by Kit Frick
MARTINA GREEN: Indeed.
Let’s turn now to Caden and really dig into that relationship. Zoe and Caden have known each other practically since infancy; their friendship turned romantic in early high school, and they began dating during the summer following ninth grade. Zoe has always been much beloved by Mrs. Talbot; in turn, the Spanos family doted on Caden.
At school, they were the couple everyone was rooting for, the couple everyone secretly wished they could be. And their relationship didn’t just look picture-perfect from the outside. As anyone who has ever been in high school knows, relationships are very much on display within school walls. Whether you’ve been part of a high school couple or observed others, you know what sort of microscope those relationships are under. I spoke on the phone with Di MacAdam, former Jefferson senior class president, from her dorm room at Skidmore.
DI MACADAM: Zoe and Caden were … [PAUSE.] Wow, I’m still just so shocked, I’m sorry. [ANOTHER PAUSE.] Okay, Zoe and Caden. They were “that couple,” you know? And they didn’t even care about being popular. They were nominated for Homecoming Court a couple times, but they turned that stuff down. They had friends, but they mostly kept to themselves. I think that’s why everyone loved them so much. They weren’t big on PDA; they didn’t rub their relationship in anyone’s face. But they were clearly very much in love. She was always so sweet to him, and when she talked, you could tell he really listened.
MARTINA GREEN: Would you consider either of them close friends?
DI MACADAM: I was closer to Caden. He was on student council all four years, so we spent a lot of time together planning events and sitting in student gov meetings, that sort of thing. He was really serious about Zoe. One time, I remember he asked for my opinion on a gift for her. He was picking out a necklace; he wanted to make sure it was something she would actually wear. And it was beautiful, a delicate chain with her initials in gold. Perfect.
In our Senior Superlatives, they were voted “Couple Most Likely to Actually Get Hitched,” which tells you something, you know? The fact that they were totally rock solid through graduation and beyond is pretty unusual. I mean, how many couples do you know who make it all the way through high school? But that’s just who Caden and Zoe were.
They were in their own happy little orbit.
MARTINA GREEN: The summer before starting college, Caden and Zoe were stronger than ever. I saw Zoe a lot that summer. I was often over at the Spanos’s home with Aster. Zoe was getting ready to begin her first year at Brown, and Caden was set to begin his at Yale. You might think the decision to attend separate colleges would have sounded Zoe and Caden’s death knell, but nope. Zoe said they didn’t even apply to the same colleges because they didn’t want to be defined by their relationship. They each applied to schools within driving distance in the northeast, so they could see each other often, yet focus on establishing their own lives and academic pursuits. Talk about mature.
I spoke on the phone with Kelly Ann Bate, Zoe’s first year roommate at Brown. Kelly Ann was walking between buildings on campus when we talked, so you’ll hear some background chatter and wind in the audio. Sorry about that. I’ll post a transcript of this part of the episode online with the show notes for reference.
KELLY ANN BATE: I’d say Zoe was gone one, maybe two weekends a month our first year. And Caden was here on campus about the same. They’d stay in this little B & B nearby. She was always really respectful of the fact that we shared a room. [LOUD SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER AND SHOUTING.] More than I can say for some people at Brown. I’m sure it was a transition, being in college and figuring out how that factored into their relationship, but they made it work. Zoe didn’t seem to have a problem blending her relationship into her world here. [WIND GUST.] They’d come to basketball games, eat with us at the Ratty. They probably saw each other three weekends a month, all in all, and they were always on the phone.
MARTINA GREEN: And what about the fall semester of sophomore year?
KELLY ANN BATE: I’m not totally sure. [WIND GUST.] We weren’t roommates anymore, so I didn’t notice as much when Zoe was gone for the weekend. And you know, Zoe and I were friendly, but we had our own groups. I saw Caden on campus a couple times last fall, for sure. But Zoe had a single; I bet they were holed up there a lot. She did this marine bio internship in California over the summer, so they were probably ready for some one-on-one time.
MARTINA GREEN: I also spoke on the phone with Tim Romer, a friend of Caden’s at Yale.
