Where Grace Has Gone

Book summary

When Grace disappears during a morning jog, her sisters, Liza and Betsy, are left shattered. A decade later, unsettling memories from their time in foster care lead Liza to believe Grace’s fate may be tied to their past. WHERE GRACE HAS GONE is a gripping psychological thriller about family secrets and confronting long-buried truths.

Excerpt from Where Grace Has Gone

Chapter 1

The alarm rang at six- thirty, shaking Liza out of a deep sleep.

She rose slowly, feeling slightly sick to her stomach. She grabbed her clothes from the chair and headed for the bathroom, keeping the door open. She dressed quickly in one of her sister’s, Betsy’s suits, a scarlet skirt with a canary yellow jacket. The outfit looked cheerful and bright, even if that wasn’t what Liza was feeling.

While Liza was drinking her hazel nut coffee in the small kitchen of her walk-up apartment, she turned on the early morning news. None of it was good, with no hope of any of it getting better.

She had been divorced now for seven years. The disappearance of Grace had eventually eroded a marriage that was already teetering. When Freddie left, so did half her income. So instead of the comfortable condo they shared, Liza was now living in a railroad flat, near downtown Chicopee.

Freddie had remarried an ER nurse, who made a nice living. And Liza was still waiting for Prince Charming. The closest she came was with Bernie, an accountant who took her to the dinner once a week on Saturday night - as long as it wasn’t tax season.

Liza finished her honey-dip donut and her black coffee and headed outdoors to her car.

She drove ten miles to the Catholic school where she had worked as the librarian for the past twelve years.

She was fifty-nine years old and unless a miracle occurred, she’d be working here for at least another six. That was if she were lucky, if the diocese didn’t close the school, the way they had been closing other schools in the district.

And then what?

Now and then, Betsy talked about moving to Florida, but Liza didn’t want to move.

Florida was too far away. There was always a chance, slight but real, that her sister Grace would come back and try to find her sisters and she would expect them to be living in the same place.

It would be ten years this August since Grace had disappeared.

Liza knew the odds. Still, she could hope that Grace had been kidnapped by a madman and some day she would escape. Or maybe Grace had hit her head on a rock and lost her memory but soon her memory would return and so would she. Without an actual body…

Liza arrived at school in record time.

The library was quiet, giving her a chance to work on designing her jewelry. She and Betsy had dreams too, of starting their own company, creating jewelry in brilliant colors, and naming the company By Grace. But the little bit of money that she put aside always got eaten up by something else.

A half an hour later, the eighth graders tumbled in, the boys pushing the girls, the girls giggling and shoving back, making a great deal of noise, and paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to Liza when she reprimanded them. Instead, they would stare back, unblinking, indifferent.

Liza sank down in her chair and thought about the years looming ahead, years and years of this and then what?

It was a depressing thought, something she tried not to dwell on.

Liza had no way of knowing that after years of a dull, gray, sad life, two things were going to happen today.

And her life was about to spiral forward, changing forever.

Chapter 2

When Liza got home on a dark, January day, she stopped at the mailbox and grabbed its contents, dropping several circulars on the concrete floor.

Bills and bills and more bills. Credit card companies demanding their money, an overdue cable bill, catalogs begging her to spend more money with credit card offers with 0% interest for the first year.

She snatched up the newspaper from the ground and walked up the steep staircase, hearing little Joelle crying from 4A and the Wheelers arguing in 5B. She fumbled with the key, which stuck, and opened her own door.

She entered the living room, dropped her school bag on the sofa.

She’d have a snack and head toward Betsy’s house, where she would borrow clothes for the coming week.

The January wind was howling, and she really didn’t feel like going to her sister’s. Betsy would offer her a glass of wine with some taco chips and salsa, and then she would empty out the duffel bag and stuff five more outfits in, complete with matching shoes and accessories. Betsy lived in a 6,000 square foot ranch house, decorated in shades of peaches and cream. There was always a lit fire in the den and vases of lilies everywhere. After leaving Betsy’s, it was hard for Liza to return to her own dismal apartment.

But this was her life.

She reminded herself that it was a life that Grace would never know.

She rose and a letter fell at her feet.

A letter from a lawyer.

