So Sweet a Changeling: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 6)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Johnny, Friday

He woke what seemed like seconds after finally dozing off after another night of tossing and turning, worrying about Val. His eyes felt like they had grains of sand under the lids, and he felt achy and sluggish. He feared that he couldn't go into work today, and maybe that was for the best, because he hadn't been at his best yesterday.

Val still hadn't contacted anyone, nor had she updated her social feeds, which, to be fair, she didn't do much anyway; the two of them had mainly used Facebook when it first came out to share pictures of their boys, but now that they were grown they had their own accounts and were very select on what pictures of theirs went out into the ether, so there was very little reason to use it now.

Val still hadn't made any purchases on her cards, nor had she withdrawn any money from an ATM. All yesterday, while he'd tried to work, he'd continued checking, and he'd been distracted and ineffective the entire day, making Joe fill in the gaps. Joe, to his credit, hadn't complained, and had even told him to go home and concentrate on finding Val, but Johnny knew he wouldn't do any better at home, that all he'd be doing was pacing the floor; there wasn't anything he could do in a silent house that he couldn't do with his brother nearby, a brother who hadn't chilled him out, unlike his sons and his mother, maybe because Joe understood how this had all come about and felt partly responsible.

He'd promised himself he would go to the police today if she hadn't made contact, and yet even getting out of bed seemed a herculean task right now.

He stared at the alarm clock. Some internal switch in his head must have woken him up for work. If only it had let him keep sleeping, because he was sure he'd last checked it at four in the morning, but there was no way he could make himself go back to sleep now, because he'd already started worrying again.

He grabbed his phone, which rested on the night table, and saw that he had a few texts from Vic and Tilly, who apparently had gotten up early for the first time in their lives. The texts almost seemed to talk over each other:

We have Mom's phone.

We took Mom's phone while you were sleeping and didn't want to wake you. We fed Callie and took her for a walk so you don't have to.

We have her passcode, it's the date of your anniversary. Do you feel bad now?

I'm talking to this Grant Clutchey on Tinder, telling him who I am and asking if he's seen Mom. We didn't think you should do it because he might think you'll do something bad to him.

I'm checking her call history. There's this doctor she called not too long ago. Has she been sick recently?

Jesus, had she? Wouldn't that be the cherry at the top of this sundae of misery, for her to be sick as well as missing. He couldn't remember her complaining of any maladies, though. Why would she be seeing a doctor?

He sent a text to each of his sons. Let me know what this Grant Clutchey says and I have no idea why she's seeing a doctor. Can you find out what kind of doctor they are?

He lay back down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Then he considered sending each of his sons an I'm sorry text, but he knew it would sound hollow to them. They weren't ready to forgive him yet, and any further apologies would only feel like shoves while they were walking on a slippery log over raging rapids. Their only concern now was finding their beloved mother, and that they were informing him at all of what they were doing to find her was more than he deserved.

Suddenly his phone beeped with a text. Irrationally he hoped it was Val, even though he knew she didn't have her phone. When he looked at the screen, though, he saw that it was Melody.