TIM ROMER: Zoe? Yeah, she was around a lot our first year. A couple times a month? She made an effort to get to know me, all of Caden’s friends really. Other people’s girlfriends from home didn’t do that. I always liked Zoe; she could hang.
MARTINA GREEN: And this fall?
TIM ROMER: Nah, she wasn’t around so much. Caden was really busy with the radio station, and he’s been doing this research project with Professor Eaton. She’s the chair of our African American Studies Department. She usually only works with grad students, so it’s kind of a big deal. I thought something might have happened, but I didn’t want to ask. But then Zoe was with Caden at the gospel choir’s winter concert right before break, and everything seemed fine. That was the last time I saw her.
MARTINA GREEN: It’s my hunch—and this is only a hunch—that the key to unlocking what happened to Zoe Spanos lies in the events of that fall semester of sophomore year—the fall leading up to her disappearance. What was Zoe doing when she wasn’t visiting Caden at Yale? Were they really just busy, or did Zoe meet new people that fall? Who were they, and how much did Caden know? Did the police even bother to ask?
I doubt they did, and here’s why. According to their own accounts, Caden Talbot and his mother were not in Herron Mills on the night of December thirty-first last year.
The Talbots regularly spend Christmas week in the city with close family friends on the Upper West Side. Aster did not wish to be recorded for this episode, but she did confirm that the Talbots were among the first people Mr. Spanos called on the morning of January first, when Zoe had not come home. According to Aster, the Talbots had initially planned to return from the city in time for Zoe and Caden to spend New Year’s Eve together. Zoe had been excited about their plans, which included attending Jacob Trainer’s house party together. But at the last minute, the Talbots’ trip home was delayed to the following day. Mrs. Talbot did not feel up to traveling that afternoon.
So when Mr. Spanos called on the morning of January first, the Talbots were allegedly still in the city. Caden told Mr. Spanos that he had last heard from Zoe around two o’clock that afternoon, when the two had exchanged text messages about the change in plans. Caden and Mrs. Talbot returned to Windermere the afternoon of January first and spoke with police on the afternoon of the second. The final text message exchange between Caden and Zoe was entered into evidence, and is on record with the Herron Mills PD.
It’s here where I believe local police first dropped the ball in this case. Because Caden and Meredith Talbot were allegedly not in Herron Mills the night that Zoe vanished, they were not further interviewed by police. Were their alibis investigated? Confirmed? This remains unclear.
Here’s what I do know: Meredith was able to account for Caden’s whereabouts up until 10:30 on the night Zoe disappeared; then she went to bed. He was next seen at 6:30 a.m., when Doreen Winn-Carey, the family friend with whom they were staying, passed by the couch where he was sleeping on her way to the bathroom. Not only were their alibis restricted to this closed triangle of Doreen, Meredith, and Caden, but the eight hours between 10:30 p.m. and 6:30 a.m. remain unaccounted for. I guess their story was good enough for the Herron Mills PD, though.
To reiterate, I am not suggesting that Caden—or his mother—perpetrated violence against Zoe or were even directly involved in her disappearance. But I do not believe we can so easily rule them out. And at the very least, I believe that Caden knows information—about that fall, about that night, about Zoe’s life—that could lead
us to find her.
Caden, if you’re listening, I’d love to talk to you, on or off the record. Please get in touch.
[CODA TO MISSING ZOE INSTRUMENTAL THEME]
9 THEN
June
Herron Mills, NY
I AM NOT at my best during dinner—but fortunately, neither is anyone else. We’re half finished by the time Tom arrives to the table, dressed down and looking a bit flustered. He gives Emilia a kiss, murmuring something about a rough Friday at the office and getting stuck late in a meeting. She’s clearly pissed. I take a big gulp of water and keep my mouth shut. He’s been back since at least five, but it’s none of my business what he’s been up to.
