“Yes, I was always more interested in the power of vocabulary, but it seems even simple words demand attention in this case—don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Whatever. It’s only a gossip site.” Jenna gave a wry smile. “Or perhaps voyeurism in its most simple yet fatal design.”
Damien jumped up and grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil out of the kitchen. “This is good stuff. So you think it’s the voyeurism aspect that’s captivating?”
“Yeah.”
“What is it about verbal voyeurism that captivates?”
“Sorry. There’s a limit to how much I can talk about voyeurism with my father, especially when he looks like he’s going to quote me in the newspaper.” Jenna’s gaze dropped to the pad of paper.
“Sorry. I promise not to quote anybody. I’m just writing down some notes.” Damien looked at Hunter. “What about you? What are your thoughts?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have any.”
“Oh, come on. This is fun. Be real with me. What are you really thinking about it? I promise not to quote you.”
“Well,” Kay said, “if I’m being real and honest, I have to say I’m totally addicted. To hear people’s private conversations . . . it kind of lets you know who they really are. It’s almost the only way to know who people really are. That’s when their guard is down.”
“So the question is, do the conversations we have privately define who we are, or are we who we are despite our private conversations?”
“It’s like you are what you eat, which is why I want to finish eating these meatballs,” Hunter said, stuffing one into his mouth.
“Did Frank say if they were getting closer to knowing who’s doing it?” Jenna asked.
“No. They don’t have any good leads. That’s what he said.” Damien set his pad down and started eating, trying to escape the thought that Frank might be behind it all. He’d pushed it out of his mind today, but it was back now. Frank had lied to him. Twice. And Frank was not one to lie about anything. But what would cause him to do it?
His thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing.
“Probably the Mormons.” Jenna sighed. “I’ll get it. The boys can be cute.”
Damien smiled. She did seem a little happier today, and if it took cute Mormon boys to make that happen, well, he’d take what he could get.
Damien heard a male voice, then Jenna say, “Dad, I think you better come here.”
They all three got up from the table and went to the door. Standing on the porch was a Marlo police officer.
“Officer, what’s wrong?” Damien asked.
The officer held up a picture. “We have a missing girl. Wondered if you know her or have seen her.”
“A missing girl? In Marlo?” Kay gasped.
They all studied the photo; then Jenna said, “That’s Gabby.”
“Gabby?” Damien asked.
“Gabriella Caldwell. She’s in my class.”
Damien’s heart stopped. The pastor’s daughter?
“Yes, that’s her name,” the officer said. “Have you seen or heard from her?”
“No,” Jenna said.
“Are you friends with her, Jenna?” Damien asked.
“No, not really. I kind of know her. She’s quiet. Doesn’t hang out much. She stays to herself mostly.”
“Let us know if you hear from her or see her,” the officer said.
Damien shut the door and turned. His family stared at him. Kay took his arm and squeezed against him.
“It’s going to be fine,” Damien said. “I’m sure they’ll find her. She’s probably out with friends or something.”
“She doesn’t have any friends,” Jenna said. “I mean, not really.”
“Maybe she ran away,” Hunter said.
“Maybe,” Damien said. “You guys finish dinner. I’m going to have to cover this.”
When Damien had decided he wanted to be an investigative reporter, he never imagined he’d be investigating the quick unraveling of his beloved town.
16
Frank zipped his coat all the way to the chin and pulled on his heaviest leather gloves. The wind snapped and howled. The moon, nearly full, provided decent light at 2:30 in the morning. The quietness was undone by the distant sound of dogs barking and people shouting Gabriella’s name.
“Come on. Get something hot to drink,” Frank said, urging the volunteer team into the parking lot. They’d searched the large park in the center of Marlo but came up empty and dejected.
Captain Grayson handed Frank a cup of hot cider. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Nearby, Reverend Caldwell huddled with his wife, his gaze darting to every sound. He clutched a Bible to his chest.
“We’ve issued the Amber Alert, and we’ve got the FBI coming in with more dogs.” Grayson laid a map down on his car. “When we get light, we’ll start here. There’s a lot of country out there, lots of trees and shrubs.”
“Light? We can’t wait that long.”
“And then there’s the river.”
“I know.”
Lou leaned against the car, sipping the cider. “Her parents are sure she didn’t run away. They said she’s very responsible, very reliable. They said she’s been upset since the cat incident, but she wasn’t upset with them, just with the circumstance. She left her money, her coat. Her car is still in the driveway, and the keys are at home. She takes medication that was left.”
Frank scanned the hillside, listening to the volunteers call her name, watching the lights bounce through the darkness. “She didn’t run away. Call it a gut instinct.” He tossed his cider. “I’m assuming we’ve interviewed Tim and Darla Shaw?”
“Yeah. Murray tracked them down. They have solid alibis.”
“Which means there’s a good chance they had nothing to do with the cat either. Because it seems to me these two things could be connected.”
“Maybe.”
