Paradise Falls

by Jacobs, Jonnie

  “It’s important, please,” she told his secretary. “I have to talk to him right away.”

  Amazingly, she was put through.

  “Jake, I just heard on the news. They’ve discovered a body. In the mountains outside of town. Possibly Karen or Caitlin.”

  “My God.” Jake was full of questions, none of which she could answer.

  “That’s all I know,” she wailed. “Oh, Jake. What if it’s Caitlin?” For all her supposed certainty that Caitlin was dead, Grace now confronted the possibility anew. She hadn’t given up hope, she realized. Not really. Not at all.

  “Have you called the police, Grace?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll call on the other line. Don’t hang up.”

  “I won’t.”

  He was back on the line in no time. “They won’t tell me anything. The detectives aren’t available.”

  “I’m going to drive out there.”

  “It won’t do any good.”

  “I have to go. I can’t just sit here.”

  “Wait for me. I’ll go with you.”

  “You’re almost an hour away.”

  “We’ll go together. I’ll leave this minute.”

  “No. I need to go now. I’ll call you as soon as I learn anything.”

  ~~~~

  The rain fell in a steady gray drizzle. Traffic within the city inched along, slowing for puddles and poor visibility. Grace kept the car radio tuned to the news station. They repeated the earlier broadcast, adding that they had a reporter on scene but no further details were immediately available.

  They must know something, Grace thought. They had to have more information, if only unofficially. The slowly passing minutes were measured by the thump-thumping of the windshield wipers. Grace gripped the steering wheel so hard, her hands ached.

  By the time she arrived at the scene fifteen minutes later, the two-lane road leading to the staging area was lined with official-looking vehicles. She noted a crime scene investigation van and another marked “coroner.”

  Grace parked behind a news truck and sat in the car a moment, hugging herself in an attempt to quiet her shaking body. Do I really want to know? she asked herself again. A meaningless question. She had to know.

  As she approached the dirt road leading off to the right, a uniformed officer said, “Sorry ma’am, you can’t go that way. The area is closed.”

  “Please.” Grace braced herself against the icy wind. “I’m Caitlin Whittington’s mother. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but—”

  “I heard on the news, there’s a”—Grace had trouble saying the word—“a body. They said it might be one of the missing girls.”

  The uniformed officer, P. Richards, according to his tag, was a heavyset man in his fifties. His weathered face pulled tight as she spoke, but his eyes softened. “I wish I had something to tell you, but I don’t know any more than you.”

  “What about Detective Godwin? Is she here?”

  He nodded slowly. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch when she can.”

  “Have they brought the body out yet?” This time Grace got the word out with frightening ease.

  “Ma’am, Mrs. Whittington, why don’t you have a seat in my car? Out of the elements. You can wait there. I’ll be sure to let the detectives know that you’re here.”

  ~~~~

  Inside the back of the patrol car, Grace rubbed her hands together to warm them, then used her jacket sleeve to wipe the fogged window clear. Neither heated nor comfortable, the car offered Grace a better view than her own vehicle, so she stayed.

  A second uniformed officer had joined Officer Richards. A man and woman with blue Crime Scene Investigation jackets spoke to Richards, then headed down the rutted dirt road behind him. Another man jogged from the direction they’d gone, climbed into the coroner’s van parked nearby, and slowly began inching it forward, past the uniformed officers. The cluster of reporters who’d been huddling off to one side moved in to get photos. Seth Robbins was the only face among them Grace recognized, and she turned away as his gaze drifted toward the car where she sat.

  Then she saw Detective Godwin and two men emerge from the road behind the front lines. They appeared wet and muddy and cold. The reporters moved en masse toward the threesome. At the same time, Grace slid from the car and hustled in their direction. Detective Godwin looked up and caught Grace’s gaze. She said something to the men, then left them to handle the reporters while she directed Grace to a black sedan.