My mind is somewhere else entirely: with Caden and Zoe. As we eat, I stumble over every question Tom asks about my first week at Clovelly Cottage. Mary’s garlic roasted chicken sticks in my throat. My lips are thick and sluggish; they struggle to form the words that would prove I’m all right, perfectly normal, fine just fine. Fortunately, Paisley comes to my rescue, happy to recount our various excursions around town in elaborate, lively detail. She mercifully leaves out the bit about me leaving the oven on and then abandoning her to Mary’s watch for much longer than a few minutes this evening.
The air around me buzzes with the truth. Caden is Zoe’s. Caden loves Zoe. And now Zoe is gone, leaving Caden to his lonely summer in Herron Mills. Laying low and avoiding the watchful eyes of the village that rooted me out at once, caring for a mother who is unwell in some way that has led to Windermere’s steep decline. Caden, avoiding the town’s pity. Maybe their accusations too.
My thoughts stay stubbornly lodged at Windermere all day Saturday, while Emilia tasks each of us with an array of housekeeping jobs and errands in preparation for the “small garden party” the Bellamys will host in honor of Tom’s thirty-eighth birthday on Sunday. In the afternoon, I drop Paisley off at the Coopers’ for the girls’ pool date, then drive Emilia’s car to the florist on Main Street to pick up a missing bouquet from the Bellamys’ order.
Back at Clovelly Cottage, I peek at the guest list. There are 103 affirmative RSVPs. Caden and Meredith Talbot’s names are included among a small list of guests who have not responded to the invitation. I breathe a small sigh of relief.
As I cart lawn furniture from the shed to the yard behind the pool, I perfect my inward cringe. What must Caden have thought of me? Poking around Windermere twice in three days. My uncanny resemblance to his missing girlfriend. My failed attempt at a neighborly gift, which he probably saw as a thinly veiled attempt to gain admission to Windermere. And wasn’t that exactly what it had been? I’d wanted an excuse to see him. To be invited inside. To insert myself into his life. I hadn’t known what I was doing, but I’d done it all the same. No wonder he’d shoved the cookies back into my hands once he’d gotten a clear look at my face.
* * *
Under an hour into Sunday’s party, I’m at a complete loss. I’m technically on nanny duty as usual, but Paisley is running around with Raychel and a small gaggle of their friends, and they don’t need much in the way of supervision. I almost wish they did; it would give me a reason to stay far away from the bar set up beside the hot tub.
The pool deck is swarming with well-heeled guests sipping chic cocktails I’ve never heard of with names like Negroni and Paloma. I back away, onto the grass. The last thing I want is to get snared in a web of small talk with the Bellamys’ friends. I can feel their eyes roving across my skin, even though I’ve pinned my hair up under a broad-rimmed sun hat in my best attempt to look un-Zoe-ish.
I’m not entirely sure it’s working. The more I listen to Martina’s podcast, the more I learn about Zoe and her strange disappearance, the more I wonder what I’m doing here. It can’t be a coincidence—this job, my mysteriously missing doppelgänger. But I don’t have the first clue what any of it means.
On the front lawn, I slip into the shade of the long white tent that has been set up kitty-corner to the fountain and tennis court and fill a small plate with purple carrots and mushroom tartlets. Most of the guests are mingling by the pool; this side of Clovelly Cottage is almost deserted, save for the kids, who are turning cartwheels across the tennis court. I park myself at a tall, round cocktail table in the shade where I can rest my elbows and keep an eye on Paisley.
“What a charming sundress.” The compliment is laced with something like pity or scorn. I spin around. The speaker is a tall, older woman with a body shaped like a bowling pin. She leans primly against the lip of the fountain, an actual parasol propped on the drive in front of her. Slender arms sprout from narrow, sloped shoulders. A trim waist swells abruptly into ample hips and thighs beneath a fluttering skirt. She is dressed head-to-toe in white.
“Thank you?” I’m not sure how she snuck up on me. From where I’m standing, I have a clear view of the drive. And if she’d already been around back at the pool, I’m sure I would have noticed her among the other, younger guests in their effortless summer dresses and pressed linen suits.
