What Janie Saw(24)

                Multitasking, getting things done. Nathan was doing it. Rafe, too. It was an exhilarating feeling, chasing down a lead, especially one on a case that was personal. It was also bittersweet. His grandfather had been a cop. His father hadn’t wanted to become one but had, all because of a missing child.

                Rafe’s brother.

                Rafe had long ago given up the hunt for Ramon. It had been thirty-six years, after all, and Rafe knew how to shove the memories aside, not that there were many. And today, the memories would only distract him from what he had to do.

                The Chaneys’ restored two-story home was just a mile into Adobe Hills and in an established neighborhood. A basketball hoop stood guard over the driveway, and a swing sat on the porch.

                It looked a lot like the house he’d grown up in.

                As soon as Janie pulled up behind him, parked and joined him, Rafe headed toward the porch and rang the bell. It was Mrs. Chaney who answered. Her hair was wild, as though it hadn’t been combed in a week. Her yellow-and-red-striped T-shirt was on inside out and didn’t go with her orange pants. Her green eyes were watery and bloodshot. She kept dabbing at them with a Kleenex. Judging by the lines on her face, she was about the same age as Rafe’s mother.

                Rafe wondered what she’d looked like last week—before her youngest son’s death.

                “Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Rafe said. “This is Janie Vincent, she was—”

                “Derek’s teacher.” She held out a trembling hand, and Rafe was glad he’d followed his instincts to bring her.

                “He talked a lot about you. I’m Judy Chaney.”

                “Derek was a talented artist,” Janie murmured, shaking Judy’s hand.

                Mrs. Chaney held the door open so they could walk into the living room. “We’re so glad you called, Sheriff. We’re desperate to know what’s going on and how we can help. This shouldn’t have happened.”

                She didn’t invite them to sit but seemed content to let them peruse their surroundings. The couch looked comfortable, inviting and well-used. A television dominated the room. There were two bookcases cluttered with books, knickknacks and photos. Above the fireplace were three portraits. The middle showed a family: mom, dad, two boys.

                Derek’s father was another tall blond.

                Flanking the family portrait were high-school graduation photos. The one on the left showed a craggy blond-haired young man with a crooked grin and kind eyes. The one on the left showed Derek, black-haired, no grin and guarded eyes. On the fireplace mantel was a basket full of sympathy cards.

                “We received twenty-two in the mail today.” Mr. Chaney entered the room from the kitchen. “Twenty-two.” His voice caught, and he faltered for a moment. “My wife’s only been able to open six.”

                Rafe cleared his throat. Five years ago, when his father had died, they’d been inundated with cards. Rafe’s mother cried over every one.

                “They’re from my friends at work,” Mrs. Chaney said.

                “Mine, too,” Mr. Chaney added.

                Mrs. Chaney added, “Some are also from family.”

                Rafe waited. He wasn’t getting the we-received-so-many-cards report because the family felt the need to talk. Both parents were looking at the card basket as if it were an enemy.