  “Let’s get inside,” the detective said. She turned on the engine and the heat, took a terry towel from the rear seat, and dried her hair and face.

  “Is it her?” Grace asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “We don’t have a positive ID yet and probably won’t for another day or so—”

  “Oh, God, it is, isn’t it? Please.” Grace reached for the detective’s hands. They were icy cold, her fingertips white. “Please, you have to tell me.”

  Godwin chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t want to give you false hope,” she said at last, “but I don’t think it’s your daughter. From all appearances, our victim has been deceased for more than a few days.”

  As the detective’s words sunk in, Grace could feel her insides melt. Relief made her weak.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m not sure about anything.” Detective Godwin pulled her hands free and held them in front of the car’s heater vents.

  “Do you think it could be Karen Holiday?”

  “It could be anyone.”

  Grace could tell from the look in the detective’s eyes that she thought it was Karen.

  “You should go home,” Godwin said, more kindly. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

  “It’s just that I heard the news—”

  The detective cursed under her breath. “Damn newsmongers. Let them try living in a fish bowl.”

  Grace reached for the door handle. “Thank you, Detective. Thank you. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Nothing to thank me for.”

  Grace caught the leaden dullness in the detective’s eyes, the tension in her jaw, and thought about what it must have been like for her to have asked a similar question years earlier and had it answered affirmatively. It’s your daughter’s body, Detective. And now Beth Holiday would be in that same place.

  ~~~~

  Grace remained upbeat all evening. Strangely manic, almost. Caitlin was still missing, Grace still felt fearful and anxious, but she brimmed with relief at having dodged the ultimate bad news.

  For now.

  The six o’clock news showed footage of the coroner’s van, a flash of Grace dashing to greet Detective Godwin, a short Q & A with the detectives that had apparently taken place after Grace left. Human remains had been found about a quarter mile in by hikers, the reporter announced. No details were available at this time. Police would hold a news conference in a day or two, or whenever they had more information.

  Grace’s elated mood held through dinner. It must have rubbed off on the others because the atmosphere was lighter, the conversation more plentiful than on the previous night. Grace had two glasses of wine. Adam told a joke he’d heard that day. Carl related a tale of political irony having to do with the university president. Only Lucy was unusually quiet.

  “You okay?” Grace asked her as they cleared the table.

  “It’s all so frightening. I’m glad it wasn’t Caitlin today, but she . . . she’s still missing.” Lucy bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you.”

  “You didn’t remind me. It’s something I never forget. Not even for a minute.”

  And she hadn’t forgotten. She was simply desperate enough to grab hold of anything that resembled hope. But the fleeting sense of relief she’d enjoyed earlier was gone.

  ~~~~

  After Carl went off to bed, Grace opened the notes and letters that had come in the mail that day. The
first, from Grace’s college roommate, offered sympathy and encouragement but was also filled with news of her own three children. The second was from an old family friend of her parents, the scrawling handwriting difficult to decipher, but Grace was touched by her heartfelt compassion. The third letter was from Fern Daniels, who’d been Caitlin’s best friend and constant companion from fourth grade until she’d moved to New York with her family in August. Fern, a down-to-earth animal-loving vegetarian, was so different than the popular girls Caitlin had been hanging out with lately. Grace missed Fern almost as much as Caitlin did.

  The envelope was thick, and when Grace opened it, she understood why. Besides the card and note, written in Fern’s familiar, angular penmanship, there were numerous pages of printed emails. Grace read the card first.

  Dear Mrs. Whittington, I don’t know what to say or how to begin. I wanted to call but was afraid I might disturb you. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you right now. Caitlin is such a special, special person. She’s been the best friend to me ever, and this last semester was really hard without her. I miss her so much just being far away, I know it must be thousands millions of times worse for you. Know that you and Caitlin are in my thoughts and prayers. We are all hoping there’s a happy ending.

  P.S. I’m enclosing some of Caitlin’s emails. My mom says if she was in your place she’d like to have them, kind of as a way to stay close. I don’t know about that so I hope I’m not making things worse for you.

