Meanwhile Scott and Tom took care of talking to the two other families Cassandra was babysitting for. After visiting one of them, Tom came back to the station and sat down across from me. I lifted my gaze from my computer.

“I sense you’ve got something,” I said.

He exhaled and leaned back in the chair. “I just spoke to Mrs. Cornwell, who Cassandra babysat for twice a month, and it actually became quite interesting.”

I nodded. “Go on.”

He rubbed his chin. “She told me that Cassandra had been babysitting their seven-year-old daughter for about six months, and that she was very fond of her. She was trustworthy and the kid was always in bed on time, and that they had a special bond.”

“But?”

“But… the thing was, that once I dug into it a little, Mrs. Cornwell started to cry.”

“Was she sad about Cassandra?” I asked, thinking that would only be natural.

“Yes, that too, but there was something else.”

“Like what?” I asked, getting intrigued.

“She said she had often worried that her husband, Eric, was overly familiar with Cassandra. He would always drive her home after she was done babysitting, and also did so on Saturday night, before she went missing on Sunday.”

“What did she mean by overly familiar?”

“I asked her that and she said that it was like she could tell that her husband liked her, that he lit up when seeing her, and they would talk a lot. She kept telling herself that it was just in her head, but now that Cassandra was missing, she worried that maybe she had been right. She had suspected her husband of having an affair.”

“With Cassandra?” I said, feeling appalled.

“She didn’t want to say it, but she said she worried about it,” he said.

“Did you talk to the husband?”

“Not yet.”

“We need to talk to him as soon as possible.”

Tom nodded. “Of course. I’ll try to get ahold of him ASAP.”

I nodded and smiled. “Good job, Tom.”

He smiled back and went to his own desk. “Thanks, boss.”

We had sat in silence for a few minutes, when Scott made a noise. “Eh, boss?”

“Yes?”

“Marissa is dead,” he said, cutting straight to the chase.

He lifted his gaze from his computer, and his eyes met mine across the room.

“Say that again?”

“Marissa Clemens died nine years ago.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s dead. She doesn’t exist. Or rather she did. Marissa Clemens was seventy-two when she died.”

I stared at him. “Couldn’t that be another Marissa Clemens?”

“Not in Cocoa Beach,” he said. “Or even Brevard County.”

He went quiet, like he waited for me to fill in the blanks. But I couldn’t. A frown grew between my eyes.

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as a heart attack.”

“But that makes no sense,” I said. “She doesn’t exist and neither does her child? How is that possible?”

“I am not sure,” he answered. “Remember how we found out that she didn’t have a car or a license? Now get this, I called the hospital in Cape Canaveral where she said she worked. She doesn’t work there. I then called all the surrounding hospitals, and they haven’t heard about her either.”

“So, she isn’t working as a nurse? And she isn’t registered anywhere? How does she make money? Does she even work?”

Just then, the Chief opened the door to his office and stepped out, slamming it against the wall. He glared at me, and I could tell he was in a mood.

“Wilde, get in here, now.”

Tom and Scott both sent me a look of encouragement as I got up from my desk and hurried past the Chief and into his office. He closed the door behind him. His movements were aggressive.

“Sit.”

I did. I had a feeling I knew what this was about.

“Listen, Chief—”

“You’re starting a search party for a child who doesn’t exist?” he said, sitting down. “You don’t think we have enough of a caseload as it is? You wanna add a little more searching for ghosts?”

“Listen, Chief, I went to the woman’s house, and you’re right, at first glance it didn’t look like she had a child, but I believe her. There were these pink Crocs in her yard.”

“Oh, that settles it then,” he said, rolling his eyes.

I bit my lip to calm myself down and not say something that I might regret later on. The Chief had a way of being very condescending toward me whenever he had the chance, and it bothered me. He could be to others, as well, but not as often as with me.

I was always honey, and sweetheart, and pretty little thing.

I gazed out the window from his office and my eyes met Scott’s. He sent me an encouraging thumbs-up and a smile. I smiled back, feeling good knowing that my team had my back. I knew they did.

I sat there trying to maintain my composure. I wasn’t going to let anyone question my instincts. I needed to help this woman. I just felt I did.