apologize for a second,” Serrano said. “I meant it. I’m glad you called.”
He mounted the phone into the hands-free on his dash and put it on speaker, then started the car.
“Just stay there,” he said. “I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Please hurry, Detective.”
Eighteen minutes later, John Serrano arrived at the Marin home. Rachel’s car was parked in the driveway. There was another set of tire tracks next to it. Serrano frowned. He parked at the curb so as not to disturb the other set of tracks. If her car was still here but Rachel wasn’t, that probably wasn’t a good sign.
The snowfall was growing heavier. The tracks would disappear before long. Before knocking on the door, Serrano took a dozen photographs of the second set of tracks. Then he surveyed the house and surrounding area. Nothing appeared to be disturbed. No broken branches on the shrubs lining the front steps, no broken glass, no blood. No sign of a struggle.
The front lawn was blanketed by a thin layer of powder. There were footprints but no shoe treads to make out. If necessary, he could have forensics down here to sift through it to study the soil underneath. But he didn’t want to jump the gun in case this was a misunderstanding. But something about the scene disturbed him.
Serrano knocked on the door. Seconds later, Eric appeared at the window. Serrano waved at him. Eric opened the door and said, “Thanks, Detective Serrano.”
“Of course,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Eric nodded. Megan was sitting on the floor in the living room, four books splayed out on the floor in front of her. But there was fear on her face, the books a clear attempt to divert her attention, which didn’t seem to be working very well. She looked like she was about to cry.
“It’s going to be all right,” Serrano said, closing the door behind him. “Walk me through what happened when you got home.”
“I came home, and Megan was sitting outside. I have a key, she doesn’t, so I let us both in. It was starting to snow, and she was shivering. I made her some chunky veggie soup.”
“You’re a good brother. Are you OK now, sweetheart?” Serrano asked her. Megan nodded. She definitely was not OK.
“Then what?”
“I called for my mom. She didn’t answer. I thought she might have slipped and hurt herself, so we checked every room. Bathrooms too. And she wasn’t here.”
“There’s a basement, right? Could she be down there?”
“I checked there,” Eric said, but there was hesitation in his voice. “She wasn’t downstairs.”
Serrano took out his phone and called Rachel’s cell. It went straight to voice mail.
“Do you have the Find My Friends app?” he asked Eric. The boy nodded.
“Yeah, but it’s turned off on her end.”
Not a good sign, Serrano thought. Eric’s lower lip was trembling.
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“This morning when I left for school.”
“And was everything normal then? Did she seem like anything was on her mind?”
Eric thought for a moment. “She’s been weird the last few days. More emotional than usual. More huggy, if that makes sense.”
Serrano nodded. In his experience, parents tended to become more emotional than usual when they’d either done something wrong or were anticipating something about to go wrong. Children knew their parents better than anyone, and Eric was a perceptive kid. He knew something was up.
“Could she have gone anywhere?”
“I don’t know,” Eric said. “I suppose. But her car is still here.”
“Yeah,” Serrano said, thumbing his chin. “Her car is still here.”
Serrano went over to Megan. A picture book was open to an illustration of a dragon eating a smorgasbord of tacos.
“What book is this?” Serrano said.
“It’s called Dragons Love Tacos,” Megan said. “I’m too old for it now, but my mom used to read it to me. I brought these out in case she was here and wanted to read to me tonight.”
“Did your mom tell you anything, sweetheart? Anything that might let us know where she is?”
Megan shook her head. “Is my mom OK?”
Serrano didn’t know how to respond.
“Listen, kids, give me a minute, all right? Eric, did you clean anything before I got here? Glasses? Dishes? Food? Anything at all?”
“No. There wasn’t anything to clean. The place was like this.”
“OK. Do me a favor, and read that dragon taco book to Megan. I have some things I need to check on.”
Eric nodded.
“Where’s your mom’s room?”
“Upstairs, last door on the left.”
Serrano went upstairs and opened the door to Rachel Marin’s room. The bed was made. The room was clean. He opened the closet. There were no empty hangers. It didn’t appear anything had been disturbed, and it didn’t look like Rachel had packed up and left in a hurry. He noticed a large safe in the closet, checked the door out of curiosity, but it didn’t budge.
Then he called Leslie Tally.
“John, what’s up? Anything the matter?”
“Got a problem,” he said. “I’m at Rachel Marin’s house.”
“Oh hell, what now? Did she dig up Elvis’s grave to make sure he’s really dead?”
“Not quite. She’s missing. Kids came home from school, and she wasn’t here. Her phone is off, the car is still in the driveway, and clothes are where they should be.”
There was silence on the other end. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think she’d run. Not without her kids. I’m going to check with the cab companies and Uber to see if they have a record of any pickups at this address. But something isn’t right.”
“I’m coming over.”
“Good. But keep it to yourself. I don’t want anyone else involved in case she’s just down at the bar throwing back Jägerbombs.”
“Should I call the lieutenant?”
“Not yet. Let me see what I can find here before we officially report her missing.”
“I’ll be there ASAP.”
Serrano hung up. He searched the rest of Rachel’s room. Nothing seemed out of place or extraordinary. He went into the kids’ rooms. Messy, but nothing suspicious.
He went back downstairs. Eric said, “Megan’s hungry.”
“You guys haven’t eaten?”
Eric shook his head. Serrano was already in a bad spot. He had no idea if this was a crime scene, so he needed to use his best judgment. He opened the fridge. Not much. Some cold cuts and bread, vegetables, yogurt, and chicken thighs. He opened the freezer and got lucky. A frozen pizza.
“You’re in luck.” Serrano preheated the oven and went back into the kitchen. Megan’s eyes were red. “It’s going to be fine, sweetie,” Serrano said.