Claire Barnes is shattered when her husband, Greg, goes on a business trip and never returns.
Unwilling to just wait for the police to find him, Claire conducts her own investigation. Her best friend Drew helps her look for answers, but all she finds are troubling questions.
With every clue, she discovers that Greg may not be the man she thought she married.
While battling her growing feelings for Drew and raising her two young children, Claire must learn to live with the knowledge that the truth behind Gregβs disappearance may never be revealed.
Series:
Release Date:Β September 15, 2012
Publisher:Β Β Red Adept Publishing
Source:Β Provided by Publisher
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Reviewer’s Thoughts:
I liked this book because of the mystery aspect. It’s definitely a book for the ladies, though. At first, you’re terrified for Claire–her husband is missing, two small kids & a house to maintain and she has no idea what their finances are like because Greg had managed all of that.
It’s an emotional roller coaster as a few clues roll in here & there. Did Greg leave of his own free will? Is he dead or alive? Was he having an affair? Caught up in criminal activity? You are right there with Claire as she navigates all of the different emotions surrounding the possible reasons her husband would leave his idyllic life. Moretti portrayed a very honest look at how any of us would feel in this situation. Claire learns to accept that she’s on her own and learns to do repairs & chores around the house & even learns to pay the bills, etc. The story also adds in her in complicated relationship with her lifelong friend, Drew. I was always rooting for Claire’s well-being, whether she & Drew sort out their feelings or Greg turns up alive, should she move on? Take Greg back?…definitely a emotional ride up to the end.
I was just happy there was a resolution at the end of the story. I was so afraid Moretti was going to leave me hanging, but she didn’t! I’m not going to say it was a “happily ever after”, but I do think it was a believable ending.
A good read!
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Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Greg and Cody disappeared on the same day.
One or two Fridays a month, Greg and I hired a babysitter for date night. The idea was to take some time for ourselves and reconnect. The reality was significantly less romantic. We typically ate at Pesto Charlieβs due to some combination of availability and timing. Iβd order whatever seafood was on special, and Greg would get Chicken Picattaβlight on the sauce, of course. The food was always dependable, we never had to wait for table, and with the low lighting and heady aroma of Italian spices, the restaurant was atmospheric enough to check Date Night off our to-do lists.
A few times, we tried other places, but either the food wasnβt good, the service was poor, or weβd leave the restaurant late and miss the beginning of whatever movie we planned to see. Greg refused to go into a theater late. He called it rude and always clucked disapprovingly when others did so. So Pesto Charlieβs became something of a tradition, albeit not a very exciting one. Weβd get home between ten and ten-thirty, pay the sitter twenty bucks, and go to bed. Sometimes weβd make love, but not every time. Even date night wasnβt a guaranteed lay.
Greg was due back around one that Friday afternoon, having been on a business trip all week. He traveled for work more than I liked, but Iβd stopped complaining about the monthly trips years ago and just accepted them as a part of life. Greg and I worked for the same company, Advent Pharmaceuticals. He was a professional trainer, not a weight lifting trainer, but adult education for the corporate set. He taught various courses on compliance, regulations, and the science behind Adventβs drugs. He was based in Raritan, New Jersey, about ten miles from
One or two Fridays a month, Greg and I hired a babysitter for date night. The idea was to take some time for ourselves and reconnect. The reality was significantly less romantic. We typically ate at Pesto Charlieβs due to some combination of availability and timing. Iβd order whatever seafood was on special, and Greg would get Chicken Picattaβlight on the sauce, of course. The food was always dependable, we never had to wait for table, and with the low lighting and heady aroma of Italian spices, the restaurant was atmospheric enough to check Date Night off our to-do lists.
A few times, we tried other places, but either the food wasnβt good, the service was poor, or weβd leave the restaurant late and miss the beginning of whatever movie we planned to see. Greg refused to go into a theater late. He called it rude and always clucked disapprovingly when others did so. So Pesto Charlieβs became something of a tradition, albeit not a very exciting one. Weβd get home between ten and ten-thirty, pay the sitter twenty bucks, and go to bed. Sometimes weβd make love, but not every time. Even date night wasnβt a guaranteed lay.
Greg was due back around one that Friday afternoon, having been on a business trip all week. He traveled for work more than I liked, but Iβd stopped complaining about the monthly trips years ago and just accepted them as a part of life. Greg and I worked for the same company, Advent Pharmaceuticals. He was a professional trainer, not a weight lifting trainer, but adult education for the corporate set. He taught various courses on compliance, regulations, and the science behind Adventβs drugs. He was based in Raritan, New Jersey, about ten miles from
where we lived in Clinton, but often flew as far as Canada. Greg was good at his job; actually, Greg was good at almost everything.
