The Face of the Earth

by Deborah Raney

  “Katie? You’re being careful about what you post, I hope? I’d hate for––”

  “Dad, I don’t need a lecture. I’m being careful.”

  He let it go, but after the brouhaha with Miriam finding out about Jill on Facebook, he’d warned both the kids about being careful what personal information they put out there.

  The news camera pulled back and panned their neighborhood. The television footage zoomed in on their front door, then briefly showed Shelley’s house, and the Claremonts’ to the north.

  Mitch hated that his situation had brought the media down on their little town. Still, he was grateful they’d been able to keep the press mostly at bay until now. At least they hadn’t invaded his back yard or accosted them leaving the driveway like he’d seen with other media circuses. And if the publicity helped them find Jill he would let them sit at his dinner table. . .

  “According to statistics from the Missing Persons Unit of the Missouri State Highway Patrol, Brannon’s is one of more than one thousand active missing persons reports in the state.

  “The third-grade teacher was last seen by a fellow teacher in the lobby of the Royale Suites hotel in Kansas City. Her vehicle, a gray 2007 Toyota Camry, has never been located, and a message she left her husband on the couple’s home answering machine gave no indication that Brannon was in danger or under duress.

  A spokesperson for the Missouri State Highway Patrol said when a person is declared missing by a state law enforcement agency, that person’s name is added to a database. The agency serves as a liaison between the public and the law enforcement agency.”

  The story cut to an interview with a stony-faced Highway Patrol spokesperson at his desk. He spoke without emotion, as if he were speaking of a nameless, faceless person. Not Jill.

  “It is feasible that some persons who remain in the database are not in fact in harm’s way. Sometimes, for any number of reasons, an adult or juvenile may decide to ‘disappear.’ Unless he’s wanted by law enforcement agencies for a crime, if an adult doesn’t want to be found, that’s their prerogative.”

  The anchor gave a pithy recap and the screen flashed to a different story.

  The four of them sat around the TV, dazed.

  “A thousand people?” Katie’s voice held a hush that could have been awe.

  “What is wrong with them?” Evan sneered. “How could there be a thousand people missing in one state?”

  If Mitch hadn’t been sure before, he was convinced now. And convicted. If Jill was going to be found, he would have to find her himself.

  “Dad! Look at this!” Katie crawled off the sofa and brought her open laptop over to him, turning the screen so he could see.

  He craned his neck to cut the glare. “What am I looking at?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Mom just tweeted ‘Happy birthday’ to me!”

  “What?” His pulse raced. “What are you talking about?”

  “She just posted a tweet for my birthday––on Twitter!”

  “Just now, you mean? You heard from Mom just now?” He could scarcely breathe.

  “Yes!” She peered at the computer. “The time stamp says it was just two minutes ago!”

  “Are you sure? You’re sure it’s her? On Twitter?” Mitch bent to look over her shoulder at the laptop screen, not daring to hope.

  Evan slid off the couch and scooted over to where he sat. “No,” he said, sounding deflated. “I know what it is.”

  His demeanor punctured hopes Mitch hadn’t quite realized he’d entertained. “What’s the deal? It’s not Mom?”

  “No. It’s her,” Evan said. “Sort of. It’s a tweet she scheduled . . . that day I helped her download all those apps and stuff. Last summer . . . Remember? I showed her how to schedule tweets ahead of time, and she tested it out on our birthdays.”

  He turned to Shelley. “You’ll get one, too, Shelley. On your birthday.” He turned to Mitch. “You would’ve too, Dad . . . if you were on Twitter.”

  “You’re positive Mom couldn’t have tweeted it just now?” He held his breath, hoping against hope.

  Evan looked almost disgusted with him. “Dad, do you really think she’s going to disappear, and then her first communication with us is wishing Katie happy birthday––online––like nothing was wrong?” He did a double take at his sister. “Hey, wait. It’s your birthday? Today?”

  “Oh!” A little gasp escaped Shelley’s lips.

  Katie looked sheepish, and Mitch’s breath caught, for a different reason this time.

  September 9. How could he have forgotten his daughter’s birthday?