She leans forward, using her parasol as a cane, and takes three steps toward me. I can’t tell if she’s fifty or seventy-five. “Take off your hat,” she demands. When I hesitate, she makes an impatient gesture in the air with her hand. “Well, go on.”
Slowly, I slip my sun hat off and place it on the cocktail table. She’s surly but authoritative, and I feel oddly compelled to obey her. Beneath my hat, a few bobby pins have come undone. Loose bits of hair fall limply down my shoulders and back.
“Hrmph.” She’s standing next to me at the table now, uncomfortably close. I get the sense she’s appraising me like a slightly damaged antique overvalued at auction. “Not as striking as I’d been led to believe, but I do see a sickly sort of resemblance. Mostly in the cheekbones and hair.”
It hits me all at once who this woman must be. She looks like the painting, but much older. “Mrs. Talbot?” I venture.
She takes a small step back to extend one pale hand. Unlike everyone else I’ve encountered in Herron Mills, her skin decidedly lacks an early summer tan. “Yes,” she replies.
I take her hand in mine, and a small shiver runs through me. It’s very cold, and her grip is tight.
“I’m Anna,” I manage to choke out. “But I guess you knew that already.”
“Anna Cicconi, the au pair.” She releases my hand from her grasp. This time, I recognize the note in her voice: judgment.
Just then, a thin wail rises from the tennis court. A chubby girl with curly brown hair is on the ground, clutching what looks like a freshly skinned knee—Paisley’s erstwhile best friend, Claudia.
“Anna!” Paisley shouts, waving wildly even though I’m only a few yards away.
“You’d better go.” Mrs. Talbot’s voice pitches into a thin sneer that says plainly what she thinks of my nannying skills. I want to protest that I’d been watching them until she showed up, that Claudia isn’t even my responsibility, but I feel babyish in the shadow of her glare. Silenced.
Without saying anything, I rush off toward the girls on the court. I know where the Bellamys keep the first-aid kit. It’s only a scraped knee; I’ll get Claudia fixed up in no time. I can be good at this job. I’ve got this.
“And, Anna,” Mrs. Talbot says as Paisley slips her hand into mine, pulling me over to inspect Claudia’s wound. I turn my head to face her once more. “I won’t expect to see you at Windermere again. We don’t need anything … stirred up.”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond. Parasol propped over her shoulder, making me wonder if its previous use as a cane was entirely performative, she spins on her heel and starts off across the lawn, toward the deep thicket of trees that separate Clovelly Cottage from Windermere. I see then how she arrived so stealthily on the grounds. She didn’t come up the drive at all, but simply slipped through the trees between the properties.
I whip back around and scoop a wailing Claudia into my arms. With instructions to Paisley to take the other girls to the pool deck where the
ir parents can see them, I head across the drive toward the front door.
* * *
At a few minutes after six, as Tom and Paisley splash together in the pool and the guests are starting to depart for their Sunday dinners and end-of-the-weekend rituals, I find myself standing alone at the bar with Emilia. One thin dress strap has slipped down a tan shoulder and her neat bob looks windswept. She gives our order to the bartender—a Negroni for her, seltzer and lime for me—and I notice that her speech is just slightly slurred.
I take a deep breath. If I’m about to offend her, maybe she’ll be less likely to hold it against me now. Maybe she won’t remember tomorrow.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Her eyes focus somewhere in the area of my nose. “Of course, Anna.”
“It’s about the job,” I begin.
“Oh.” She frowns. “Has it not been what you’ve expected?”
“It has,” I rush to say. “Everything’s been great. What I mean is, I’m hoping you would tell me why I was hired.”
“Ah.” Emilia plucks our drinks from the bar and takes a seat on a lounge chair. She hands over my seltzer, and I perch on a wicker seat beside her. In the pool, Tom tosses Paisley into the air, and she squeals. “It was Paisley’s choice, really. We interviewed three candidates in the spring. We were supposed to see two more after you, but we canceled those appointments. Paisley was set on you.”
“Do you know why?” I press.
“Well.” Emilia folds her lips together, as if not sure how much to say. “I’m sure someone has pointed out by now your resemblance to Zoe Spanos?”