Come Home

  This novel is dedicated, with deepest gratitude, to Jen Enderlin, my amazing editor and friend.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraphs

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Lisa Scottoline

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Physician, heal thyself.

  —The Holy Bible, Luke 4:23

  It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

  —Sherlock Holmes in The Adventures of the Beryl Coronet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  Chapter One

  Jill stopped on the stairway, listening. She thought she heard a voice calling her from outside, but she’d been wrong before. It was probably the rushing of the rain, or the lash of the wind through the trees. Still, she listened, hoping.

  “Babe?” Sam paused on the stair, resting his hand on the banister. He looked back at her, his eyes a puzzled blue behind his glasses. “Did you forget your phone?”

  “No, I thought I heard something.” Jill didn’t elaborate. She was in her forties, old enough to have a past and wise enough to keep her thoughts about it to herself.

  “What?” Sam asked, patiently. It was almost midnight, and they’d been on their way to bed. The house was dark except for the glass fixture above the stairwell, and the silvery strands in Sam’s thick, dark hair glinted in the low light. Their chubby golden retriever, Beef, was already upstairs, looking down at them from the landing, his buttery ears falling forward.

  “It’s nothing, I guess.” Jill started back up the stairs, but Beef swung his head toward the front of the house and gave an excited bark. His tail started to wag, and Jill turned, too, listening again.

  Jill! Jill!

  “It’s Abby!” Jill heard it for sure, this time. The cry resonated in her chest, speaking directly to her heart. She turned around and hurried for the entrance hall, and Beef scampered downstairs after her, his heavy butt getting ahead of him, like a runaway tractor-trailer.

  “Abby who?” Sam called after her. “Your ex’s kid?”

  “Yes.” Jill reached the front door, twisted the deadbolt, flicked on the porch light, and threw open the door. Abby wasn’t there, and Jill didn’t see her because it was so dark. There were no streetlights at this end of the block, and the rain obliterated the outlines of the houses and cars, graying out the suburban scene. Suddenly, a black SUV with only one headlight drove past, spotlighting a silhouette that Jill would know anywhere. It was Abby, but she was staggering down the sidewalk as if she’d been injured.

  “Sam, call 911!” Jill bolted out of the house and into the storm, diagnosing Abby on the fly. It could have been a hit-and-run, or an aneurysm. Not a stroke, Abby was too young. Not a gunshot or stab wound, in this neighborhood.

  Jill tore through the rain. Beef bounded ahead, barking in alarm. The neighbor’s motion-detector went on, casting a halo of light on their front lawn. Abby stumbled off the sidewalk. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and dropped to the ground. Abby took a few more faltering steps, then collapsed, crumpling to the grass.

  “Abby!” Jill screamed, sprinting to Abby’s side, kneeling down. Abby was conscious, but crying. Jill reached for her pulse and scanned her head and body for signs of injury, and there were none. Rainwater covered Abby’s face, streaking her mascara and blackening her tears. Her hair stuck to her neck, and rain plastered her thin sundress to her body. Her pulse felt strong and steady, bewildering Jill. “Abby, Abby, what is it?”

  “You have to … hold me.” Abby raised her arms. “Please.”

  Jill gathered Abby close, shielding her from the rain. She’d held Abby so many times before, and all the times rushed back at her, as if her very body had stored the memories, until that very moment. Jill flashed on the time Abby had fallen off her Rollerblades, breaking an ankle. Then the time Abby had gotten a C on her trig final. The time she didn’t get picked for the travel soccer team. Abby had always been a sensitive little girl, but she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and Jill had never seen her cry so hard.

  “Abby, honey, please, tell me, and I can help.”

  “I can’t say it … it’s so awful.” Abby sobbed, and Jill caught a distinct whiff of alcohol on her breath and came up to speed. Abby wasn’t injured, she’d been drinking. Jill hadn’t seen her in three years, and Abby had grown up; she’d be nineteen now. Abby sobbed harder. “Jill, Dad’s dead … he’s dead.”

  “What?” Jill gasped, shocked. Her ex-husband was in excellent health, still in his forties. “How?”

  “Somebody … killed him.” Abby dissolved into tears, her body going limp, clinging to Jill. “Please, you have to … help me. I have to find out … who did it.”

  Jill hugged her closer, feeling her grief and struggling to process what had happened. She couldn’t imagine William as a murder victim, or a victim of any kind, for that matter, but her first thought was of his daughters, Abby and Victoria, and her own daughter, Megan. The news would devastate all of them, Megan included. William was her stepfather, but the only father she’d ever known. Her real father had died before she was born.

  “Babe, what are you doing? Let’s get her into the house!” Sam shouted, to be heard over the rain. He was kneeling on Abby’s other side, though Jill didn’t know when he’d gotten there.