  “Oh, sweetie . . .” He pulled her into the crook of his arm. “I am so sorry, honey!” Of all the years to forget . . . He wanted to crawl in a hole.

  Katie shrugged. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s not important.”

  “Of course it’s important. You are important. Forgive me, honey. With everything that’s been going on–– I’m so sorry, kiddo. It won’t happen again.”

  She sniffled and melted into him, her shoulders shaking. He felt sick to his stomach, but he sensed easy forgiveness in her demeanor, too. He stroked her hair and held her until she shrugged out of his embrace. “At least Mom––remembered. Even if it wasn’t on the day.”

  “Of course she remembered.”

  And he hadn’t. Jill had always been the one to handle dates and celebrations and remembering the things that were really important.

  Oh, Jill . . . Honey, where are you? I need you.

  That night, while Shelley helped him empty the dishwasher, he sought assurance that Katie could forgive him. “I feel like such a heel. There’s just been so much going on and–– It just . . . never once crossed my mind.”

  “Katie knows that, Mitch. She’s a sweet girl. She’s not going to hold this against you.”

  “I know, but–– Of all the times to pull a boneheaded stunt like that.” He shook his head.

  She set down the stack of dishes she’d carried over to the cupboard. “You know, in a way, it’s kind of neat that Jill did that. She had no way of knowing how much that tweet would mean. But for Katie to know Jill was thinking of this birthday, even months before the date came, is pretty special.”

  “Yeah. Thank goodness somebody remembered.”

  “I should have remembered, too.” Shelley said. “But nobody is thinking straight. Katie knows that,” she said again.

  A hopeful fantasy played in his mind—him getting to tell Jill all about how much that birthday wish had meant. Oh, please God. Let this be more than wishful thinking.

  Was Jill somewhere right now thinking about Katie, and wishing she could be home for her birthday? But where? How could that be? More and more, thinking about what it meant if Jill was still alive was harder than thinking . . . the worst.

  He was losing hope.

  Even so, forgetting Katie’s birthday was a wake-up call for him. He might have to face losing Jill. But no matter what happened, he had to be there for his kids.

  Still, he felt torn in a thousand directions. Yes, Evan and Katie were devastated and in shock like he was. If they faced the worst, his kids would need him desperately. But he also needed to keep on top of the authorities. There continued to be too much speculation and too little actual searching for Jill.

  He felt the stone in his belly grow heavier by the second.

  For Jill’s sake, he had to find a way to help his kids go on with their lives. Even if it meant doing that without her.

  Which he prayed to God it didn’t.

  November

  Chapter 13

  Monday, November 1

  Mitch had just walked in the back door from work when the front doorbell rang. He hadn’t seen a car behind him on the street. It was probably Shelley. It was odd she was using the front door though.

  Through the living room windows he viewed the tracery of branches of the massive elms that grew in the front yard. Most years, by this first day of Novemb
er, those trees wore white streamers of toilet paper, courtesy of overgrown trick-or-treaters who couldn’t resist the target of their principal’s home. But last night, Halloween had passed without incident. The pranksters had passed him by, no doubt out of respect for what had happened. He couldn’t find it in him to be grateful.

  He reached for the door and opened it, anticipating that smile of Shelley’s that always lifted his spirits.

  Marcus Simonides stood there, in uniform, with a package in his hands––one of those padded manila envelopes––and a somber look on his face. Mitch’s gut twisted. “What is it? Has something happen––”

  “May I come in.”

  Wordlessly, his heart racing, Mitch led the detective through the house to the kitchen table where they’d talked that first day Jill went missing. Hard to believe he’d spent most of two months without Jill now. And yet, in other ways, it seemed like a lifetime.

  “You’ve found something?”

  “No. No, I’m sorry. But I wanted to return your wife’s things––her phone, and the jewelry that was found in the hotel. There’s really no reason for it to be held in evidence any longer.” He held out the envelope. “We weren’t able to pull any prints off anything other than partial prints from the maid who found the jewelry––and Jill’s, of course. We have photographs and recordings on file if we should need them at a later date.”

