What She Lost: The Elizabeth Tyler Mysteries, #1

By Jeff Shelby

After nearly a decade, Elizabeth Tyler was finally found.

But she's still lost.

Going back to her family – the family she was stolen from as a small child – should have been easy for Elizabeth. But the emotional aftershocks of her abduction and the double life she was forced to lead continue to plague her, despite her attempts to find normalcy.

With her father's reluctant blessing, Elizabeth takes a leave of absence from school and hits the road. She thinks she knows what she's looking for. She's just not sure if she'll find it.

What she does find, however, is a girl who reminds Elizabeth of her former self, and she is immediately drawn to helping her. Even when the girl doesn't want help. And even when the girl takes something of Elizabeth's that is the only link to a past she can't get back.

Soon, Elizabeth finds herself caught in a dangerous web of lies and deceit. With her life in jeopardy and no one to turn to, Elizabeth must rely on the survival skills she learned trying to find her way back home.

Or she'll be lost forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Shelby
• Release date: May 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386099369

Book preview

Books by Jeff Shelby

The Joe Tyler Novels

THREAD OF HOPE

THREAD OF SUSPICION

THREAD OF BETRAYAL

THREAD OF INNOCENCE

THREAD OF FEAR

THREAD OF REVENGE

THREAD OF DANGER

THREAD OF DOUBT

The Noah Braddock Novels

KILLER SWELL

WICKED BREAK

LIQUID SMOKE

DRIFT AWAY

LOCKED IN

IMPACT ZONE

WIPE OUT

The Moose River Mysteries

THE MURDER PIT

LAST RESORT

ALIBI HIGH

FOUL PLAY

YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL

ASSISTED MURDER

DEATH AT THE DINER

SCHOOL OF MURDER

DEAD IN THE WATER

The Rainy Day Mysteries

BOUGHT THE FARM

WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS

CRACK OF DEATH

PLANTING EVIDENCE

ONE BAD EGG

BALE OUT

LAST STRAW

CUT AND DIED

SOUR GRAPES

The Capitol Cases Mysteries

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

NATIONAL MAUL

DARK HORSE

The Sunny Springfield Mysteries

DEAD BY DINNER TIME

The Elizabeth Tyler Mysteries

WHAT SHE LOST

The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

STAY AT HOME DEAD

POPPED OFF

FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

Novel for Young Adults

PLAYING THE GAME

Short Story Collections

OUT OF TIME

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ONE

––––––––

I was alone.

I glanced in my rearview mirror as I pulled off the 101, the sun starting to set to my left over the rolling hills and the Pacific. I'd been driving and sitting in traffic for a little over six hours. My back was beginning to stiffen up, and not having my dad in the car to talk to was strange.

I was alone, and I was okay with that.

It was the second week of January and I'd waited until after the holidays to leave my dad, Coronado, and everything else behind. Part of that had been preparation. I'd had to get new tires on my Honda Civic, get the oil changed, figure out what I was taking with me, and then figure out where I was headed.

Or, at least, pretend that I didn't know where I was headed. I wasn't sure if that was for my dad's sake or my own. I always knew where I was headed, even if I'd never said it out loud.

North, my dad said. Go north first because you know the drive a little and it'll help you get comfortable.

I was thinking more west, I said.

So, right into the Pacific?

Yeah.

He rubbed his forehead like he had a headache. Elizabeth Tyler. I'm pretending to be okay with you leaving me. Please do not make me worry more than I'm already going to worry.

I'm kidding, Dad, I told him. I promise not to drive into the Pacific. Unless I find out that the Civic is secretly one of those boat cars.

He gave me a look.

North makes sense, I told him.

And it did make sense. I'd driven up to Orange County before with friends and I'd been to Los Angeles several times. I did know the drive, or, at the very least, I knew what it looked like. The only other real option out of San Diego would've been east into the Arizona desert and I wasn't ready to be that kind of alone yet. To go there.

Yet.

Which was the other reason why I'd waited for the second week of January to leave.