I worked part time as a technical writer. My job was less demanding, allowing me to work from home and take care of the children. I just worked for extra money. Something to do, Greg had once joked at a dinner party, his arm draped across my shoulders. My face had burned at that, even though I had said the same thing a million times.
βMommy, I think Cody got out.β Hannah stood in the doorway between the hallway and the kitchen. Her earlier neat blond ponytail had fallen to the side, and she had some furtively acquired lipstick smeared on her cheek.
βWhat? Hannah, seriously, stay out of my purse, please.β No matter how hard I tried, Hannah seemed determined to look a mess. Itβs like an age requirement for four-year-olds.
She pointed at the screen door. βMommy, look!β
Sure enough, the screen swayed gently in the early October breeze. The opening between the mesh and the frame was jagged, as if it had been clawed. Had I let him out? I thought so. With the girls and the library, the memory of the morning blurred. I wasnβt concerned. Cody would have been more aptly named Houdini. Our yard was large, several acres, with a small patch of woods in the back, perfect for chasing small animals and sometimes bringing them back as prizes, dropping them on the doorstep with a triumphant thump. Given that our closest neighbors were a quarter-mile away, Cody had the run of the place, but he always knew where home was.
βSweetie, heβll be home. Heβs just out for an adventure.β I poked my head out of the door and looked around the yard. βCody! Come back, bud! Itβs dinner time!β It wasnβt, but βdinner timeβ never failed to evoke a response.
I worked part time as a technical writer. My job was less demanding, allowing me to work from home and take care of the children. I just worked for extra money. Something to do, Greg had once joked at a dinner party, his arm draped across my shoulders. My face had burned at that, even though I had said the same thing a million times.
βMommy, I think Cody got out.β Hannah stood in the doorway between the hallway and the kitchen. Her earlier neat blond ponytail had fallen to the side, and she had some furtively acquired lipstick smeared on her cheek.
βWhat? Hannah, seriously, stay out of my purse, please.β No matter how hard I tried, Hannah seemed determined to look a mess. Itβs like an age requirement for four-year-olds.
She pointed at the screen door. βMommy, look!β
Sure enough, the screen swayed gently in the early October breeze. The opening between the mesh and the frame was jagged, as if it had been clawed. Had I let him out? I thought so. With the girls and the library, the memory of the morning blurred. I wasnβt concerned. Cody would have been more aptly named Houdini. Our yard was large, several acres, with a small patch of woods in the back, perfect for chasing small animals and sometimes bringing them back as prizes, dropping them on the doorstep with a triumphant thump. Given that our closest neighbors were a quarter-mile away, Cody had the run of the place, but he always knew where home was.
βSweetie, heβll be home. Heβs just out for an adventure.β I poked my head out of the door and looked around the yard. βCody! Come back, bud! Itβs dinner time!β It wasnβt, but βdinner timeβ never failed to evoke a response.
I didnβt see him, but he could have been anywhere. An old barn sat at the back of our property. I could imagine him there, tucked under the rarely used workbench, bathed in a shaft of light let in by the broken side door. Iβd look in a bit, after the babysitter, Charlotte, came but before we left for dinner. I let the screen door slam and checked the time. I was surprised to see that the clock showed three fifteen already. Where was Greg anyway?
I gathered two-year-old Leah from the playroom, her cheeks rouged from the same Hannah-pilfered lipstick, and plopped her in the high chair. After tossing some goldfish crackers on her tray, I picked up the phone and dialed Gregβs number. My call went directly to voicemail, so I left an irritated message. Frustrated, I tapped my fingers on the phone. Greg had likely forgotten our plans, his mind a million miles away, his wife last on his list. I stormed around the kitchen, slamming pots and pan lids, half-expecting him to appear behind me and say teasingly, βFeel better now?β like he generally does when I get cranky and start making noise.
I had to think a moment to remember the last time we spoke. Wednesday evening, he had called to say good night and to tell the girls he loved them. He didnβt call last night, but that wasnβt all that strange. I filled my time with kid-friendly activities, play dates, family, and friends, so we didnβt talk every night. I could think of a few trips, particularly in the last few months, where the week would come and go before I realized we hadnβt spoken at all.
βThe bigger question, Hannah–banana, is where on earth is your daddy?β
At six, I called Charlotte and cancelled.