  Grace smiled. She could almost hear Fern’s voice. She started to read the printed pages from the beginning, Caitlin’s first day of fall semester without Fern. It was typically teenage stuff—who said what to whom, gossip about the teachers, and later talk of Ty. Grace suspected Fern had sent her an edited collection of emails, since after “You’ll never believe it! Ty Cross asked me out!!” there was a large gap in time.

  Exhausted, Grace decided she’d read the emails in more detail tomorrow. For now, she skimmed them, looking for Ty’s name.

  Instead, what jumped out at her was “Adam.”

  I caught him watching me again, Caitlin wrote. And in another email, I found him kind of cuddling the cardigan I tossed on the table. I told you he’s strange.

  And several weeks ago, I think you’re right, he must like me. Now there’s something to contemplate! He’s sort of sweet really, and not at all like Ty. But weird, too, as you know.

  Grace went back and searched every page for Adam’s name. There were only those few references, but once again Jake’s words echoed in her mind. Adam was a bit odd, she conceded, and he’d been inside Caitlin’s room only two days ago.

  Grace was still tired, but she suddenly felt as though she’d taken in a triple shot of caffeine. Sleep would be a long time coming tonight.

  Chapter 22

  Although she awoke early the next morning (in fact she wasn’t sure she’d ever fallen asleep), Grace waited to get out of bed until Adam and Lucy had left for school. Then she went straight to Adam’s room.

  It was sparsely furnished, his choice, with a rumpled and unmade twin bed, bare walls, a dresser, a desk, and a small television. The floor was strewn with clothes, the closet largely empty. Next to his laptop was a stack of DVDs and an array of empty soda cans and dirty glasses.

  She started with the laptop even though she was afraid she’d mess something up or leave evidence of her snooping. Well, if Adam wanted to confront her, let him. She might just beat him to the punch.

  She searched his files and his browser history. Like Caitlin, Adam used a web-based email program so she couldn’t check his messages. There was nothing she could find elsewhere in his files about Caitlin. Nothing out of the ordinary, or what passed for ordinary among teenagers these days. Grace examined Adam’s drawers next, lifting the liners and poking into corners and crevices. Again, she came up empty-handed. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—an article of Caitlin’s, maybe, or a diary. Something that would lend credence to the uneasy thoughts that were beginning to take root in her mind. When the closet yielded nothing but smelly socks and a broken tennis racket, Grace decided that maybe she’d overreacted. Jake had planted a seed of doubt, and because of his suggestions, she’d probably read more into Caitlin’s emails to Fern than was warranted. She took one last look around Adam’s room and went downstairs to make herself a cup of coffee.

  Over breakfast, she read the morning paper with its headline coverage of yesterday’s grisly discovery. Authorities had apparently identified the body as that of Karen Holiday. While the announcement wasn’t really surprising—Detective Godwin had more or less indicated that’s what she suspected—Grace was struck with the finality of knowing for sure. Poor Beth Holiday. As little as Grace had in common with the woman, she felt a tremendous empathy for her loss. She recalled tidbits of their conversation and hoped the faith Beth had professed would give her strength in the awful days ahead.

  Rinsing the dishes, Grace continued to muse over her conversation with Beth Holiday only days earlier. Caitlin and Karen were so different. How was it that this maniac in their midst had picked these two girls? And why?

  She stopped cold when she remembered that Karen had received study help through the peer tutoring program at school. The same program Adam was involved in as a tutor.

  So what? The kids were all students at the same school. Their paths crossed, their lives intersected. But she couldn’t stop the misgivings. Adam was a loner. A misfit, if she wanted to be mean about it. An aloof, asocial, sometimes surly teenage boy. Karen and Caitlin, though very different, were both lively and attractive girls. It wasn’t so far-fetched to imagine a boy like Adam harboring secret fantasies. What if he’d tried to act on them?

