by Amy Waeschle
“Yeah,” Martin said.
“Did you know about this little pact?” Cassidy asked.
Martin paused. “Not directly. I mean, before field camp, he did bring me in to his office. But I just thought he was being overcautious. Saying things like ‘the students are your responsibility’ and ‘if you need support, don’t hesitate to call me,’ stuff like that.” Martin groaned. “He even gave me his cell number.”
Cassidy rubbed her forehead. “I mean, I can imagine somebody like Preston Ford being a little overprotective, but it’s still weird.”
“Remember Dominique Gilardi?” Martin asked.
Cassidy sifted through her memories until Dominique’s face popped up. “Oh,” she said as a thick dread crowded into her thoughts. Dominique was a junior who went missing during the spring term last year. Cassidy didn’t know her—she was an art student—but she remembered the crusade to find her and the way the campus practically shut down. It was rumored that Dominique had a drug problem she’d kept hidden.
“But Izzy’s sharp . . . ” Cassidy couldn’t put her finger on it. “ . . . I can’t imagine her just wandering off.”
“But she’s not exactly your model student,” Martin said.
“No,” Cassidy replied, picturing Izzy in her typical attire: high-tops, short shorts, and midriff tops or thin-strapped tank tops that hugged her curves. She could also be sassy, defiant, and occasionally brilliant. In short, Cassidy secretly favored her. After all, the world needed more confident, creative young women, and Cassidy felt it was her job to encourage those like Izzy. “No, she’s not.” Cassidy’s skin prickled at the thought of Izzy in some kind of trouble. “So, what does Dr. Gorman want us to do?”
“He wants me to track her down.”
“Wait, you?” Cassidy rubbed her forehead. “Martin, this is a job for the police, not a graduate student. Plus, aren’t you’re leaving for the Yukon in, like a few days?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Martin replied with a sigh. “Apparently, Izzy has done this kind of thing before. Preston Ford thinks we can find her and get her home before the media finds out.”
“But what if she’s hurt? Or in trouble?” Cassidy asked.
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it.”
Cassidy sat back, tried to take this in. “Tell me again what happened when you arrived at the geology building.”
“I pulled up to the loading dock in the back. Students started unloading their stuff. I didn’t realize Izzy wasn’t there until half the students had already left,” Martin said, sounding drained. “Izzy’s pack was sitting there on the curb and Alice came up to me, asking where Izzy was.”
“Maybe Izzy just took off and forgot her pack.”
“I wondered that too, but I asked the remaining students if they had seen her go. Nobody remembered seeing her get out of the van. And she’s not at home, I already checked her place. And why would she leave her pack?”
“If her father’s that rich, maybe she didn’t want to go through the hassle of dealing with her dirty laundry,” Cassidy said, discarding this idea the moment it left her mouth. “Maybe she was just in a hurry.”
Martin didn’t reply.
“I’m sure that’s it,” Cassidy said. “She snuck off and no one saw her. She’s probably at a spa somewhere right now, having her toenails buffed.”
“But her notes, her maps . . . why would she just leave those behind?”
Cassidy sighed as her fantasy of locating Izzy so easily vanished. Izzy, though wild and unpredictable, cared about her work. The students’ final report was due in a week—Izzy wouldn’t have left her material behind so easily. Without her maps, field notes, and measurements, completing the assignment would be impossible. Flunking field camp would be a disgrace for any geology major and would prevent her from graduating. Izzy cared too much about her work to let that happen. Or at least Cassidy believed she did.
“So, at the gas station,” Cassidy said. “Nobody saw Izzy take off?”
“It was mayhem—everyone got out. They all wanted junk food and energy drinks. We basically mobbed the place. Alice says she remembers Izzy being asleep.”
“So Izzy didn’t leave the van with the others at the convenience store,” Cassidy confirmed, trying to picture the scene: Everyone leaves the van to buy the junk food they’ve been without for weeks, then returns, obsessed with consuming it, some students probably switching seats, too. Meanwhile, while Martin is focused on keeping a lid on the students, or takes two minutes to use the restroom, Izzy slips away.
