Oh Molly

Caroline would not go so far as to call herself, her husband... their daughter as wealthy.

They were decently within a higher class.

And how little that mattered.

So many years of work, of renown and prestige.

No ransom.

First rendered moot to their daughter's resentful barbs and finally cutting screams. That more than anyone cracked her own porcelain overcoat. The underneath had been no better. Completely bent, completely snapped and rotted through.

Hopeless.

The second. The kidnapping. Her audacious, intrepid career in the school paper. She wasn't-- Caroline was fairly certain this story had no deadline, no print attached.

No ransom.

Art forgers and operators of a bigger black market ring didn't want the money two former actors had to offer. Not the vehicles or the possible modes of transport out of a border.

What they wanted, neither adult and nor the police had.

Burn and destroy all evidence of their wrongdoing.

From the beginning there'd been no paying to their demand which they would in a heartbeat.

Caroline wrung the skirt, terribly creasing at the Dolly pink and white stripe pattern.

"Call, Mrs. Caroline Jones," and so went the tone. A terrible, intrusive buzz bringing to mind accusation and hostile, baiting questions.

Making the stride, forced her to let go of her beloved's hand.

"Easy does it now ma'am, you aren't in trouble. We just need some identifying and clarifying on yours' end" said the officer in a conciliatory, veneering tone. When truly, she had the distinct impression the men here wanted to eat her alive.

However she was somewhat wrong.

The psychologist and social worker were women.

Oh my goodness.

The latter, with greying platinum blond curls, a failing Marilyn figure, and a few too many chocolate bon-bons translated right onto her poor falling cheeks, stared much too coldly.

"Mrs. Jones, I am Detective Armond Barnes and well, without beating around it, let's start with Adam."

"I-- I couldn't tell you," she began nervously.

"Tell us much yes," Barnes agreed, "we've been getting that answer. You see, neither of the children are talking."

"Caroline," began the psychologist, "from what we've come to understand the relationship between yourself and your child, Molly," without realizing she put her hand to her own mouth uncertain whether what wanted to escape from her fractured, weary heart was a sob. "I realize this must be a terrible thing to go through but--"

"I don't know, there's nothing I can do, nothing at all. I-- if I could give those people what they want I don't care what I would. In an instant."

"And you may be our only recourse," the psychologist tried. "What we hope to do is perhaps continue from where your daughter left off."

"That I-- I understand. Not that I could offer anything."

"Well," Armond replied, "you could have more luck talking with Jocelyn Alvarez and the Moors. One is too hysterical to speak," and Caroline found her resolve, steeling sharply to the officer's tone.

"Poor choice of words."

"Quite," she said, the steel receding back behind delicate silk.

"But the Moors parents won't allow their son to talk. Not about the actual crime or their client, not any manner of lead or evidence or where all that could be filed away or stored."

"I wish I could answer, about Adam but I can't. She, Molly didn't tell me anything. She never discusses case details or articles-- she performs under the school's newspaper."

"I'm sorry the school?" Detective Barnes replied, sounding somewhat incredulous behind his composed professional demeanor. "Ma'am did they permit her actions? Sanction her work?"

"Not that I believe no. Not from the beginning in fact," she said, able to give a concrete answer. One out of still likely a million questions to come. "She broke a few rules, broke into the school but the punishment was lessened."

Which still brought her to tears sometimes.

Her punishment lessened, "taking into account our strained relationship. Her absent mother and father."

Then that explained the social worker's presence.

Caroline had done and would continue to do her best in ignoring the scratching of her notes on a pad.

"Okay then," Armond accepted, "with that information in mind her computer then would be the most likely place to access say, case notes? Timelines and theories for a given case?"

She nodded. "Yes I would suppose so. She never seemed--" that is her facial expressions never gave away any sort of tension over her space or her things-- "there was never an issue what I might have to move or look at."

"We'll have cybersecurity look at the device."

"Alright then, a few more questions," Armond decided then. "Then well, we'll turn things over to Miss Chaus."

"I will be right here Caroline," the psychologist assured.

"Yes, thank you," she allowed. Swallowing back the lump of dread burning at her throat. She didn't mean a word of it.

But for Molly, for Molly to be safe and in her absentee, inattentive mother's arms she could accept and humble herself to the critical barrage that was sure to come.