by Kate Gable
“So, you haven't talked to her since last night?"
"No," Kaylee says with a shrug. "She was here all evening. We were working on a civil war project and then she... Then my mom dropped her off."
"Is there a reason why she did that? Was my mom busy?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I'm not really sure."
"Does my mom usually pick her up?"
"I think she said something about your mom not wanting to drive all the way out here at night and Mom doesn't mind. Sometimes we stop in and do our grocery shopping at that time, when the stores are emptier."
"That makes sense."
A lot of locals do that in the winter since both stores tend to be overrun by tourists on their ski trips. It can sometimes take an hour to get through the lines.
Kaylee pushes her dishwater-blonde hair behind one ear straightening the messy part on the other side. When she realizes that it won't behave, she tucks it all into a loose bun using the scrunchie on her wrist.
"So, after you dropped her off, what then?” I ask.
"I don't know. She was supposed to go inside and that's it."
"She wasn't going to go out with anyone after that, like maybe a guy who she’d arranged to meet up with?"
She shakes her head.
"Kaylee, you're not going to get in trouble,” I say, reaching over and touching her hand, but she pulls away from me. “I'm just really trying to find out what happened to her and Violet is not going to get in trouble either. I'm just really worried about my sister."
Kaylee shakes her head. She holds eye contact with me pretty easily. She’s either a marvelous liar or she's telling the truth. I can't tell which one quite yet.
"I didn't see her walk up to the door. Mom just turned around and we drove away, but she must have, right?"
“I would think so, but she didn’t come home.”
"Do you think something bad happened to her?” Kaylee asks, putting her hand over her mouth.
"I really hope not.”
I wait for her to add something.
“Is there anything else?” she asks instead.
I shake my head.
No one says anything for a while and then I lean so close to her, I can smell her breath. She hasn't had the chance to brush her teeth yet and I get the scent of Cheetos and Dr. Pepper, but no alcohol.
”Kaylee," I say, reaching over to her again and taking her hand in mine. "Kaylee, I want you to know how serious this is. If you know anything, if she said anything off the cuff or was acting strange. Please, you have to tell me. Any little detail can help."
Kaylee shakes her head, looking straight into my eyes. She lifts up her shoulders and flounces a bit, but she doesn't pull her hands away. She just lets it rest there.
"I really wish that there was something I could help you with, but I have no idea. I can't imagine her wanting to meet up with a guy and not telling me about it though."
“Neither can I,” I say silently to myself.
"Is there anyone that she liked at school? Is there another friend that she might have wanted to go out with?"
She thinks about it for a moment, but then shakes her head.
"She used to like this guy named Neil Goss, but he was kind of mean to her in math class and so that was that, but that's all I can think of."
I write down the name, using the Note app on my phone. I show her the screen and she confirms the spelling.
"He's in your grade?"
"Yes. He lives over in Big Bear Lake in a big house. A mansion, really. His dad is an attorney. Everyone has a crush on him at some point."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, you know the type, cocky, confident, good at sports, really easy on the eyes. I liked him back in fifth grade, but then I found out that he’s a dick."
“Violet? She liked him, too?"
“Big crush, major one, but he has a girlfriend, Natalie D’Achille. She's also popular. She's part of a twin set.”
“Twins?” I ask.
“Actually triplets,” she corrects herself. "She has two brothers, not identical. They've all been pretty popular ever since elementary school and Natalie and Neil have been on and off for about two or three years now. Recently they've been on."
"What happened between Neil and Violet?"
"I'm not sure exactly. They worked on some project together and then he started to ignore her. She thought maybe that he would like her but then… I don't know exactly what happened."
I nod my head, taking it all in. The drama of middle school is difficult to track, but in this case, it's the only lead I have. Well, besides going to the neighbors and seeing if they have any recordings from their Nest cameras to see what actually happened last night.
Kaylee pulls out her phone and offers to give me Neil’s phone number. A wave of excitement rushes through me as I put the number into my contact list.
“I didn’t realize you had it,” I say.
"Yeah. We all kind of stay in touch. We have this big group text, but he doesn't always reply. Sometimes he posts stuff on TikTok and Instagram."
I write down all of his social media info along with his address that she finds for me in the school’s directory.
"Thank you so much," I tell her after I collect all of that information. "I hope it's nothing, but I’ll let you know. I hope she comes back later this morning with a big smile on her face, but we have to take action now just in case, you understand?"
"Yes, of course.” Kaylee nods, wrapping her hands around her knees. "I really hope you find her. I can't imagine that something might've happened."
I walk out of their house with shivers running down my spine, the way she said that, it took me by surprise. On one hand, it feels like she's just making a general comment about her missing friend.
On the other hand, something feels off, like, is she telling me everything?
Does she know anything?
I look at the time and it's not even eight. I decide to stop at the Starbucks before heading over to Neil's house.