“Could something have happened to her?” Cassidy asked as the sinking feeling from earlier returned. “Like, could someone have . . . taken her?”
“I know I fucked up, not watching her when we were at the gas station,” Martin said, his voice tight. “But give me some credit, Dr. Kincaid. I wouldn’t have let some madman kidnap her.”
“Of course not,” Cassidy said, though she secretly let this idea play out in her head. Izzy’s asleep in the van, a creepy kidnapper sneaks in on her. No. Izzy would have screamed bloody murder and fought with everything she had. Someone would have heard. Someone would have tried to stop them.
And yet. Cassidy hugged her middle with her free arm. Izzy was an attractive young woman: long blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, and when she used it, a nice smile. But she was also confident, opinionated—traits that often got her in trouble. She remembered her comment in the bar: so did you bond with your captor? Even if Cassidy tried, she couldn’t imagine Izzy falling prey to some creep—though Cassidy had learned firsthand how easily it was to be fooled.
“What am I going to do?” Martin pleaded. “Preston Ford could literally ruin me, Dr. Kincaid.”
“I better call Dr. Gorman,” Cassidy said as a veil of unease closed around her.
The head of University of Oregon Geology answered sounding distraught. “I need you here now,” he instructed her.
So, Cassidy rose and prepared for a journey with no clear end point. She dressed, popped her contact lenses back into her tired eyes, and grabbed her sleeping bag and pillow, stuffed a change of clothes, her laptop, and a few snacks into a faded backpack and at 12: 43 a.m., jumped into her car.
Cassidy felt wide awake for several hours until the adrenaline faded, and her eyelids began to droop. She realized the very real danger of falling asleep at the wheel. Plus, her engine temperature had risen steadily, so she pulled into a rest area. After reclining her seat, she tugged the sleeping bag from its stuff sack and pulled it over her, locked the doors, and feel asleep instantly. She woke from her catnap at 4:30, and once she was back on the road, reflected on the rest of her conversation with Dr. Richard Gorman. He had informed her that after Martin and Bridget failed to locate Izzy in Eugene using the network of students from field camp, he had called Preston Ford.
“He’s giving us twenty-four hours,” Richard said in a voice that made it sound like this was some kind of gift.
“You know that Martin is going to the Yukon this afternoon, right? And I’m headed to Hawaii in two days?”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“I still don’t understand why we can’t call the police,” Cassidy said.
“With the case regarding Dominique still unsolved, I can’t risk that this will blow up.”
Cassidy grimaced.
“And Mr. Ford doesn’t want whatever trouble she’s stirred up to hurt her reputation,” Dr. Gorman replied evenly.
“More like he doesn’t want it to hurt his reputation,” Cassidy mumbled.
“That may be true,” Richard admitted. “But I suppose we can’t blame him.”
Cassidy wasn’t so sure about that.
“Apparently she’s done this before,” Richard said with a heavy sigh.
“Done what, exactly?” Cassidy asked.
“Run off.”
Run off. Cassidy thought about this for a moment. Why would a grown woman need to run off? It sounded overly dramatic, though this was Izzy they were talking abo
ut.
“He can turn over her credit card records. I should have them by the time you arrive.”
“Wait, if he’s so savvy on tracking her down, why doesn’t he do it himself? Or hire someone?”
“Because he needs this done quietly,” Richard had said.
Cassidy’s suspicions about mighty Preston Ford being more concerned about protecting his own reputation resurfaced. Martin had said something about it earlier, about Preston Ford worrying about the media—his media, no doubt—discovering Izzy’s disappearance. The tabloids would have a field day with such news, plus, it would make the U. of O. Geology Department look bad. Really bad, especially on the heels of Dominique’s unsolved disappearance.
Cassidy realized that she and Martin would take the fall. This insight crashed down on her shoulders like a heavy wave. Not Martin, she thought, refusing to entertain the idea of such a bright, hardworking scientist’s entire career being destroyed because of some bratty student’s prank.