I’d needed to talk myself into the whole trip.

I'd made a big show of talking to my dad before Christmas about taking a leave of absence from UCSD and traveling. I'd explained to him my reasons and, like he always did, he listened even when I knew he wanted to interrupt me and tell me not to do it. I'd told him that I wasn't engaged with school, that I felt rudderless and restless, and that I just needed some space. It surprised him and I saw it in his face, the face that was already worn from the years of looking for me and then dealing with my mother's murder. He couldn't hide anything from me. He'd offered a few tepid objections, but then said he'd support whatever I wanted to do.

But it had been easier to explain than to actually do.

The closer I got to leaving, the more I'd started doubting myself. I was afraid I wouldn't know what to do if the car broke down. I was afraid I'd get lost. I was afraid something would go wrong and I wouldn't know how to handle it. Maybe I'd overthought my way right out of college for no good reason at all.

But, like he always did, my dad assured me that I would be alright. And he'd be around to help if I needed help. I knew that he was probably secretly hoping I'd need help at some point, just as an excuse to come to wherever I was, but I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

So I'd loaded up the car after breakfast and we'd stood in the driveway for longer than I'd planned. The morning was overcast, with thick, wet clouds hanging low in the sky. I couldn't see very far down the street, which felt like some sort of symbolic gesture on the part of Mother Nature.

I glanced at the house, which was such a weird place for me. I'd been taken from it almost fifteen years ago, then returned to it and resumed my life, almost as if the time I'd been taken had been nothing more than a brief interruption. It wasn't, and no one had treated it like that, but it sometimes occurred to me that that's what it was. An interruption. I had mixed feelings looking at the two-story structure. From the outside, I was sure that people drove by and envied our house on Coronado. But they had no idea what had gone on inside of it.

This is hard, he said.

I know, I said. It is for me, too.

You're clear on the rules?

Text twice a day, I said, reciting everything we'd agreed upon. No scary motels. Ask for help when I need it. Come home when I'm ready.

He nodded. Yeah. Those. Okay.

Both of us worked hard to avoid looking at the spot in the yard where I'd been abducted years earlier.

Your mom would be happy about this, he said. I think.

If she'd known that I eventually intended to get to Minnesota, I didn't think she would've been terribly happy. Nor would she have been happy that I communicated regularly with Teresa Corzine, my pseudo sister from the family I'd lived with after I'd been abducted. The family I'd lived with – and loved – for almost ten years. It had been my decision to keep that secret because I didn't trust either of my parents to actually understand that I'd kept the connection.

That I needed it.

I hope so, I told him. I hope she would've been happy.

He smiled. She'd probably have given you more rules.

Probably, I said.

Like, it wouldn't have even been worth leaving, there would've been so many rules.

Probably.

She's probably pissed I'm not giving you enough rules.

Thank you. For not giving me more.

He shrugged.

And thank you for understanding, I said.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and nodded.

I was worried about leaving him. It was different when I'd left for college. I was just up the road and could be back at the house in Coronado in half an hour if needed. I worried about him not liking his teaching job, and about him wandering around the big, empty house, just trying to kill time. He told me I didn't need to worry, but I knew that I would. He was just as unsettled as I was.

He'd motioned for me to give him a hug and he'd wrapped his arms around me. It was the same kind of hug I remembered from when he'd saved me, pulling me from years of not being with my actual family. The one that felt safe and could protect me from anything.

I remembered the hug, but I couldn't remember exactly where it took place. Was it in the warehouse where he'd found me? Was it after that? I couldn't recall so many of the minute details from that window of time when he'd finally found me, but I definitely recalled that hug.

I love you, Elizabeth, he said. Do not be gone forever.

Something knotted in my stomach and I squeezed him a littler harder. I love you, too. And I won't be. I promise.

