CHAPTER THIRTEEN
There was a black wreath on the front door when I arrived at the Reid residence. Well-wishers had left posters, flowers, and stuffed animals beside the gated entrance. Tracy Reid answered the door, dressed in black. She let me in.
“Adrian is here, but he’s upstairs resting,” Tracy said. “He has taken Bailey’s death very hard. He has hardly eaten or said a word since you brought us the news about Bailey.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it must be to lose a child,” I said. “No parent expects to bury a child. They expect it to be the other way around.”
Tracy nodded. “Any news of Sienna?” she said.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, “not yet.”
“I told Adrian we needed to call Melissa,” Tracy said. “But he hasn’t. I suppose I must do it. She deserves to know her daughter is dead.”
“I c