“But Izzy is also an adult. If she’s on some kind of bender, why track her down at all? She’s smart,” Cassidy said. “She’ll figure it out and come back when she wants.”
“Preston Ford isn’t willing to take that chance.”
After parking in the garage familiar to her from her days as a postdoc, Cassidy walked the quiet pathways to the redbrick geology building and continued down the dim hallway, then long-legged up the stairs to the second floor. Even though morning light from the windows shone through, the long corridor felt dark and empty. Most professors completed their field work in the summers, so Cassidy suspected that a majority of the offices she passed were empty.
A light shone from underneath Richard’s thick wooden door. The instant she knocked, a voice answered: “Enter.”
Cassidy stepped into Richard’s square-shaped office, realizing that although she had spent two years as a postdoc in this very department, she had never set foot in this room. A small entryway was furnished with a faded paisley-pattered couch, its cushions compressed from use, opposite a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf packed with all manner of books and journals.
“Thank you for coming,” Richard said, rising from his desk that overlooked a broad window at the back of the room.
Richard wore a pale blue button-down shirt tucked into khaki walking shorts; his skinny legs extending stork-like into white socks and a faded pair of running shoes so large Cassidy immediately thought of canoes. Though Richard looked the part of a department head, the placket of his buttons did not line up with his midline, one of the cuffs of his shirt was rolled partway while the other was unbuttoned and open, flapping like a luffing sail when he gestured for her to take a seat on his couch.
“Of course,” Cassidy said.
His creased, sun-worn face looked haggard as he turned his desk chair to face her and sank into it.
“I’m glad you came so quickly.” He turned and scooped several 8 ½ by 11 sheets of paper from his desk and handed them to Cassidy, leaning forward so that the black-rimmed bifocals tethered around his neck swung into space.
Cassidy glanced at the top sheet which contained a list of phone numbers.
“This is the field camp roster, including phone numbers and addresses. Mr. Ford has also sent her credit card statement.”
“So, do you want me to call all of these numbers?” Cassidy asked as she shuffled through the pages, feeling lost. “Martin has already talked to some of them.” She frowned. “Izzy isn’t in Eugene.”
“Yes, I know that,” Richard said.
“So . . . ” Cassidy connected with Richard’s steely blue gaze.
“We have until tomorrow morning to locate her,” Richard said. “Or Preston Ford will have no choice but to take this to the next level.”
Cassidy winced, imagining how the media would tear Martin apart, and coupled with Dominique’s disappearance, University of Oregon as a whole. “That’s hardly fair,” she protested. “Knowing Izzy, she took off for some reason and is enjoying kicking up her heels somewhere. Sure, Martin should have done a more thorough search of the van before leaving Biggs Junction. But this wasn’t some fourth-grade trip to the zoo. It’s not like she wandered off.” The more Cassidy had thought it through, the more she was convinced that Izzy had left the van on purpose. But why? What would make her do such a thing?
“Whatever her reasons, we are still responsible,” Richard replied, shifting in his chair. “You realize what Preston Ford could do to Martin? The department? To you?” he said, standing, his eyes seeming to search the shelves for guidance, but Cassidy knew he would find no help from books destined for scholars. He turned to her, his face flushed. “Can you imagine a geology department without field camp?”
Cassidy shrunk back. “No,” she replied.
“Think about Martin. He’ll never be able to teach with something like this on his record.”
Cassidy glanced at the papers in her lap. She knew Richard was right. If Martin was accused of negligence regarding a student, his career path would be severely limited, if he wasn’t kicked out of the program entirely. The thought made her sick. Martin was a good kid, with a bright future. He shouldn’t have to pay for a student’s selfish actions.
“And you,” he added. “If you intend to keep your job at the University of Washington, and make tenure, this affects your career too.”
Cassidy felt the tingle of fear spread through her skin. He’s right, she thought. I finally have everything I want—a lab of my own, money for projects, graduate students to mentor. Losing Izzy jeopardizes all of that.
Richard smoothed his thinning hair with one hand. “I think you should go to this gas station,” he said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “In Biggs Junction.” He pointed at the papers. “That’s the last time she used her card.”
