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Liv snapped into focus. Ella.
“She was nervous about moving here,” Molly continued. “A new neighborhood, a new school in the fall. But she’s doing so well.”
Sarah nodded at Molly. “She’s doing great. And a hell of a lot better with you around than just Scott.”
“Which one is Ella?” Liv asked Molly, hoping her question didn’t seem odd.
Molly smiled at her. “Ella is my new stepdaughter. She’s right there,” she pointed, “in the blue shirt, sitting on the blanket.”
Liv leaned forward, on the edge of her seat. When she saw the girl, her breath caught.
Dark brown hair curling softly to her shoulders. Wide-set brown eyes framed by thick lashes. She could be Kristina’s daughter. Maybe.
Liv had been hoping for something more than maybe, though. For the heavens to open, for a beam of light to come down and rest upon the girl’s head, identifying her without a doubt as Gabriela. Her heart dropped with disappointment and she blinked away sudden tears.
Molly stood, grinning at the women. “I think it’s time for another unicorn margarita, don’t you think?”
“Hell yes,” Sarah said.
Soon the party wound down. Liv refused a second margarita, and not just because the strawberry-flavored drinks were cloyingly sweet. She didn’t want to forget why she was there: to gather information and get out. So far, she hadn’t discovered anything useful.
Everyone else was leaving, grabbing goody bags, giving hugs, and saying goodbye. The mothers clutched their daughters, clucking their tongues at the messes on the girls’ clothes while Molly grinned her wide-as-Main-Street smile.
Liv ended up behind two moms who whispered to each other as they put their daughters’ shoes on.
“I thought she’d be filming this,” one said. “I spent two hours getting myself and Hazel ready.”
The other mom sniffed. “I guess the little people of Durango aren’t invincible enough to be in her videos.”
Liv stepped past them, racking her mind for any reason to look through the house. She needed proof, something to connect Molly’s stepdaughter to Gabriela.
“Can I use your restroom?” she asked.
“It’s down the hall,” Molly said, motioning. “Last door on the right. But don’t leave yet! We didn’t even get a chance to talk.”
“Oh, I...”
Molly’s big brown eyes were pleading. “I told Chloe and Ella they could watch a movie after the party. I could use some company, too.”
Liv hesitated, but she was saved from having to answer by an Ashley/Melissa/Stephanie coming over to say goodbye. She headed down the hallway, her pulse quickening. Sneaking through Molly’s house, searching for evidence—it felt vaguely sordid.
The hallway had five doors—three on the right, two on the left. Liv could see the bathroom door at the end of the hall, open, the light on. Instead of heading that way, she opened the first door on the right. Inside was a pink daybed mounded with stuffed animals, and a few half-naked Barbie dolls strewn on the floor. Chloe’s room, most likely. Liv moved on to the next door. Nudging it open, she saw a queen-sized bed and an old-fashioned desk in the corner. The guest room/office Molly had shown in her live yesterday.
That left the two doors on the left, both shut. Holding her breath, pulse pounding, Liv gripped the doorknob of the first door and turned it.
A king-size bed took up most of the space—the master bedroom. She scanned the dresser and nightstands for pictures, maybe a photograph from their wedding, so she could compare Scott Wander’s face with her memory of Sam Howard. But the room didn’t look like it had been fully decorated; there was nothing on the furniture or walls. Liv considered rifling through the laundry basket—couldn’t those CSI experts find DNA on anything?—but dismissed the idea. She didn’t have time. She could hear Molly at the front door, thanking everyone for coming and encouraging Chloe to say goodbye politely.
Liv sucked in a breath and opened the final door. She took in the room: a light blue quilt on the bed, a bottle of mint-green nail polish, and a paperback Harry Potter book on the nightstand. Signs of a ten-year-old girl.
And next to the book, a framed picture. A photograph of Kristina, twenty-two years old, with baby Gabriela in her arms. Beside her, the man Liv knew as Sam Howard.
A thrill ran through her body. She itched to call Oliver and share the news, but instead she snapped a picture of the photograph with her phone.
“Everything okay, Liv?”
Liv whirled around, fumbling her phone back into her pocket. “I couldn’t find the bathroom.”
“It’s the last door on the right,” Molly said, eyes narrowing. “Like I told you.”
