Discarded by M. Hunter (fantasy books to read .txt) 📗

‘It’s always nice to meet a fan,’ I say, releasing the door so that I can allow my hands to fidget and twitch behind my back. ‘Do you have any identification?’

His head wobbles as he realises his error and he quickly reaches into his pocket, removing a small lanyard containing a picture of his face, rank, and identification number. Satisfied that I’m not dealing with a crazed fan looking to have their wicked way with me, I beckon him inside, for no reason other than the chill wind is giving my legs goosebumps. Heading into the kitchen, I boil the kettle and fix myself a much-needed cup of strong tea.

‘Would you like anything to drink?’ I offer, but am not surprised when he politely declines.

I’m about to ask him exactly why he has darkened my door so early on a Sunday when my brain finally whirs to life and connects the dots. I should have seen it sooner. Given his handsome face, spontaneity, and appearance today of all days, he must be an actor Maddie has hired to escort me to the book signing at Waterstones. Typical of Maddie to instigate a stunt to highlight the work I’ve done with the police in the last couple of years that has directly contributed to the books I’ve produced. I shouldn’t criticise, but I wish she’d warned me; I’m not going to be able to call in for that cooked breakfast on the way to the signing now either. Maybe that’s why she really phoned last night, to check I’d be home when her actor arrived.

I freeze as last night’s call fires fresh in my mind, and I think back to the black and white photograph of Faye McKenna she emailed to me. I checked for the name on the Anna Hunter Foundation database, but I didn’t think to check on the missingpeople.org site where I host a page for my sister.

‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’ I say to Rick. ‘I need to get dressed and check my emails before we go.’

He nods his understanding, but makes no movement towards pulling out a chair to sit on.

Tucking the laptop beneath my arm, I carry my tea back to my bedroom and drop the computer on the bed, before washing and quickly dressing in the outfit Maddie had selected. It’s a cream blouse with purple flower petals, matched with a violet skirt that apparently highlights my femininity and shows off my ‘fabulous legs’. I don’t care what Maddie wants, I will be wearing tights today, based on the chill in the wintry air.

Satisfied that my hair and makeup are passable, I put on my glasses and hunker over the laptop. It’s nearly eight now, so we have plenty of time before the signing is due to start. Loading up the missingpeople.org site, I type Faye McKenna’s name into the search box, and view the results. There’s one hit, and sure enough the picture that presents itself is of the same girl Maddie emailed over, albeit she is several years younger. She has dark hair tied in pigtails, uneven teeth, and large square prescription glasses that do little to compliment her round face. According to the site, she was twelve when she went missing in November 1998. There is a message from her family begging her to get in touch, but little other detail. I can only assume someone in her family sent the picture to Maddie’s office in a cry for help; perhaps they haven’t heard about the Anna Hunter Foundation, and given the success Jack and I experienced in locating Cassie Hilliard and Sally Curtis, maybe they were just hoping to appeal to my better nature and stimulate some interest in their case.

I hear Rick approaching, but thankfully he makes no attempt at pushing open my bedroom door. He clears his throat. ‘Miss Hunter? I’m sorry to hurry you, but we really should be making a move; time is of the essence.’

‘Won’t be a minute,’ I call back, opening an internet search window and typing in Faye’s name and disappearance date. There are a number of internet articles that open, mostly from local Oldham-based news agencies. The same picture as on the missingpeople.org site is used in the articles. I skim-read, conscious that Rick has remained just the other side of the door. According to one, Faye was last seen waiting for a bus home from secondary school. She’d stayed back as a result of a school detention, and although one witness recalled seeing her siting at the bus stop, she never boarded the number eighteen bus that would have taken her back to her estate.

My heart goes out to her family. There are so many similar stories of children who just disappear, with no trace of who has taken them, nor the reason why. A neighbour is quoted as saying that Faye and her mum were such a close pair but Faye’s father hadn’t been on the scene for a number of years. Presumably he would have been the investigating team’s first suspect, but the article doesn’t allude to his identity.

Rick clears his throat again. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Hunter, we really must be going now. I was tasked with bringing you to the station as a matter of urgency.

I close the laptop lid, leaving the search page open so I can do some further digging later. At the very least I feel I should reach out to Faye’s mum and tell her how the Foundation might be able to provide some guidance or support.

Standing, I double-check my appearance in the mirror; it certainly isn’t the outfit I would have selected for today but I promised Maddie I would follow her instructions. When I pull open the door, Rick stands there, his mouth open.

‘Wow! I never realised just how beautiful you’d be in real life.’

I should have powdered my cheeks because I can feel how much they’re glowing right now.