Cassidy shuffled to the last page and scanned down a list of transactions until she found it. A withdrawal for three hundred dollars at 12:43 p.m.
“Mr. Ford wants us to locate her and get her home safely.”
“This just gets weirder,” Cassidy said, though more to herself. She tried to put herself in Preston Ford’s shoes—though she had no idea what the man was like. “Partying? Is that what he’s worried about?”
“I assume so.”
Cassidy gazed at the seasoned wood floors, trying to collect her thoughts.
“Preston Ford has donated generously to the university, and to our department.”
“He has?” Cassidy said, her gaze snapping back to Richard’s.
“Over five million dollars.”
Cassidy’s lungs froze. She stared at Richard until he looked away. “Was this before or after his daughter disappeared?”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “His mother is an alumnus. He’s been a patron for many years.”
“Okay,” Cassidy said, crossing her arms. “So not only are we being threatened, we’re being bribed?”
Richard stiffened—shoulders hiking, face narrowing. “No, I’m just making you aware of what’s at stake.”
“Fuck, Richard, I’m aware, okay?” Cassidy replied, her face feeling hot.
Cassidy saw Richard wince at her profanity and cringed. “Sorry,” she said. Too much time hanging around college students, she thought. Cassidy exhaled a hard breath, her throat feeling parched.
Richard turned to face the window where the early morning sun lit the neighboring brick buildings with a soft glow. “Interesting bit of news about your recent trip to Costa Rica,” he said.
Cassidy’s stomach quivered. During the drive she had listened to all of the new recordings on her voicemail. The requests for interviews had ranged from pleading to threatening.
“I’m sorry to hear about your stepbrother,” Richard continued. “I had no idea. And so soon after Pete.” He glanced her way, his blue eyes scrutinizing her. “Are you doing all right?”
Cassidy wanted to say something smooth and gracious, but she was too surprised to form words. “I’m fine,” she finally managed, her voice soun
ding thin.
He faced the window again. “Your trip to Kilauea is a remarkable opportunity. The biggest eruption in three hundred years. Your work there will be very important.” He turned and put a hand on the back of his chair. “You have a lot to contribute, Cassidy,” he said.
Cassidy did not reply. Compliments like this did not come her way very often and she wasn’t sure how to take this one.
“It seems you’re capable of solving all kinds of puzzles.” He lifted an eyebrow.
Cassidy saw his intent right away, but swallowed her reaction.
“I want you to drive to Biggs Junction and see if you can figure out where she’s gone. Hopefully she’ll surface on her own. But until then, let’s see what you can find out.”
Cassidy realized that she was gripping the papers tightly, and looked down at them. The first name on the list of addresses was Cody Bukowski.
“Mr. Ford will send me updates of Izzy’s information later today, which I will forward to you.”
Cassidy realized that she was being dismissed.
“Let’s get this taken care of, shall we? Then we can put it behind us.”
Cassidy folded the papers in half and stood. “Say it’s like her dad predicts, that she’s just partying somewhere. What if she doesn’t want to come home?”
Richard tilted his head, a soft smile playing across his lips. “Then you’ll convince her otherwise.”
“What if I can’t find her?” Cassidy said, fingering the crisp edge of the papers dangling from her fingertips.
“I have faith in you, Cassidy,” he said, walking her to the door.
Six
Feeling lost, Cassidy wandered towards her car. She slid her phone from her pocket to call Martin, noticing three missed calls from numbers she didn’t recognize. Frustrated, she resisted the urge to throw her phone across the campus.
Once inside her Subaru, she waited through the endless rings until Martin’s voicemail asked her to leave a message. She hung up and weighed her options for several minutes, then sorted through her contacts. But FBI Agent Bruce Keolani didn’t answer either. Cassidy left him a vague message. She was unclear about how FBI agents operated—was Bruce involved in the process of getting Mel Tomlinson’s case ready? Or did that job belong to someone else, and he was back undercover? She hadn’t spoken to him in months.