I'd purposely not looked back after pulling out of the driveway because I feared I'd hit the brakes and U-turn right back to the house. So, instead, I'd kept my eyes on the road in front of me, passing over the bridge that carried me over the harbor and through all of the coastal counties in San Diego. I’d rounded the bend into Orange County, and then slogged through the traffic in Los Angeles. I'd made it over Mulholland Pass and then the massive hill into Camarillo before traffic lightened up again.

And my stomach finally unknotted.

By the time I'd gotten through the strawberry fields in Oxnard and the hills in Ventura, I was starting to feel like maybe I really could do this. I could take this trip and be okay.

And maybe figure out just who the hell I really was and wanted to be.

At that moment, as I reached the southern end of Santa Barbara, I was a girl with a nearly empty gas tank and an even emptier stomach.

I made a right at the bottom of the off-ramp and turned into the gas station that was immediately adjacent to the exit. An older man in a Mercedes was filling up at the first set of pumps, so I pulled the Civic around to the next set and shut off the engine. I stretched inside the car like a cat arching its back, trying to shake loose the minor muscle aches I'd accrued during the six-hour drive. What I really wanted to do was get out and run for an hour on the beach, to rid myself of the inertia of a long car ride.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at myself.

I actually could do that.

I had no set plans. I didn't need permission, and I didn’t have to clear my plans with anyone else. I didn't even have to let anyone know what I was doing. There was a certain amount of excitement in having that kind of freedom.

And a little bit of fear.

I unzipped my backpack, pulled my bankcard from my wallet, and got out of the car.

The cool evening air washed over me, a welcome change from the stale air inside the car. I stretched again, slid my card through the reader, and got the pump into the gas tank.

I put my hands on the trunk of the Civic and moved my left leg backward, putting my weight forward and stretching out my hamstrings. My legs really were tight, constricted, begging for a run to loosen up. Maybe I would go find a beach.

I switched legs and looked around. The older man was finished at the Mercedes and meticulously wiping away droplets of gasoline from his tank with a blue paper towel. He wadded up the used paper and dropped it in the small overflowing trashcan on the island, then slid into his car. The engine barely made a noise as he drove away.

The neon lights in the attached market's windows were starting to glow as dusk settled in.

And a guy was pacing near the far corner of the store, a phone pressed to his ear, his steps heavy and urgent.

Six steps one way, pivot, six steps the other way, pivot.

He was in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and what looked like brand new, bright white Adidas sneakers. His short dark hair was nearly shaved on the sides, and perfectly styled on top, a small shock pushed off his forehead. He was six feet tall and thin, a little older than me, somewhere in his mid-twenties. My dad would've called him a hipster for the hair and shoes.

The phone was still stuck to his ear, but he wasn't talking. He pulled it away from his head, stabbed it with a finger twice, then put it back to his ear. After about ten seconds, he did the same routine again.

He was nothing if not consistent.

But there was something about him that turned my radar on.

In the years that I'd been away from my real parents, I'd learned to trust that radar. It was something I didn't even know that I had, but it was this internal warning system that kicked in, that whispered into my ear to be careful. My therapist told me it was most likely a response to the trauma of being kidnapped and lied to for so many years, and that it could also make me paranoid if I always gave in to it. I'd always be able to find suspicion and danger if I looked for it. So I'd learned to take a deep breath when it went off, and then try to put whatever I was feeling in context.

I took a deep breath.

Dude on a phone at a gas station with an expensive haircut and shoes.

I exhaled.

Don't give into the paranoia.

The gas pump clicked loudly as it shut off and I put the nozzle back into the side of the pump. I closed up the tank on the Civic, pulled my backpack from the passenger seat, and went inside the market to use the restroom.

The guy glanced at me as I approached the market, then went back to listening to his phone and pacing.

I exhaled again.

Soft chimes echoed through the empty store. The inside smelled like coffee and bleach. The guy behind the counter was perched on a stool, wearing an oversized red shirt with the gas station logo on the front. He looked up from his phone, gave me a quick smile, then went back to his phone. I saw the sign for the restroom on the far side of the market and navigated past the drink machines in that direction.

I pushed open the door to the restroom and