Then, I called my mom. βCan you believe he didnβt even call me? Should I be worried?β βNah, you never know when heβs coming home,β Mom reassured me. βRemember last
month? His flight was delayed for a whole day.β
I gathered two-year-old Leah from the playroom, her cheeks rouged from the same Hannah-pilfered lipstick, and plopped her in the high chair. After tossing some goldfish crackers on her tray, I picked up the phone and dialed Gregβs number. My call went directly to voicemail, so I left an irritated message. Frustrated, I tapped my fingers on the phone. Greg had likely forgotten our plans, his mind a million miles away, his wife last on his list. I stormed around the kitchen, slamming pots and pan lids, half-expecting him to appear behind me and say teasingly, βFeel better now?β like he generally does when I get cranky and start making noise.
I had to think a moment to remember the last time we spoke. Wednesday evening, he had called to say good night and to tell the girls he loved them. He didnβt call last night, but that wasnβt all that strange. I filled my time with kid-friendly activities, play dates, family, and friends, so we didnβt talk every night. I could think of a few trips, particularly in the last few months, where the week would come and go before I realized we hadnβt spoken at all.
βThe bigger question, Hannah–banana, is where on earth is your daddy?β
At six, I called Charlotte and cancelled.
Then, I called my mom. βCan you believe he didnβt even call me? Should I be worried?β βNah, you never know when heβs coming home,β Mom reassured me. βRemember last
month? His flight was delayed for a whole day.β
βYeah, but he called at least.β I bit my bottom lip.
βNot until pretty late, though, right? He was stuck on the runway. Itβs probably the same now.β I could envision her dismissively waving her hand in the air.
Her lightness eased something inside me, and I exhaled a breath I hadnβt known I was holding. βIβll bet he forgot. Itβs so typical lately. I have no idea where his head is anymore.β
βWell, if his plane was delayed, Iβm sure he canβt call. That whole βdonβt use your cell phone while flyingβ rule.β
Mom and Dad lived about ten minutes away in the same house where I grew up, and I talked to my mother no less than twice a day. She loved Greg and probably knew more about our life than a mother should, but she wasnβt privy to the small details. She didnβt know about Gregβs recent distance or our inability to have a conversation lately, or our apparentβmutualβsex strike, which caused our bed to be the scene of a new Cold War. Ups and downs, is all, I kept thinking. We all got βem.
But when we had talked on Wednesday, things seemed a little better. Greg wanted to go to a movie; we hadnβt done that in a while. And he even suggested Mexican. His long silences, usually heavy with unsaid words, seemed lighter somehow. Almost easy. When I tried to end the call, I sensed an unusual hesitancy. Generally, Greg ended the conversation first, a sense of urgency coming through the line from the minute he said βhello,β but Wednesday had been different. Or maybe that was just my hopeful thinking.
Leah started crying from her high chair. βMa, I gotta go. Iβll call you tomorrow.β
βNot until pretty late, though, right? He was stuck on the runway. Itβs probably the same now.β I could envision her dismissively waving her hand in the air.
Her lightness eased something inside me, and I exhaled a breath I hadnβt known I was holding. βIβll bet he forgot. Itβs so typical lately. I have no idea where his head is anymore.β
βWell, if his plane was delayed, Iβm sure he canβt call. That whole βdonβt use your cell phone while flyingβ rule.β
Mom and Dad lived about ten minutes away in the same house where I grew up, and I talked to my mother no less than twice a day. She loved Greg and probably knew more about our life than a mother should, but she wasnβt privy to the small details. She didnβt know about Gregβs recent distance or our inability to have a conversation lately, or our apparentβmutualβsex strike, which caused our bed to be the scene of a new Cold War. Ups and downs, is all, I kept thinking. We all got βem.
But when we had talked on Wednesday, things seemed a little better. Greg wanted to go to a movie; we hadnβt done that in a while. And he even suggested Mexican. His long silences, usually heavy with unsaid words, seemed lighter somehow. Almost easy. When I tried to end the call, I sensed an unusual hesitancy. Generally, Greg ended the conversation first, a sense of urgency coming through the line from the minute he said βhello,β but Wednesday had been different. Or maybe that was just my hopeful thinking.
Leah started crying from her high chair. βMa, I gotta go. Iβll call you tomorrow.β
After six oβclock, I secured the girls in the playroom in front of the television before bed and hiked to the back of the yard, skirting the edge of the woods. Behind the woods was a steep hill, ending in little-used railroad tracks.
βCooooody!β I called him over and over again. I expected him to come bounding over the hill, carrying some treasure from the tracks. When he didnβt materialize, I fought a sense of deep unease, of everything being slightly out of place, two voids in the house defying reason.
Worried about leaving the girls alone too long, I jogged back to the house. On the back porch, I turned once more to gaze out at the inky yard, a black starless sky swallowing the earth that seemed to shift ever so slightly beneath my feet. Trying to convince myself that Cody would show up later, I went inside to wait for my husband.