Fear rose in her throat like vomit. She knew what this was about. She had hit Mario Vega with a ruler, when he wouldn’t stop throwing paper airplanes across the library. She hadn’t meant to do it. But the ruler was in her hand, and his arm was outstretched, and he had that cocky expression on his pudgy face, as he puffed out his belly, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d swung at him, leaving an ugly red mark on his flesh.

“I am going to sue you for this,” he spat.

But that was Friday and after she spent a fitful weekend, Mario came in, cheerful and rambunctious on Monday, leading her to believe he had forgotten all about it.

Maybe he had. But his mother hadn’t.

She drew a deep breath and tore the envelope open.

She scanned the writing. It was from the estate of her Uncle Willard.

She hadn’t known that her mother’s brother had an estate. He had died six months ago in Ohio, and she hadn’t even attended the funeral.

She sank back down onto the sofa. It appeared that he had left ten-thousand dollars each to Betsy and Liza and Grace.

Her heart quickened. This was the answer to her prayers, the miracle, she had been hoping for. She and Betsy could finally start their jewelry line.

She reached inside her bag for her cell phone to call Betsy. Maybe Betsy already knew.

And then the intercom rang, indicating that there was someone downstairs wanting to be let in.

It was four-thirty on a winter’s afternoon, and she wasn’t expecting company.

Liza walked over to the bedroom window and opened the shade. There was a police car parked outside.

And she knew. Somehow, she just knew.

Chapter 3

It was over.

As though it hadn’t been over on August 9th in that little peaceful Cape Cod town.

With a hammering heart, she pressed the buzzer and left the door open, as she heard their heavy footsteps on the stairs. They nodded at her, two stiff and solemn men, dressed in black overcoats with black scarves and scuffed up shoes. She watched as they stepped on the threadbare carpet, where the mail was still on the floor and her school bag lay open, and the newspaper was on top of the television.

“You found her,” Liza whispered as she took a few faltering steps behind them.

One detective, a stout, balding older man with a sad, premature lined face and blunt features, shook his head.

“My sister, Grace, you found her body,” Liza repeated in a whisper.

“No, we did not. I am Detective Rogue, and this is Detective Bergeron.” The younger one, a black man, with a smooth complexion and big brown eyes answered as both detectives flashed their badges at her. “Mrs. Winters, why don’t you have a seat?”

Her knees buckled as she sank down on a wobbly legged chair and clasped her hands in front of her. She pointed to the two chairs and both detectives sat, perched.

“It’s like this, Mrs. Winters.” The older detective was talking to her but looking at the blank television screen, as though he was uncomfortable meeting Liza’s eyes. “We caught a serial killer. This man has been on our radar for some time. He has been a suspect in the murder of seven women from California to Alabama to Rhode Island and we can place him in the general vicinity of Cape Cod the week your sister disappeared.”

“Has he confessed?” Liza asked.

The detective hesitated for a second. “Not to Grace’s murder but to some of the others.”

“Well, why won’t he confess to Grace’s murder? Doesn’t he realize that she deserves a decent burial? If he could just tell us where she is.”

“He doesn’t remember.”

“How could he not remember? How do you kill a woman and have no memory?”

Her cell phone rang. Liza looked at the caller. Betsy.

Liza remained mute, sitting rigid and impassive “Does my sister know?” was all Liza could manage to utter.

“No, we stopped here first. If you would like us to tell her, we can do that.”

“I’ll tell her,” Liza spoke quickly and firmly. “This man, who has conveniently forgotten that he killed my sister-”

“He has a brain disorder.” The black detective stopped dead, his jaw hanging. “He might remember someday. But then again, he might not.”

“So,” Liza rose clumsily, “it’s possible that he didn’t kill her at all, that it’s just one big coincidence?”

“It’s the same MO. This…” The detective coughed feebly. “He went for middle- aged woman, always alone. He attacked two runners before and killed one of them. The other survived and was able to identify him from a line-up.”

“But Grace?”

“Mrs. Winters, you should know that we consider this case closed.” He gave an odd, stiff nod.

She didn’t respond, she couldn’t respond. She watched as they walked to the door, and they filed out silently. As she sat there, ineffectual, and helpless.

She reached for her coat, which was still on the chair by the unopened mail.

It was time to tell Betsy.