  “William’s been murdered,” Jill told him, sounding numb, even to herself.

  “I heard. We’re not calling 911, she’s just drunk.” Sam squinted against the brightness of the motion-detector light. Raindrops soaked his hair and dappled his polo shirt. “Let me take her arm. Lift her on one, two, three,” he counted off, tugging Abby’s ar
m.

  “Okay, go.” Jill took Abby’s other arm, and together they hoisted her, sobbing, to her feet, gathered her purse, and half walked and half carried her toward the house, sloshing through the grass, with Beef at their heels.

  Jill tried to collect her thoughts, which were in turmoil. She’d always dreamed of seeing Abby again, but not in these circumstances, and she dreaded telling Megan about William. But as agonized as she felt for the girls, Jill wouldn’t shed a tear for her ex-husband. There was a reason she had divorced the man, and it was a whopper.

  And evidently, not only the good died young.

  Chapter Two

  “Come in and sit down, honey. Here, right here.” Jill helped Abby to the kitchen island, catching Sam’s eye. “Sam, I’ll take her from here; can you get us a glass of water and some towels?”

  “Sure.” Sam eased Abby off his arm and hustled to the sink, while Beef danced a circle around them, wagging his tail, missing the point entirely.

  “I can’t believe … Dad’s really gone.” Abby slumped heavily into the seat, covering her face with her hands, her body wracked with sobs. “It’s so … horrible … I don’t know what to do … I’m not ever … going to see him again.”

  “I know, sweetie, I know.” Jill sat down next to Abby and held her while she wept, and all her love for the girl came flooding back, coursing through her system, flowing warm and sure as lifeblood. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “I don’t know … who did this to him … or why … I still can’t even … believe it’s true.” Abby wept, bereft and broken. “I won’t talk to him … ever, ever again … that’s not possible, that’s not even … possible … and I don’t know what to do.”

  “I know, I understand.” Jill hugged her closer, trying to warm her with her body, feeling every inch like her mother, all over again. Abby’s real mother had died when she was only four years old, and Jill had been her stepmother for eight years, raising Abby and her older sister Victoria for most of their childhood.

  “I live at home and … even though Dad was, like, away a lot … I knew … I could call him … and ask him stuff.”

  “You poor thing.” Jill looked up when Sam brought her the water glass and set it down on the island.

  “Here we go,” he said quietly, meeting her eye with concern. “You okay, babe?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Jill nodded, but she was fighting her own tears. It killed her to hear Abby’s hoarse, choking sobs, echoing in the quiet house.

  “Okay, I’ll get the towels, be right back.” Sam patted Jill’s shoulder, then left for upstairs.

  “And he took care … of the bills … and everything in the house … and I don’t know how … to do everything … all by myself … and now … I’m all alone … like, there’s no one.”

  “There’s me, Abby. You have me,” Jill said, without a second thought, and the next few words arrived unbidden, as if they’d been waiting offstage for their cue. “I love you, honey, and I always will.”

  “Oh, God, I love you, too.” Abby looked up in Jill’s embrace, her eyes brimming with tears. Mascara marred her cheeks, and the fair skin on her cheeks was mottled with emotion. “Jill, I love you, so much … you’re my mom … and you always will be and you always were.”

  “It’s okay now, honey. I’m here.” Jill wiped tears and makeup from Abby’s cheeks, comforting her. “Don’t cry, it’s okay.”

  “I don’t know why you still even … love me.” Abby shook her head, bewildered. Tears spilled from her eyes. “I don’t even deserve … to be here, with you.”

  “Of course you do, honey.” Jill’s heart broke for her. “What a thing to say. Of course you do.”

  “No, I don’t … I don’t … you called and called … and I didn’t even call you back … I wanted to, I did, but Dad said not to … I was afraid to … he’d go ballistic if he found out … that’s why I didn’t.” Abby cried, her gaze on Jill, pleading. “I’m so sorry … I feel so guilty … and I’m so sorry … I had nowhere else to go … I feel like such a jerk.”

  “It’s okay, honey.” Jill’s throat caught, and she hugged Abby again, cradling her. “You know if I had it my way, we would’ve talked all the time.” Jill had done everything in her power to stay in touch with the girls, but William had demanded she stop trying to contact them, even threatening her with a restraining order. She’d hired a lawyer to see if she had any legal recourse, but she didn’t, and the lawyer had advised her that opposing a restraining order would mean that the girls had to testify, and she couldn’t bring herself to do that to them.

  “I don’t know … how you could still love me … after so long, like three years.”

  “Love doesn’t go away, not this kind of love.” Jill hadn’t seen the girls since that awful night, but the rupture still felt as fresh as yesterday.

