“I’m sorry, I’m not usually such a nervous person,” Sandra Pierce began. She folded her hands on her lap to keep them from shaking. “It’s just, I feel sometimes as though I’m running out of options. The local police, the state police, prosecutors, the FBI. I’ve lost track of the number of private investigators. I even hired a psychic. He told me Amanda would be reincarnated in South America in the near future. I never tried that again.”
The words were flowing so quickly that Laurie was having a hard time following, but she only needed to hear so much to know that Sandra Pierce was yet another person who thought that Under Suspicion could solve her problems. Now that the show was a hit, it seemed there was no limit to the number of people who were certain that a reality-based television show could fix every injustice. Every day, the show’s Facebook page was filled with intricate tales of woe, each of them claiming to be more tragic than the last-stolen cars, cheating husbands, nightmare landlords. There was no question that some of the people asking for help truly needed it, but few of them seemed to understand that Under Suspicion investigated unsolved major crimes, not minor offenses. Even when legitimate crime victims or their families contacted her, Laurie had been forced to turn cases down. She could only produce so many specials.
“Please, Mrs. Pierce, there’s no need to rush,” Laurie said, even though she was feeling the time before her meeting with Brett ticking away. She went to the door and asked Grace to bring them two coffees. She had been upset with Grace for allowing a random person into her office, but now she understood why she had. There was something about this woman that called for compassion.
When she turned to face Sandra Pierce again, she noticed that the woman was quite attractive. She had a long, narrow face and shoulder-length, ash-blonde hair. Her eyes were clear blue. Laurie might have guessed Sandra was not much older than her own thirty-six years if not for some telltale wrinkles on her neck.
“Grace said you’re from Seattle?” Laurie asked.
“Yes. I thought about writing or calling, but realized you hear from hundreds of people every day. I know it probably seems crazy to you to fly across the country uninvited and unannounced, but I had to do it this way. I had to make sure I didn’t waste the opportunity. I think you’re the one I’ve been waiting for-not you, I’m not a stalker or anything, but your show.”
Laurie was starting to regret the decision to hear this woman out. She needed time to finalize her presentation to Brett. What was it about Sandra Pierce that caused her to drop her guard and listen to her? She was on the verge of explaining she needed to prepare for a meeting when she noticed the button pinned to Sandra’s blazer.
On the button was a photograph of an absolutely beautiful young woman. Her resemblance to Sandra was uncanny. A graphic of a yellow ribbon appeared just beneath the girl’s face. Something about the photograph seemed familiar.
“You’re here about her?” Laurie said, gesturing to the pin.
Sandra glanced down and, as if reminded, sunk a hand into her jacket pocket and retrieved a matching pin. She handed it to Laurie. “Yes, it’s my daughter. I’ve never stopped looking.”
Now that Laurie had a closer look, the girl’s smile tugged at a distant memory. She hadn’t seen this particular photograph, but she recognized the smile. “You said your last name’s Pierce.” She hoped that saying it aloud would help her remember.
“Yes, Sandra. And my daughter is Amanda Pierce. My daughter is the person the media calls ‘the Runaway Bride.’ ”
4
The Runaway Bride. Laurie remembered the case immediately once she heard that phrase. Amanda Pierce was a beautiful blonde bride, about to marry a handsome lawyer she first met in college. All of the plans were made for a luxury destination wedding in Palm Beach, Florida. And then the morning before the big day, she simply disappeared.
If that story had broken at any other point in Laurie’s life, she knew that she would have recognized Amanda Pierce’s photograph instantly. She probably would have even recognized Amanda’s mother, Sandra. At another time, the story of a young bride who vanished into thin air just before her dream wedding would have been right up her alley. She knew that some people speculated that Amanda developed cold feet and started a new life somewhere else, away from her overbearing family, or perhaps with a secret paramour. Others believed that she and the groom had a late-night fight, leading to a violent outburst-“it’s just a matter of time before her body turns up.”
But even though the story was the kind of thing that would normally draw her attention, Laurie had not followed the case closely. Amanda Pierce disappeared only weeks after Laurie’s own husband, Greg, had been fatally shot in front of their then-three-year-old son, Timmy. While Amanda’s face was being broadcast across the country, Laurie was on leave from work, oblivious to events outside of her own home.
She remembered turning off the television thinking that if the bride hadn’t gotten cold feet, then something terrible must have happened to her. She remembered that she felt at one with the family and what they must be suffering.
She continued to study the picture, remembering that terrible day. Greg had taken Timmy to the playground. She had given Greg a quick kiss as he left with Timmy on his shoulders. It was the last time she was to feel his lips warm against hers.
Ironically, Amanda Pierce’s wedding was to have been at the Grand Victoria Hotel. Laurie remembered being there and Greg pulling her into the ocean despite her laughing protests that the water was too cold.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the office door, followed by Grace carrying a tray containing two cups of coffee and some of the pastries Laurie had purchased from Bouchon. Laurie smiled at Grace, noticing that she had opted to offer her favorite-the almond croissant-as a choice for Mrs. Pierce.
“Can I get you anything else?” Grace wasn’t exactly traditional, but in the ways that mattered, she had good old-fashioned manners.
“No, dear, but thank you.” Sandra Pierce managed to smile.
Once Grace left, Laurie turned to Sandra. “I can’t say that I’ve heard anything about your daughter’s disappearance any time recently.”
“Neither have I and that’s the problem. Even when she first went missing we suspected that the police were only going through the motions. There was no sign of a struggle in Amanda’s room. No reports of anything unusual happening on the resort property. And the Grand Victoria-that’s where the wedding was to take place-couldn’t be any safer. I could see the police looking at their watches and their cell phones as though Amanda was bound to turn up back home in New York, confessing to cold feet.”
Laurie wondered if Sandra’s perceptions about the police investigation might be biased. Even from the limited television snippets she had seen at the time, Laurie recalled seeing teams of volunteers searching the resort property for any sign of the missing bride. “As I remember, there was a considerable effort to find her,” she said. “It was on the national news for weeks.”
“Oh sure, they checked off all the boxes of what they’re supposed to do when someone disappears,” Sandra said, her tone bitter. “And we were also out there in front of the cameras every day pleading for the public to help us find her.”
“And who was the we?” Laurie walked to her desk to retrieve a notepad. She could already feel herself getting pulled into Sandra’s story.
“My husband, Walter. Or ex-husband now, but Amanda’s father. And her fiancé, Jeff Hunter. Really the whole wedding party was involved: my other children, Charlotte and Henry; two of Amanda’s college friends, Meghan and Kate; and then two of Jeff’s college friends, Nick and Austin. We handed out fliers all over the local area. At first, the search was focused on the resort property. Then we moved out from there. It tore my heart to see them searching isolated areas, canals, construction sites, and swamps around the coastline. After a month, they stopped looking entirely.”