I text my mom to find out if she has any more news on Violet, but she doesn't. After ordering a latte and warming up in my car. I drive over to the Whispering Pines area near the lake, famous for its grand mansions, some of which are ten thousand square feet.
My GPS takes me right over to one with enormous columns and an elaborately carved wooden gate up front. I press the button on the intercom and wait.
No one answers. I push it again.
"Hello?" A faint female voice comes on.
"My name is Kaitlyn Carr. I'm a detective with the LAPD and I would like to talk to Neil Goss, please."
The person on the other end doesn't respond right away.
Then I hear her say, "Timothy," in barely a whisper.
“Thomas, there's a detective here who wants to talk to Neil,” she whimpers, keeping her finger on the talk button, allowing me to hear. A few minutes later, the gate swings open and I drive in.
7
Mrs. Michelle Goss is a thin woman with a nervous energy. She has a string of pearls around her neck and her hair is wet and piled loosely on top of her head.
Her skin is almost translucent and when she opens the door, she leans out keeping it tightly closed around her as if to prevent me from looking inside.
I introduce myself again, extending my hand. She pushes hers out through the thin slit in the doorway and shakes it.
"Can I come in? I have something to talk to you about,” I say boldly.
"Yes, of course," she says, hesitating.
She doesn't want to let me in, but she can't come up with a good excuse to turn me away. When I walk in, an enormous staircase greets me and pulls my eyes up to the cathedral-like ceilings. The wide spectacle of a crystal chandelier hangs sparkling above our heads.
"You are Mrs. Goss?" I ask.
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself,” she says, holding her hand tightly around her neck as if she needs it to be there to keep her bathrobe
closed.
"I'm really sorry to bother you and I know that it's really early,” I say, “but it couldn’t wait.”
“What, exactly?” she asks, tucking her other hand into her plush pockets.
I hesitate. I don't know how to put it exactly.
Should I mention that my sister's missing or should I ask her about her son first? Better yet, should I just ask to talk directly to him?
"Do you think that I can speak to your son, Neil?"
"Why?" she snaps.
“Okay, bad decision,” I say to myself.
"Mrs. Goss, can I call you Michelle?"
"No, you may not.” She shakes her head, straightening her back. Perhaps she’s not as much of a pushover as she seems.
"As I've said earlier, I'm a detective with the LAPD, but I'm not here in any official business,” I start, softening my approach and trying to appeal to her as a victim. “I grew up here and my sister is in Neil's class. I believe they have math together. I really need to talk to him. She's been missing since last night and we can't find her anywhere."
Suddenly, her demeanor changes as if it were on a switch. The tension in her face dissipates, her shoulders slope down, and her lips soften.
She pulls her hands out of her pockets and leads me to the dining room table so that we can both sit down.
"Would you like to have some coffee, tea, breakfast?"
"No, I don't have time. I just would really like to speak to your son. As you can imagine, I'm really worried about my sister."
"Yes, of course," Mrs. Goss says and heads toward the staircase. "I'll get him right now."
She leaves me alone to look around.
I have been in plenty of big mansions and estates in my capacity as a detective interviewing witnesses and victims, but this is different.
First of all, it has an unusual German style, white and black paneling, but done very tastefully. The windows have big lattices across them. There's an alcove near the dining room table and I walk over there to look out onto the street below.
There's so much shrubbery and landscaping that you wouldn't even know that there is a neighbor right next door. I make my way out to the foyer and admire the parquet floors and the modern art hanging on the walls.
You wouldn't think that it would fit this kind of older style house, but somehow it does. I wonder if Mrs. Goss decorated this place herself or if she had any help. I know that I would need some. I think back to my own sad little fig leaf plant that I can barely keep alive and the few pictures on the wall that I got at Target. There’s no way I could do a house like this.
A few minutes later, Neil comes downstairs. Shaggy blonde hair, pimply face but with the casual, confident bravado of a kid who runs the school.
I introduce myself and his mom hovers near him. I wish that she would leave, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable and make him stop talking to me.
"Can I ask you about my sister Violet?"
"Yes, of course," he says. “She’s in my math class."
"What is your relationship with her?"
"I don't know," he says with a casual shrug. "We're friends, I guess, or maybe not."
"You don't know whether you are friends?"
"I don't know. It's complicated. I know her and we worked on some projects together, but that's about it. Why?"
"Well, she's missing." I hate the sound of that statement. It's so unresolved, tense, final.
"What do you mean missing?" he asks. He furrows his brows a little bit, but I can't exactly tell if he is surprised or just generally confused.
"She didn't come home last night," I explain. "She got dropped off, but she didn't go inside and we haven't seen her since. My mom called me and then called the cops. We're all looking for her."
“Is that why you’re here?" he asks, leaning against the wall as if he doesn’t have a worry in the world.
"Well, someone told me that you two might have had a thing and I just wanted to ask when was last time that you saw her?"
"You heard that we had a thing? What are you talking about?" he asks, clearly uncomfortable.
This is the first real reaction that I've had from him. I don’t say anything but wait instead.