I put the girls to bed with only a minor inquisition from Hannah about her missing daddy. I waved the question away with a cheerful faΓ§ade. She let it slide, used to going days without seeing him. After calling Greg again and leaving yet another message, I curled up on the couch for some backlogged DVR. I skipped around, aiming for distraction as I fought the unease that settled in the pit of my stomach. Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I shivered from the end-of- season chill, wishing, suddenly, pitifully, that I had my husband to curl up on the couch with, even though it had been months since weβd done that. Briefly, I considered the irony, the way weβd avoided talking or touching in the evenings, but how when faced with a growing sense of anxiety, I longed for it. When he gets home, weβll fix this.
I startled awake at one thirty in the morning. As I sat up on the couch, I remembered. Greg. Was he home? I checked the doorsβboth still locked. I checked our bedroomβno
βCooooody!β I called him over and over again. I expected him to come bounding over the hill, carrying some treasure from the tracks. When he didnβt materialize, I fought a sense of deep unease, of everything being slightly out of place, two voids in the house defying reason.
Worried about leaving the girls alone too long, I jogged back to the house. On the back porch, I turned once more to gaze out at the inky yard, a black starless sky swallowing the earth that seemed to shift ever so slightly beneath my feet. Trying to convince myself that Cody would show up later, I went inside to wait for my husband.
I put the girls to bed with only a minor inquisition from Hannah about her missing daddy. I waved the question away with a cheerful faΓ§ade. She let it slide, used to going days without seeing him. After calling Greg again and leaving yet another message, I curled up on the couch for some backlogged DVR. I skipped around, aiming for distraction as I fought the unease that settled in the pit of my stomach. Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I shivered from the end-of- season chill, wishing, suddenly, pitifully, that I had my husband to curl up on the couch with, even though it had been months since weβd done that. Briefly, I considered the irony, the way weβd avoided talking or touching in the evenings, but how when faced with a growing sense of anxiety, I longed for it. When he gets home, weβll fix this.
I startled awake at one thirty in the morning. As I sat up on the couch, I remembered. Greg. Was he home? I checked the doorsβboth still locked. I checked our bedroomβno
suitcase on the floor, no Greg on the bed. I checked the garageβno car. I was angry. One lousy phone call. Hi, Iβm stuck on a plane. Hi, I missed my flight. I tried his cell phone and left a third message. After I hung up, worry bore down on me, heavy and oppressive.
Taking a deep breath, I logged onto our laptop, which had a permanent home on the kitchen island, and Googled United Airlines, the only airline Greg would fly. From the junk drawer, I pulled out the notebook where Greg always wrote down his flight numbers. The entry for October 1 read, βFlight UA1034.β I typed in the flight numberββOn Time.β I called the toll- free number at the bottom of the webpage and asked if Greg Barnes had checked in for the flight. After confirming our address, I was put on hold.
βWe have no record of Greg Barnes checking in on Friday. He did check in on Tuesday evening for his incoming flight from Newark to Rochester, and he picked up one bag at baggage claim.β I heard keyboard clicking. βNo, Iβm sorry, but it does not appear as though he boarded the return flight UA1034 on Friday morning. Can I help you with anything else?β
The question jarred me. Sure. Can you help me find him? I said, βNo, thank you,β and hung up the phone.
I sat at the island, drumming my fingers. Could he have missed his flight? I tried to think like Greg. If he had missed his flight, he would have rented a car. The drive would have only taken four hours, so he would have been home even before the kidsβ bedtime. That also didnβt explain the dead phone.
Before I had time to think, I called the police station. A woman answered on the second ring, her tone clipped and official.
βHunterdon County Police Department.β
Taking a deep breath, I logged onto our laptop, which had a permanent home on the kitchen island, and Googled United Airlines, the only airline Greg would fly. From the junk drawer, I pulled out the notebook where Greg always wrote down his flight numbers. The entry for October 1 read, βFlight UA1034.β I typed in the flight numberββOn Time.β I called the toll- free number at the bottom of the webpage and asked if Greg Barnes had checked in for the flight. After confirming our address, I was put on hold.
βWe have no record of Greg Barnes checking in on Friday. He did check in on Tuesday evening for his incoming flight from Newark to Rochester, and he picked up one bag at baggage claim.β I heard keyboard clicking. βNo, Iβm sorry, but it does not appear as though he boarded the return flight UA1034 on Friday morning. Can I help you with anything else?β
The question jarred me. Sure. Can you help me find him? I said, βNo, thank you,β and hung up the phone.
