Mitch briefly touched her arm. “Let’s go make some more calls.”
She followed, picked up her phone, and dialed the next number on the long list of hospitals in the towns along Interstate 55.
Mitch put down his phone and looked across the table at Shelley, who had just hung up her cell phone. “Anything?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing.”
“Then that’s it. It’s like she disappeared into thin air.”
It was seven a.m. Shelley had called the last hospital on their list. He’d called the police in Sylvia, the Clemons County sheriff’s office, and the officer in Kansas City that he’d talked to last night. The Sylvia police had issued bulletins, and Highway Patrol throughout a tristate area had been given the make and model of Jill’s vehicle and the circumstances of her disappearance.
Mitch had called a few close friends and colleagues and asked them to pray, and to let him know if they thought of any place Jill might be. And against his better judgment, he’d let Shelley call their pastor and ask him to put the news on the church’s prayer chain. He didn’t want this to go public yet. But in a town the size of Sylvia, and with Jill missing overnight now, it was probably too late for that.
He needed to call Jill’s parents soon. It was still early in Colorado, but they would probably be waking up within the next hour. He blew out a breath. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
“You’ve got to get some sleep, Mitch. Before the kids get home.” Evan and Katie had probably left by now, but it would be a good five or six hours before they got here.
“You’ve been awake as long as I have. Why don’t you go home and try to rest a little. I think I’m going to head toward Kansas City. I’ll take the route Jill would have taken. I want to be here when the kids get home so I won’t make it all the way to the hotel, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“Mitch, you can’t make a trip like that when you’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours. Get some sleep first. Please.”
He knew she was right, but he wasn’t sure he could sleep. He was afraid of the dreams that would manifest themselves in living color if he let down his guard. Already snippets of horrific images had nudged into his mind. Jill in trouble, screaming his name, and him, utterly helpless to get to her, because he didn’t know where she was.
“Did you hear me?” Shelley was saying.
He shook off the terror, blinking eyelids that felt like sandpaper. “I’m sorry. What’d you say?”
“I’m going to go home and sleep for a couple hours. Please, Mitch, you do the same. A little shut-eye and a hot shower and then you’ll be fit to drive. I’ll come back over”––she looked at the clock––“say, eight thirty.” We can drive Jill’s route for a couple of hours before the kids are due in. Okay?”
She was right, and he agreed reluctantly. “I’ll have my cell phone in my hand. If you hear from her––”
“She’s not going to call me first, Mitch.”
“Yeah. Okay.” They were both so weary they weren’t even making sense.
“Don’t worry. If I hear anything I’ll wake you up.” She gave him a nudge in the direction of the master bedroom. “Now get some sleep. I mean it. We are no good to Jill like this.”
He walked her to the door. “Thanks for––being here. For helping me make all the calls. I think I might have gone mad if you hadn’t––”
“Shhh.” She held a finger to her lips. “Get some sleep.”
He gave a halfhearted salute and watched her walk across the lawn to her own front door.
He went inside and turned out the kitchen lights, then thought better of it and flipped them back on. And the living room and dining room lights, too. If Jill came home he wanted her to be welcomed with every light blazing.
He trudged back to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair and took off his shoes. His side of the bed was unmade, just as he’d left it yesterday. Jill made the bed first thing every morning. The only time she ever left it unmade was when they had plans to crawl back in bed together on a Sunday afternoon. But she’d been at the conference for two days and his side had stayed rumpled.
Now, he went around to her side of the bed and tossed her fancy pillows onto the floor. He turned the covers down and, fully dressed, crawled beneath the down comforter. Maybe if he slept on her side the bed wouldn’t feel so empty.
Would he ever share this bed with Jill again? This whole crazy thing seemed like a dream.
He sent up one last desperate prayer––God, please bring her home––before everything faded to black.
Chapter 6
Shelley jolted at the blare of the alarm on her cell phone. Her heart raced, and her stomach felt like it housed a heavy stone. For a split second, she hoped maybe last night was all a dream, but the memories rushed back, all too vivid. Jill was missing.
She hurried to the window that looked out over the Brannons’ driveway. Maybe by some miracle Jill had come home while she was sleeping. Her heart sank when she saw the empty driveway. But Jill wouldn’t have parked on the drive. She would have parked in the garage like always. And maybe Mitch hadn’t called, not wanting to wake her.
With fresh hope, she took a quick shower, threw on some clean clothes, put her hair in a ponytail, and started out the door. She stopped short on the front step. If Jill had come home she and Mitch were no doubt sleeping. She hated to call in case that was true, but she couldn’t just not go over there either.
A mist floated over the still-green lawn like a wraith, and the air held the chill promise of autumn. Shelley fished her cell phone from her jeans pocket. Her finger was poised over Mitch’s name when the phone rang. She jumped, then laughed at her own skittishness. “Hello?”
“Hey, I’m sorry to wake you, but––”
“No, it’s okay. I was up. Any word yet?”