  “I know … I’m the one who did the bad thing … the way I treated you … you tried so hard to talk to us.”

  “Don’t worry about it for a minute. Divorce is hard and weird, and it’s not your fault, at all.” Jill felt Abby’s body shudder with each sob. William would have done anything to get her back for the divorce, even if it meant hurting Abby and Victoria, but she didn’t want to think about him now, just Abby.

  “How can you forgive me … I’m such a terrible person … and I knew if I came here, you’d be so nice.”

  “Honey, of course I would, and I’m glad you did, even on this sad day. Especially on this sad day. You’ve come … to the right place.” Jill stopped just short of saying, you’ve come home.

  “Thanks, so much.” Abby burrowed her head in Jill’s shoulder. “I really do love you … and I really missed you … so much … and I’m sorry I didn’t call you back … I hoped you knew … I didn’t forget you.”

  “I did know, and that’s why I stopped, too. You know that I thought of you and Victoria, all the time.”

  “I never stopped loving you … Jill, or wishing … I could see you.”

  “I know, sweetie. I always loved you, too. You know that.” Jill felt her chest tighten, her anger like a fist at the ready. She hoped William was burning in hell right this minute. It felt strange to have such hate for him and such love for Abby, both at once. “Breathe, honey. Just breathe, and I have Kleenex here. Want some? That’ll help.”

  “Okay … yes … good idea.” Abby released her, and Jill reached for the box of Kleenex, pulled out a few, and handed them to Abby.

  “Here we go. Blow your nose, then have a sip of water.”

  “Yuck, I’m so snotty … I always cry like such a … dumb baby.” Abby took the tissues, mopped her eyes and cheeks, then blew her nose noisily. “Gross.”

  “Here, take some more.” Jill took the dirty tissues, handed Abby a bunch more, and Abby blew her nose again, then surrendered the soiled ones to Jill.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Jill handed her another few tissues, and Abby sniffled, wiping her eyes, her tears subsiding.

  “I feel like such a … little kid.”

  “Everybody feels like a little kid when they cry. Ready for some water?” Jill handed Abby the water glass, and Abby took it with two hands, her fingernails polished dark purple.

  “Thanks.” Abby drank thirstily, and Jill appraised her with a maternal eye. Abby’s eyes were bloodshot and sunken, as if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep, and her dress was too thin for the weather, clinging wetly to a body that was shapely, if a little too skinny. Her dark blonde hair dripped with rainwater.

  “Need more water?” Jill looked over as Sam returned with the towels.

  “Here we go, babe.”

  “Thanks.” Jill took the towels and set one on the island as Abby put the water down.

  “No more water, thanks.”

  “Take a towel.” Jill placed the towel around Abby’s shoulders, rubbing her upper arms to warm her. “Better, honey?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Abby’s chest heaved once, then again, and she sniffled.
/>
  “More Kleenex?”

  “No, thanks. Whew.” Abby seemed to be getting her bearings, straightening up in the seat, blinking to clear her eyes. She dried her face on the towel’s edge, leaving streaks of pinkish blusher and lip gloss. “Oops. Sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jill handed her the other towel, and Abby flopped it onto her head and twisted it into a turban.

  “I just can’t believe Dad’s really gone.” Abby sighed deeply, her lower lip trembling.

  “I know, I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “Sorry I lost it like that.” Abby shook her head, her lovely eyes shining, brown as earth itself.

  “Don’t be. It’s an impossible thing to go through.”

  “Well, I’m not buzzed anymore, that’s for sure.”

  Jill patted her arm. “Let me get you some coffee, okay? Warm you up?”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “Still take it black?” Jill got up from the island and went around to the coffeemaker.

  “Yes, like you.” Abby brightened, adjusting the towel on her head. She had matured into a natural beauty, but looked more like her younger self without the makeup; she still had her large, round eyes, a small, straight nose, fair skin, and lips shaped like a Cupid’s bow.

  “Okay, hang in.” Jill plucked a coffee pod from the bowl and popped it into the machine, then took a mug from the cabinet, slid it under the spout, and hit BREW. “How about something to eat?”

  “I’d love that, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Great.” Jill felt better at the prospect. If she couldn’t cure something, she’d cook something. “Why don’t I make you some French toast?”

  “My favorite.” Abby managed a shaky smile, her eyes glistening. “You remember?”

  “Of course.” Jill smiled, then went to the refrigerator and retrieved a carton of eggs, bread, and a plastic bottle of two percent. “But the days of white bread are over. I have only whole wheat.”

  “That’s okay. Jeez, I miss your cooking.”

  Jill felt her heart ease, seeing Abby recover her composure. She brought the food to the counter, and the coffee brewed behind her, filling the air with a delicious aroma. “Sam, you want some coffee or French toast, too?”