Frank looked out over the crowd of people. Their faces, cold and chapped, told the whole story. They were losing their town. Innocence was fading. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Fear shone in their eyes, haunting and hollow.
“You okay?” Grayson asked.
Frank swallowed hard, trying to shove memories aside. But today they wouldn’t budge. Not even a little. “You know how many calls we covered yesterday? I saw two men, bathed in blood, on the floor of a grocery store. All because one man said something about another man’s sister.”
“Well, we all know what that leads to.”
“Except he didn’t say it to him—he said it to his wife at a party in a back room. And now it’s on the Internet for everyone to read. The Web site is showing eight thousand hits a day. People are devouring this stuff.”
“I know. I started reading it myself.”
“You still think we shouldn’t investigate?” Frank knew his tone was heavy and intense, but that was the best he could do under the circumstances.
Grayson let out a hard sigh. “We don’t have the resources. I think I can get Sampson to pull a detective off Robbery to monitor it, and we may be able to gain a lead if they slip and make a mistake, but we need some computer experts in here. We can ask state, but you know that’ll take weeks to process.”
“People are growing paranoid. They’re not trusting their friends, their neighbors. Relationships are being permanently ruined.”
“My hands are tied.”
“What’s it going to take for you to see how bad this is going to get?”
“Frank—”
Frank slapped the map. “I’m going to the alley off Gordon Street.”
“Wait. Let me get some volunteers together to—”
But Frank didn’t wait. He couldn’t. He had to find this girl if it was the last thing he did. Ever.
* * *
Damien’s entire body shivered as he made his way inside his home. The heated air enveloped him when he shook off his coat. Unwinding the scarf from his neck,
he took his first deep breath since he’d left the house hours ago.
He still trembled but from the inside out. Even as he sought to reassure anyone he could, dread seized every word. Nobody was reassured. Not even him.
Quietly, he turned the light on above the stairwell and tiptoed toward the top, hoping not to wake anyone. He’d left to cover the story and ended up joining a team searching for Gabriella. They marched through a field high with weeds, calling out her name, flashlight beams bouncing around like pinballs. It felt haunting, frantic, but slow and methodical. At one point, he’d stooped down, catching a glimpse of a shoe. Turned out it was an old farmer’s boot. But his emotions swelled, and it was all he could do not to show them.
He topped the stairs and stood looking at the closed doors of his children’s rooms. Both said Keep Out. But he longed to check on them, make sure they were okay. He grabbed the doorknob to Hunter’s room. His door always squeaked. He gently pushed his body against it and it popped open. Hunter stirred in his bed but didn’t wake.
He used to check on the kids several times a night. When they were first born, he’d stand over their cribs, watching them breathe. When they were toddlers, he’d stand over their beds and pray. Then one day, they didn’t want nighttime stories read anymore, and they didn’t come downstairs for good-night kisses. The routine vanished, and now they all simply slept and didn’t think about one another until the morning.
Damien tried to shut the door quietly, then felt someone grab his arm. He jerked around to find Kay in her pajamas, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t sleep.”
Damien wrapped an arm around her and led her to their bedroom. “Have you been crying all this time?”
She nodded, wiping the tears. “I kind of freaked out earlier, after we got home from handing out flyers, and told the kids they weren’t walking by themselves in the neighborhood. And I told Jenna she couldn’t drive by herself. Then I made some stupid remark about her skirt. . . . They’re both mad at me.”
“They’ll get over it.”
They sat at the edge of the bed. Kay put her head on his shoulder, blotting her face with her hands. “I just can’t believe this is happening. What terrible thing has happened to this poor girl?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it. They sent us home tonight and said we’d resume in the morning. Maybe if you came with me, it would help you feel like you were doing something. Rather than sitting here worrying.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. I want to help.”
“Let’s get you to bed.” He pulled down the covers.
Kay scooted back and lay down, her body sinking into the sheets. She suddenly started crying harder.
Damien turned, rubbing her shoulder. “Sweetie . . .”
“They called me a slut.”
“What? Who?” Damien sat straight up. “On the Web site?”
Kay turned over to face him, her hands tucked between her cheek and the pillow. “In high school. It was painted on my locker one day after school. I couldn’t scrub it off.” She broke down, burying her face in the pillow.
Damien didn’t know what to say. Kay had never mentioned anything like this.
“I used to wear these really short skirts. They were kind of the style. But then these rumors started going around about me. They weren’t true but . . .”
“Why haven’t you ever told me this?” Damien said, taking her into his arms.
“I was so embarrassed. It hurt me so much. My friends stopped talking to me. I was totally alone. I had nobody. All because of a stupid rumor. And now I see our daughter . . .” Kay clutched his chest. “Don’t you see that string around her wrist? Don’t you know what that means? And those blouses she wears? I feel like I’m living a nightmare with her. In her.”
“Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“I just don’t want her to end up like me. I don’t want—” she covered her mouth for a moment—“anyone to ever call her a . . .”