  Grace dried her hands and headed back upstairs to give Adam’s room a second look.

  Fifteen minutes later, after she’d again convinced herself she was off the mark, she accidentally kicked over a stack of music magazines. At the bottom was a copy of Playboy, and wedged inside were several photos of Caitlin. Her school photo from last fall, a couple of recent snapshots, and one slightly grainy—and very disturbing—picture Grace had never seen before. Caitlin, in her pajamas, was sitting cross-legged on her bed, twisting a strand of hair around her finger while concentrating on the book in her lap. Had Caitlin known she was being photographed? Impossible. Then Grace remembered the web cam. Well, maybe. Besides, there was something about the pose that wasn’t entirely candid. But whether she’d posed or been caught in her room unawares, the scenario was unsettling.

  Could Adam have been involved in Caitlin’s disappearance? Grace’s heart began to hammer.

  No way! Adam might not be the stereotypical All American Teenage Boy, but he wasn’t violent.

  How well did she know him? And wasn’t deviant behavior often well-hidden? Weren’t news accounts of arrests frequently accompanied by quotes from disbelieving friends and neighbors? He was a nice kid. He was always polite and helped me carry in my groceries. I don’t believe it, there must be a mistake.

  She shook her head. No, it wasn’t possible. Carl’s son. His flesh and blood. Her own stepson.

  A sourness rose in her throat and mouth. She went into the bathroom and rinsed her mouth with shaking hands. What should she do? She couldn’t talk to Carl about this.

  She tried to think how she’d react if the situation were reversed. If Carl were to come to her with suspicions about Caitlin. The idea was so far-fetched her mind wouldn’t even go down that path.

  Detective Godwin? That would mean going behind Carl’s back. She couldn’t do that, either.

  She went to the phone beside her bed and called Sandy. When her friend didn’t answer on the home phone, Grace tried her cell. Sandy wasn’t someone who talked mindlessly and endlessly on her cell phone. It was for emergencies and brief messages from her children. Grace hated to intrude, but she felt desperate.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Grace said. “Are you somewhere where you can talk for a few minutes?” />
  “There’s news about Caitlin?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “I’m on my way home from the store, but I’ve got a little time. You sound upset.”

  Grace’s mouth was so dry she had trouble moving her lips. “Oh, Sandy, I think maybe Adam might be behind what’s happened. To both Caitlin and Karen Holiday.”

  “Oh, my God! What gave you that idea?” A horn blared loudly in the background. “Asshole. Look, let me run these groceries home to the fridge and I’ll be over there in less than fifteen minutes.”

  ~~~~

  Grace greeted Sandy with a cup of coffee, but felt too nauseated to have any herself.

  “Now tell me what’s going on,” Sandy said, taking her customary seat at the kitchen table.

  Grace started with having seen Adam coming out of Caitlin’s bedroom the other night. She told Sandy about Fern’s emails and how Caitlin had said that Adam had her sweater.

  “Cuddling it, was what she said,” Grace explained. “And then today I found photos of Caitlin stuck inside a Playboy magazine of Adam’s. Here, take a look.” She pushed the photos across the table.

  Sandy examined them one by one, then said, “There’s nothing out of the ordinary about any of them.”

  “The one of Caitlin on her bed. How did he get that? What was he doing there?”

  “We don’t know that he took it. It might have been taken by a girlfriend of hers at a sleep-over. Or even Caitlin herself. All cameras have remote timers these days.”

  “And what about the fact he had them hidden inside Playboy?”

  “I have sons, Grace. You don’t. Playboy is pretty mild actually.” She sighed. “I’m not saying you’re wrong here, I’m just playing devil’s advocate because, to tell you the truth, nothing that you’ve told me seems to have crossed any lines.”

  Sandy wasn’t one to rush to judgment. She didn’t go off on tangents or get hot under the collar for no reason. It was a quality Grace appreciated. But, at the moment, she would have welcomed a little less logic.