Chapter 3 - The Phone Call in the Rain
Grant didn't answer immediately. He let the phone vibrate three times while he composed his face, forcing the murderous tension out of his shoulders.
"Answer it on speaker," Camille whispered, her fingers steady as she worked through a knot near Lila's neck. "See what she wants."
Grant tapped the screen and held the phone between them. "Rebecca?"
"Grant!" Rebecca's voice came through the speaker, crisp, professional, and dripping with warm concern. "Hey, I was just checking in. Did you get things squared away with the school counselor? I know how difficult they were being this morning."
"We're working on it," Grant said, his tone perfectly matching the tired, overwhelmed father persona he had worn for three months. "I took Lila to get her hair looked at. It got pretty bad."
A brief pause stretched over the line. "Oh? Where did you take her? I told you my stylist over on Oleander could come to the house. It might have been easier for Lila."
Camille caught Grant's eye and shook her head slightly.
"We just stopped at a place downtown," Grant replied smoothly. "Magnolia and Main. Small shop. The owner had an opening."
"Right," Rebecca said. Her voice didn't change, but Camille felt an instinctual chill run through the room. "Well, listen—I stopped by the port office this morning to clear out some of Natalie's old desk drawers. The staff wanted to donate her books, but I told them I'd check with you first. I can bring them over tonight around six. I'll bring lasagna."
"That's generous, Rebecca," Grant said. "Six works."
"Great. How is Lila doing? Has she... said anything today?"
The question was delivered with practiced casually, but Grant didn't miss the underlying weight. Neither did Camille.
"Same as always," Grant said, looking down at his daughter. "She hasn't said a word since July. The counselor thinks we should look into an inpatient facility in Raleigh."
A noticeable sigh of relief drifted through the phone speaker. "Oh, Grant... that might be for the best. You can't carry this alone. I'll see you at six, okay?"
"See you then, Rebecca."
Grant ended the call and tossed the phone onto the empty styling tray.
"She was testing me," Grant said softly. "She wanted to know if the school call was about Lila speaking."
"And now she thinks you're defeated," Camille said, making a final, clean cut through a hopelessly fused clump of hair near the nape of Lila's neck. "She thinks you're ready to hand Lila over to an institution where nobody will listen to her."
"That gives us roughly eight hours," Grant said, his eyes darkening. "Eight hours before she shows up at my house."
"To do what?" Camille asked.
"To find out what was in that blue folder," Grant said. He looked at Camille. "I need to get into Miller's Impound Lot. But I can't leave Lila alone, and I can't take her with me."
Camille stopped her comb mid-stroke. She looked at Lila, who was staring up at her with trusting, wide blue eyes.
"She stays here," Camille said without hesitation.
Grant frowned. "Camille, you don't know these people. If Rebecca suspects—"
"This salon has a deadbolt on the back door, reinforced glass on the front windows, and a security system connected directly to the police department," Camille interrupted, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Plus, my brother is a sergeant with the New Hanover County Sheriff's Office. He's off duty today, and he carries a Glock 19."
Grant stared at her for a long second, re-evaluating the woman in the linen apron. "Your brother is a cop?"
"David Harper," Camille said. "He was five years behind you in high school. He knows who you are, Grant. If I call him and tell him I need him sitting in my back office for four hours while I work on a client, he won't ask questions until I tell him to."
Grant took a deep breath, the first real breath he seemed to have taken all morning. "Why are you doing this, Camille? You don't know us."
Camille looked at the reflection of the little girl sitting in her chair—a child who had spent eighty-seven days trapped in silence because a man with a cigar had threatened her father's life.
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"Because three years ago, my sister went through a door she shouldn't have," Camille said softly, her eyes flashing with old, unhealed grief. "And nobody listened to her until it was too late. I'm not letting it happen to Lila."
Grant nodded once, a gesture of absolute respect. "What's your brother's number?"
