All Dressed in White

3

When Laurie walked into her office, the woman waiting for her immediately rose from the sofa to extend her hand.

“Ms. Moran, thank you so much for seeing me. My name is Sandra Pierce.” The handshake was firm, and was accompanied by direct eye contact, but Laurie could see that the woman was nervous. Her words sounded rehearsed, and her voice quivered when she spoke.

“Your assistant was very kind to let me wait here. I’m afraid I had a bit of a meltdown. I hope she’s not in trouble. She was very kind to me.”

Laurie placed one hand gently on the woman’s elbow. “Please, Grace already explained that you were quite upset. Is everything okay?”

In a quick scan of her office, Laurie was certain that the picture frame on her desk was at a slightly different angle. She wouldn’t have noticed the subtle movement of any other item, but that particular possession was especially important. For five years, her office had been devoid of any family photographs. She didn’t want her coworkers at the studio to be faced with a constant reminder that her husband had been murdered, and that the crime was still unsolved. But once the police had identified Greg’s killer, she had framed this picture-the last one she, Timmy, and Greg had taken as a family-and kept it on her desk.

The woman nodded, but still seemed as though she might break down at the slightest provocation. Laurie led her back to the sofa, where she might be able to calm down.

“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.’ ”