"No, absolutely not,” he mutters.
"You never had any romantic interactions with her?" I pause a little bit before using the word interactions. I’m not really sure if that’s the right thing to call it. Is relations better? Should I just have called it hooking up or does that just refer to sex?
"No, we were never together. We never dated."
"Where were you last night?" I ask, leaning a little closer to him in an attempt to put on a bit of pressure.
"I was with Natalie,” he says nonchalantly as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Natalie?” I ask, pretending to be clueless.
“Yeah, Natalie D’Achille.”
“Your girlfriend?”
I take out my notepad and write down the name showing it to him to make sure that I have the correct spelling.
“Can you give me her phone number and address?"
"Yeah, I guess,” he says, grabbing his phone out of his pocket.
Neil scrolls for her name and then gives me the info.
"You and Natalie, you're together?"
"Yeah. We've been together for years. Well, on and off. You know how it is."
Suddenly, I have an unexplainable urge to smack the smirk right off his face, but I try to contain myself.
Given the cocky confidence that he has at age thirteen, I can't imagine what kind of monster he might become at eighteen, twenty-five, forty, but I don't really want to find out. Besides, who knows? It might just be an act, a form of self-protection and he’s actually a nice guy underneath it all.
Someone yells from upstairs and Mrs. Goss excuses herself to attend to his little brother or sister. For a moment, Neil and I are alone.
"Neil," I say, trying to be as pleasant and open as possible. "You can tell me anything. Your mom isn't in here right now and I'm not going to judge. I am just trying to find my sister. It's really important. Did you see her at all last night?"
"No, I already said that I didn't. I was with Natalie. We studied together and then hung out and made out for a bit, but that's it."
"What time was this?"
"I don't know, from like six until ten or so, I think."
I am about to press him some more, but then Mrs. Goss comes back and I realize that I'm not going to get any more out of him. At least, not now.
I drive back home, wondering if any of this is relevant. I don't seem to be any closer to figuring out what happened to Violet than I was earlier. Neil was a long shot. It's probably Kaylee Dillinger who I have to focus on and her mom, Nancy.
So far, they're sticking to one story.
My mind goes in circles as I try to figure out what could have happened. They dropped her off, but they didn't see her go inside.
Could someone have snatched her before she got there or maybe she left on her own? Maybe she had plans to meet up with someone, a boyfriend, a secret boyfriend that she didn't tell anyone about. Maybe Kaylee knows who this person is and isn't saying. Maybe Kaylee and Nancy never dropped her off there in the first place.
There are so many possibilities and yet I'm at a standstill. I'm no closer to finding her than I was earlier. I know that I need to go talk to the cops again. They might have checked the cameras by now and I still want to do my own search of the neighborhood.
When I get back to my mom’s house, I do a perimeter drive around and then get out of the car and actually walk in a grid-like pattern to check for anything that can be found. This is what you do when you search for missing people. You cover a very small area and you look everywhere you can, taking pictures of anything suspicious just in case. Two hours later, I come up empty-handed.
Back inside, I sit down at the kitchen table and tell Mom everything that I’ve learned.
"So why did you go to this Neil Goss�
�s house? What was the point?"
"I don't know. It was just a whim. She mentioned him. She mentioned that Violet liked him. So, I thought maybe they had made some sort of date or something and met up after they dropped her off, but it was a long shot as I said.”
Mom nods. She looks tired now with big black circles under her eyes. I wonder if she slept more than a few hours last night.
"How are you?" I ask.
She shakes her head and says, "You don't want to know." She pulls out a cigarette and this time doesn't go outside.
"You promised me that you were going to quit,” I say.
“Yeah, I did,” she says, taking a long drag. “So what?”
“I thought that you usually smoked out there?”
“Yes, but it’s cold now and it’s not like Violet is here to inhale all of that secondhand smoke.”
That statement sends a shudder through me. Does she know something I don’t?
"Don't give up, okay?” I say, squeezing her hand. “It hasn't been that long. She could still just be out with a friend, maybe she fell asleep on his couch or her couch and she’ll just walk through the door any minute now, crying and apologizing profusely."
"You're talking about yourself. That's not Violet.”
Mom’s words cut deep.
I hate the tone of her voice. I hate how certain she is that something is really wrong. I know that Violet has a history of being a good girl, but she's thirteen and that might have changed overnight.
Who knows, right?
I have to hold on to some hope. It's weird being in this position. As a detective, I'm usually the one that's more cynical, pessimistic, maybe even so-called realistic about the possibilities.
It is always the families who hold onto hope until there's nothing left. They grab onto it and they just hold it. It's like water in between their fingers. It flows through and yet they continue to grasp onto it. In this case, I want my mom to do a little bit of that grasping. I want her to have a little bit of hope because I certainly can't have enough for the both of us.
I make myself another cup of coffee and take it out to the living room. I took a day off from work today, but I'm nervous to check my emails and calls because I don't want to be called back.