“No. And please go back to sleep. I just didn’t want you to worry if you came over later and I was gone. I’m going to head toward Kansas City and get as far as I can before I need to turn around to beat the kids home. But there’s no reason we both need to go. You get some sleep. I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything.”
“Did you get any sleep, Mitch?”
“A little.”
She hoped her pause conveyed her skepticism.
“No, I slept,” he said. “I really did. How about you?”
“Pretty good. For a couple of hours. Please let me come with you. I do not want to have to explain to your kids that you fell asleep at the wheel.”
He frowned. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” She hitched her purse up on her shoulder, made sure her front door was locked, and started across the lawn. “You don’t want to be alone now, Mitch––and neither do I.”
“Okay. If you’re sure. I wouldn’t mind the company. I’ll drive the car over if you’re ready.”
“I’m halfway to your front door now.”
“Oh. Okay. Yes, I see you.”
She looked up and saw him waving at the open door.
“I’ll go get the car. Meet you there.” He motioned in the direction of the garage. “We can drive through for coffee.”
The garage door was already going up by the time she got there. She climbed in the passenger seat––Jill’s seat––and Mitch backed out while she buckled herself in.
“So, no word at all?”
“Nothing. I talked to the kids just a few minutes ago.”
“How are they holding up?”
“As well as can be expected. I told them to call my cell every hour or so.” He rounded the curve of their cul-de-sac. “Maybe it was crazy for me to have them come home. I won’t be able to live with myself if they have an accident, but I––”
“Mitch!” A patrol car was turning onto their street. “Maybe they’ve found her.”
He made a swift U-turn and followed the officer back around. Sure enough, the vehicle turned into the Brannons’ driveway
. Mitch pulled in behind it, jumped out of the car and ran to meet the two officers who climbed from the patrol car.
Shelley got out, too, but stood beside the car, not wanting to intrude. The patrol car bore the insignia of the Missouri Highway Patrol. Her hands trembled. There must have been an accident.
Shelley could only hear snatches of the conversation, but Mitch’s expression was grim as he spoke with the older Highway Patrol officer, the driver of the patrol car. She read disappointment in Mitch’s slumped shoulders, but it didn’t look like grief. She gathered the Highway Patrol didn’t have any news about Jill. Apparently they were only here to question Mitch. At least maybe they would begin a serious search now.
The officers started toward the house, and Mitch motioned for Shelley to follow them. “Do you want me to go home until they’re done talking to you?”
“No.” A look of near panic crossed his face. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d come with me to talk to them. You know Jill almost as well as I do . . . You might remember something I’ve forgotten.”
She felt strangely honored that he wanted her there. The officers gravitated toward the kitchen table and Mitch pulled a chair out for Shelley. “This is our next-door neighbor and Jill’s best friend,” he told the men.
The older man introduced himself as Detective Marcus Simonides. Shelley didn’t like the way he looked at her. As if he was trying to figure out what her and Mitch’s relationship was. And thinking the worst.
Mitch offered to make coffee.
The detective declined for both of them. “This will only take a few minutes. We just need to ask you some questions about your wife.”
Mitch sat down beside Shelley, and for the next twenty minutes the detective bombarded him with questions, occasionally asking Shelley to answer the same question Mitch had just answered. Did Jill seem depressed or upset about anything recently? Was there anyone who had reason to be angry with her? A parent of one of her students, perhaps? Had she and Mitch argued before she left for the conference?
Detective Simonides scooted his chair back. “I’d like to take a look around the house if I may?”
“Yes, of course.” Mitch seemed surprised. “But . . . Jill hasn’t been here since Wednesday morning. She took a lot of her things with her. Clothing and her laptop and such.”
After what seemed to Shelley like a rather perfunctory inspection of the house, Detective Simonides went through another battery of questions about Jill. Mitch answered calmly, but Shelley didn’t miss the quaver in his voice.
“Is there anywhere you can think of that Jill might have gone instead of coming home? Did she have family in the area, or friends . . . ?”
Mitch shook his head. “Our kids are in college at the University of Kansas, but I’ve already called them. They’re on their way home now.”
Shelley couldn’t remember if Jill’s old boyfriend lived near Kansas City, or was just going to be in town at the same time as Jill. But if Mitch didn’t know about the guy, now was not the time to break the news to him.
Simonides scribbled in a small notebook. “Any other place you can think of she might have gone?”
“We have a cabin down on Lake Norfork, in the Ozarks . . . Arkansas. But she wouldn’t go there. Not by herself.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Mitch said. “We have some friends––the Marleys––who live down there year-round. I can ask them to go by the house and see if everything looks okay. But that’d be the last place I’d look.”
Shelley knew that was true. Jill tolerated the lake for Mitch and the kids’ sake. She complained––as much as Jill ever complained––about sand and sunburns and overpriced groceries and no air-conditioning in August.
The detective asked Mitch to play the message Jill had left on the answering machine. It was haunting to hear her voice again, and to wonder if these might be the last words her friend had ever spoken.