I sat at the island, drumming my fingers. Could he have missed his flight? I tried to think like Greg. If he had missed his flight, he would have rented a car. The drive would have only taken four hours, so he would have been home even before the kidsβ bedtime. That also didnβt explain the dead phone.
Before I had time to think, I called the police station. A woman answered on the second ring, her tone clipped and official.
βHunterdon County Police Department.β
βHi, this is strange, but my husband went on a business trip and was scheduled to be home at one yesterday afternoon, and heβs still not back.β After I said it, I realized how I sounded. Pathetic. βI canβt get in touch with him; heβs not answering his phone. This is really unlike him. Iβm not sure what to do.β
Silence.
βHello?β
βWould you like to fill out a Missing Persons Report?β she asked, sounding bored.
I heard the sound of a clacking keyboard in the background. βIβm not sure. I mean, Iβm
sure thereβs an explanation, but Iβm worried. Heβs usually much more… reliable.β I paused, unsure of how to finish, unsure of anything.
βHow long has he been gone?β
Not missing, I noted. Gone as in left? βHeβs been missing since one oβclock yesterday afternoon. I mean, he left on Tuesday…β I trailed off, and my words echoing back to me through the phone sounded helpless.
βWell, we can send someone out tonight to take a report, if youβd like. Typically, we wonβt initiate a missing personβs report for an adult until heβs missing for forty-eight hours andββ
βForty–eight hours seems excessive,β I interrupted, anxiety tight in my chest. Forty-eight hours was two days. Surely he would all be back before then.
βMaβam, with all due respect, most husbands or wives who are reported missing choose to be missing. So yes, forty-eight hours is our procedure. By then, maybe heβll come home on his own.β She no longer sounded bored. She sounded compassionate, and that infuriated me.
Silence.
βHello?β
βWould you like to fill out a Missing Persons Report?β she asked, sounding bored.
I heard the sound of a clacking keyboard in the background. βIβm not sure. I mean, Iβm
sure thereβs an explanation, but Iβm worried. Heβs usually much more… reliable.β I paused, unsure of how to finish, unsure of anything.
βHow long has he been gone?β
Not missing, I noted. Gone as in left? βHeβs been missing since one oβclock yesterday afternoon. I mean, he left on Tuesday…β I trailed off, and my words echoing back to me through the phone sounded helpless.
βWell, we can send someone out tonight to take a report, if youβd like. Typically, we wonβt initiate a missing personβs report for an adult until heβs missing for forty-eight hours andββ
βForty–eight hours seems excessive,β I interrupted, anxiety tight in my chest. Forty-eight hours was two days. Surely he would all be back before then.
βMaβam, with all due respect, most husbands or wives who are reported missing choose to be missing. So yes, forty-eight hours is our procedure. By then, maybe heβll come home on his own.β She no longer sounded bored. She sounded compassionate, and that infuriated me.
The finger of fear inched up my spine. βMy husband is not choosing to be missing. It is very possible that something has happened to him.β I felt panicky, nauseous. Zero to sixty. Less than ten minutes ago, I wasnβt even worried.
βIβm sure itβs possible, but in most cases, the spouse returns within a day or two with a very plausible explanation for their absence. You can call us back tomorrow or Monday, if youβd like to initiate a report or if there is a new development.β
βThank you,β I said quietly. I felt it then – the certainty that I would be calling her back. I would not be getting any explanation, plausible or otherwise.
About the Author
βIβm sure itβs possible, but in most cases, the spouse returns within a day or two with a very plausible explanation for their absence. You can call us back tomorrow or Monday, if youβd like to initiate a report or if there is a new development.β
βThank you,β I said quietly. I felt it then – the certainty that I would be calling her back. I would not be getting any explanation, plausible or otherwise.
About the Author
Kate Moretti lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, two kids, and a dog. Sheβs worked in the pharmaceutical industry for ten years as a scientist, and has been an avid fiction reader her entire life.
She enjoys traveling and cooking, although with two kids, a day job, and writing, she doesnβt get to do those things as much as sheβd like.
Her lifelong dream is to buy an old house with a secret passageway.Β
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Shannon
Owner at Cocktails and Books
I am a lover of alpha males with dirty mouths, strong heroines putting alpha males in their place, and the Chicago Blackhawks. I'm a proud hockey mom who can often be found at the hockey rink cheering on my favorite forward, with my kindle close by.
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sounds very intriguing! Thanks for the great post and excerpt!
This sounds like an exciting & suspenseful book! I’m glad you enjoyed it so much. I appreciate the giveaway & think I need to join Twitter so I can be entered for more points. Lol.
-Selena Mc
This sounds like an interesting read. I think i will really enjoy reading it…