She cried for a long time. Damien held her until she finally fell asleep. He put her gently on her pillow.
In the darkness, he sat on the edge of the bed and listened to her breathe until each breath was slow and deep and he was sure she was in a deep sleep.
He rose, walked to the bathroom, shut the door, and kept the light off. He slid to the floor and stared into the darkness.
17
Frank walked alone, shining his light up and down, side to side, hoping to see something other than an alley cat. His hands tingled from numbness and his nose dripped.
This was his town. His town to serve. His town to protect. He wasn’t losing a girl to a crime like this. As innocent as Marlo was—or once was—he knew there were shadows, cast long and harsh against its streets. Long and harsh and old. The curse was not new. Just forgotten.
He called the girl’s name. It echoed against the buildings in the town square area. The crisp night air did nothing to stifle the rotten odors that fumed from the Dumpsters.
“Come on, Gabby. Where are you?” Frank whispered. He stood at the end of the last alleyway. Maybe he would go to the river tonight on his own and search.
Suddenly his phone vibrated against his hip. It was his personal cell. Who would be calling him in the middle of the night? He quickly snatched it up and looked at the caller ID. It wasn’t a number he recognized. “Frank Merret.”
“It’s Jenna.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to meet with you.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need to talk to you.”
“Where are you?”
“Meet me at the park on the north side, where the bell is.”
The phone went dead. Frank checked his watch—3:45 a.m. What in the world was Jenna doing out at this hour? Did Damien know? He started to dial Damien’s cell, then stopped. He should meet Jenna first, see what was wrong. She called him for a reason.
Frank got in his car and hurried to Marlo Park, the only park in town. It reminded him of a perfectly groomed woman—manicured, brushed, coddled, coifed. Large silver maples boasted their color in the fall. Bright tulips spelled out Marlo in the center of the park in the spring.
Frank pulled into one of several small parking places and got out. His mind flashed back fourteen years to a warm Sunday afternoon. He and Angela strolled through the west side of the park, where five weeping willows marked a path that led to a small, man-made waterfall. There was nothing out of the ordinary that day.
Except that day, near the sound of the rushing water, with the birds singing their songs in the trees, he had knelt down and opened a small, black box. Inside, a tiny ring with a tiny diamond that had cost him an arm and a leg barely glimmered. It was small, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. She adored it as if it were of great value.
It seemed like yesterday.
Frank had yet to get warm. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and searched through the darkness, trying to find Jenna. There, on a bench.
She watched as he walked toward her. She looked cold and tired. And scared.
He sat down, his body aching and weary. He turned to her. “You’re okay?”
She nodded. In the dim moonlight, her eyes glistened with tears. “I have to tell you something.”
“You know you can always tell me anything.”
“It’s about Gabby.”
Frank tried not to look startled. “What about her?”
“It’s just . . . It’s . . .”
“Take your time.”
Jenna took in a deep breath. “It’s hard.”
“Do you know what happened to Gabby?”
“No. Not exactly. But there are some girls at the school . . .” She took another breath as if each word sucked every bit of air out of her. “One girl especially, who hates Gabby.” She glanced at Frank. “I’ve heard her talk about Gabby. In mean ways. In really mean ways.”
<
br /> “You think she might’ve done something?”
Jenna’s words came in short, anxious bursts. “I don’t know. I mean, sometimes I think maybe I’m overreacting, that it’s just girl stuff. But they . . . Nobody would believe me. Everyone thinks they’re nice girls. They say stuff, though. And do stuff. Under the radar so nobody suspects them.”
“What’s the name of the girl you think might be involved?”
Jenna’s gloved hands were at her mouth, her fingers curled against her lips.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“That’s what nobody understands,” she whispered. “There are consequences.”
* * *
Frank got out of his car just as Lou Grayson pulled up.
Grayson looked around at the abandoned rest stop as he shut the door on his car. “Hey, Frank. You happen to stop for coffee?”
“No.”
Grayson nodded like he wasn’t expecting that he did. The two men joined each other on the sidewalk. Lou put his hands on his hips. “You got a tip, huh?”
“Yeah. Anybody else coming?”
“No. Left them there, didn’t want to try to relocate everyone yet. This place isn’t too terribly big. We can at least go in and look, see what we see. Maybe come back at daybreak with more people.”
“All right. You got your flashlight?”
“Yeah.”
“Beyond this rest stop there is supposedly a clearing.”
They turned on their lights and walked forward. To their right was a small, covered eating area, rotting picnic benches the only reminder that people used to use this place. Closed-up bathrooms hid underneath the shadows of a large group of trees.
Frank checked the doors. Both were chained shut. “Gabby? You in there?” He pounded on a door.
Silence.
Grayson yelled from behind the bathroom building, “Windows are sealed up. Let’s keep moving. We’ll double-check this in a little bit.”
They headed toward a line of trees, where it became dense. Limbs and vines, splashed with the blue light of the moon, tangled like lovers.
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