Page 48 of Lost Lake
“Of course you do. Stop back before you leave. I’ll have the cookies packaged to take to Lucy for when you find her.”
Gabe nodded and swiftly jogged down the steps before he let Mrs. Z. catch any doubt in his expression over finding his little princess.
“You didn’t see a journal in the house, did you?” El asked when she caught up to him in the middle of the driveway.
He shook his head. “She could have brought it with her, and it’s in the van.”
“I’ll text Sierra to be on the lookout for it and the missing tablet.” She woke up her phone and thumbed the screen quickly before shoving it back in her pocket. “Do you think the guy in the picture is the father of Kenna’s unborn child?”
“Seems possible.” He scanned the other bungalows, looking for security cameras but not seeing anything mounted on the exteriors.
Disappointment settled in. He couldn’t lose hope. He had to stay positive, not only for himself, but for El. As much as she was acting like a tough detective, he knew her insides were tangled up with past guilt. Maybe she was even too stressed to see how much he cared about her and wanted to help her. Not only in her life, but in this investigation.
Gabe never expected to be back there. Never expected to lay eyes on this sprawling ranch painted a crisp white with black shutters and trim. Never expected to see the house he’d come home to every day for eighteen years. But there he was, standing out front of his parents’ house.
El inched closer to him. “You don’t have to do this. I can question them on my own.”
“They won’t talk to you or anyone in law enforcement.” He took in a deep breath. “Might not even tell me anything since I was once a state trooper.”
“But really, all we want to ask is if they know how to locate Kenna’s parents.”
“With their distrust of law enforcement, they’ll think we want to arrest her parents. Not that they care about anyone but themselves, but they’d never want to be considered snitches.”
El rested her hand on his arm. “Maybe they’ve changed.”
He didn’t have to think about that for even a second. “No way. They’re career criminals all the way, getting deeper in as time goes by. And their choice of livelihood means we can’t even meet each other halfway.”
“Then maybe we should take a moment to pray that they’ll be forthcoming.” She took his hand and began praying.
He listened and believed what she was asking for, but did he really believe prayer presented on his family’s behalf made a difference? He’d offered prayer after prayer for years without any response from God, so he’d stopped praying.
Was he selling God short by doing that? Was God simply telling Gabe it wasn’t the right time for his family to change now but they could in the future? Or had he read God’s answer right and his family would never change?
El ended the prayer and squeezed his hand. “Ready?”
Ready? Was he ever. Maybe it was her comforting, encouraging, and loving gaze that left him thinking he could do anything.
“Let’s do this.” He led the way up the familiar walk and rang the doorbell.
Who would answer? His mother or his father?
His gut clenched. He couldn’t do this. He took a step back. Then another.
El moved closer, letting the edge of her hand touch his. The warmth. The compassion. Caring. Support. He could do this. With her at his side. With God at his side.
He raised his shoulders.
The door slowly opened. An older version of his mother stood before him. Her hair had grayed, her skin wrinkled, and her shoulders were stooped.
Her eyes lit up. “Gabe! Oh, my goodness. My Gabey boy. I always prayed you’d come home.”
She reached her arms out to him. The little boy in him wanted to be swallowed up in them. The adult remembered the many times she’d forced him to go along with his father on a criminal activity. The adult took center stage, and he couldn’t accept a hug. “I’m not here on a personal call. Is Dad home?”
Her excitement faded. Slowly. As if she couldn’t let go of hope for reconciliation. His heart ached for her. For himself, too. But he couldn’t do anything about it unless they’d changed.
Her posture stiffened. “He won’t be back until dinnertime. You could stay and have dinner with us.”
“Thank you, but no,” he said as politely as he could muster. “Actually, I don’t want to talk to him and was hoping he wouldn’t be here. Can we come in for a minute?”