When Mitch took his seat after the recording ended, the questions turned more personal. It became apparent to Shelley that they were trying to determine if Mitch could somehow be responsible for Jill’s disappearance.
Shelley understood the spouse was always the first suspect in cases like this, but anyone who knew Mitch and Jill would know this line of questioning was a waste of time. “Mitch. . .” She touched his wrist and immediately regretted it when she saw the detective take note of the contact. She decided it would be best to aim her question at Simonides. “Shouldn’t he have an attorney present?”
“No.” Mitch’s tone was harsh, but she didn’t think his words were aimed at her. “I have nothing to hide, and I don’t want to hold up this search. I’ll answer whatever you ask, but if you think I had anything to do with this, you’re just wasting valuable time. You can ask anyone who knows Jill and me.”
Simonides held up a hand, looking sympathetic. “You understand I have to ask these questions?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Mitch waved his arm in a let’s-get-on-with-it motion.
“Is there someone who can verify your whereabouts yesterday, Mr. Brannon?”
“Yes, sir. I was at work all day. Until about five-thirty.”
Shelley was grateful that literally hundreds of students and teachers could confirm his alibi. And another cadre of teachers from all over the state could testify that Jill had been at the conference up until she checked out of the hotel in Kansas City, presumably around one fifteen p.m.
“What about after you got home? Can anyone confirm you were here?”
“Mitch called me around eight o’clock, asking if I’d heard from Jill.”
“Do you know if that call came from a home phone or a cell phone?”
“A cell phone––” She remembered something. “But I went out on my back deck right after I talked to him. Mitch was standing right out there.” She motioned toward the rear of the house. “I saw him. We can see each other from our decks . . . It’s how Jill and I first met, in fact.”
The detective jotted something on his notepad. “It was pretty dark by eight o’clock. You’re positive it was Mr. Brannon you saw?”
“Yes. The lights were on. We’ve lived next door to each other for over fifteen years. I know it was him.”
The detective didn’t respond but turned back to Mitch. “So what about between five thirty and eight when you called Ms. Austin? Is there anyone who could say they saw you during that window of time?”
“Window of opportunity” is what he meant. Shelley shook her head. Did they seriously think Mitch had something to do with Jill’s disappearance?
Mitch rubbed his temples. “I called Jill’s phone. Ten or twelve times. And left probably half as many messages. I don’t know if you can check her phone and tell where those calls came from or––”
“That phone was found at the hotel where your wife was staying.”
“Yes, they told us.” He explained about Evan helping him use the phone-finder app. “Can we get her phone back? Maybe there’s something on there that would help.”
“It’s in evidence in Kansas City now. Everything will be gone over with a fine-tooth comb.” He looked at Mitch with piercing eyes. “But you’ll get her things back at some point.”
A chill went through him. It was almost like Simonides was talking about “personal effects.” He didn’t like the sound of that. “Do you think someone . . . took her? Abducted her?”
The detective softened visibly. “We don’t have any reason to believe that at this point. The phone case was scuffed, but the phone wasn’t damaged. We were able to check her messages and track the phone’s activity.”
“Shouldn’t that help you find her?”
“It would be better if she still had it with her.”
“So . . . what do we do now?”
“We’ll need to check your computers here at the house. We’ll need copies of any credit cards Mrs. Brannon might have with her. We’ve got bulletins out on her and the vehicle. We’re working with the lo
cal police . . . doing everything we can.”
“How can I help?”
Simonides glanced at the other officer, then back at Mitch. “First thing you might want to do is think long and hard about whether you can prove where you were between the hours of five thirty and eight p.m. last night.”
Chapter 7
“I know the husband is always the first suspect, but . . .” Mitch gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep Shelley from seeing how badly his hands were shaking. “The guy made me feel almost guilty. Like maybe somehow it is my fault.”
“That’s ridiculous, Mitch. Of course it’s not your fault. I am so sorry you had to go through that whole ugly interview.”
Being questioned by the Highway Patrol’s Missing Persons detective had shaken him more than he realized––and made it far too real that Jill was missing. This likely wasn’t going to end with a simple misunderstanding, or the discovery that Jill had car trouble or took a wrong turn and ended up in Illinois. He couldn’t let himself think about the probable ways it would end.
The officers had taken information about Jill’s car, and copied everything in the house that might contain what they called her “electronic signature”––his, too. Computer hard drives, his cell phone, even the answering machine.
For one awful moment, Mitch had been afraid they would erase Jill’s voice from the machine. The last words she’d had for him. Words he’d listened to a dozen times, trying to decipher them beyond face value.
He’d been strangely embarrassed, too, by the intimacy of Jill’s last message––her intimation that she was bringing him a “treat.” Hearing it played in the presence of the officers––and Shelley––somehow cheapened the innocent, playful message from his wife.
After Simonides and the other patrolman left, he and Shelley had driven through Sylvia’s small-town version of Starbucks before heading north on I-55. The mist had lifted a few minutes ago, and traffic was fairly light for a Saturday morning.
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