  Mitch took the envelope and undid the clasp––one of those old-fashioned string and loop fasteners. “Does this mean––that you’re giving up? Closing the case?”

  Simonides held up a hand and shook his head emphatically. “No. Absolutely not. The case stays open until we find her.” He looked briefly at his lap and Mitch knew exactly what he was thinking: dead or alive.

  Mitch shrugged out of his jacket and offered to take the detective’s overcoat.

  Simonides waved him off and pushed back his chair. “I just thought you might like to have these things. Or your daughter might. The jewelry, I mean.”

  Mitch couldn’t imagine Katie wanting these pieces that would only be a reminder of that awful day. He doubted whether he would even mention that the jewelry had been returned. But he opened the envelope and peered inside, wondering again why Jill would have left her watch and the other jewelry behind in a hotel room she’d already checked out of. Why she would have taken any jewelry with her in the first place, when she so rarely wore it. So many unanswered questions.

  The detective rose and offered his hand. “We’ll keep you posted if we have any new leads. You have the numbers to call if you think of anything else, or if Jill should contact you.”

  Mitch nodded, feeling this was a dismissal, in spite of Simonides’s reassurance to the contrary. He walked with the detective to the door and stood on the porch, watching the patrol car drive away.

  He looked across the lawn at this neighborhood that Jill had loved so much. Almost overnight the trees had donned costumes of russet and purple and gold, and the sun cast dappled shadows on the still-green lawn. Fall had always been Jill’s favorite time of year and the beauty all around him now, the very air, made him ache for her.

  Feeling a weight in his chest, he went back inside and slumped on the sofa, resting his forearms on his thighs, head in his hands. “God, where is she? Please, Lord . . . Even if she’s––dead . . . I need to know where she is. Please, God. I’m begging you . . .”

  He’d pled with God before, and far more passionately. With far more hope. It scared him to realize that he’d become almost . . . resigned.

  A soft knock on the front door brought his head up.

  “Mitch?”

  Shelley. He rose, smoothing a palm over his hair, and went to open the door again.

  Her worried eyes met his. “Is everything okay? I saw the patrol car here and––”

  “Everything’s fine. They were just returning Jill’s things––her phone and the jewelry she left at the hotel.”

  “Why? Don’t they need it? For evidence or . . . something?”

  “Simonides said they took pictures, recordings. He thought Katie might want to have the jewelry. For sentimental reasons.”

  “Oh . . .” Shelley frowned and shook her head. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. At least not now.”

  “That’s what I thought. It would just be a bad reminder.”

  “I agree. So, it is Jill’s jewelry? I mean, you recognize everything?”

  “It’s her watch. I’m pretty sure. The other stuff I honestly couldn’t say. Do you think you’d know if you saw it?”

  “Maybe. I can take a look.”

  “Come on back to the kitchen.” He led the way, and after slipping the phone out first, he spilled the rest of the contents of the envelope onto the table.

  “Yes, that’s her watch.” Shelley picked up the bracelet, holding it gingerly, as if she was afraid of contaminating evidence. “I’m not sure about the bracelet––or these earrings. She hardly ever wore jewelry . . .” She dangled one of the earrings between her fingers, holding it up to the light. “Didn’t that guy say something about a hair scrunchy, too? Was that in there?” She motioned toward the envelope.

  Mitch opened the padded envelope wide and tapped the open end on the table. “There’s nothing else in here. But yes, I do remember them saying there was some hair thing they found with the jewelry.”

  “Yes. I wonder why they wouldn’t have returned that, too?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe since it didn’t have sentimental value like the jewelry? I don’t know.”

  “You don’t think they kept it for . . . DNA, do you?” She winced. “Sorry. Too many episodes of CSI.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t watch that stuff anymore.”

  “No. Believe me, you shouldn’t.”

  “That first day they went through the house, they had trouble finding anything to take for DNA testing. Because she had all her stuff at the conference with her. They ended up taking this travel toothbrush that I’m not sure she’d used more than once––and an old hairbrush she rarely used. But it had a strand of her hair still in it.” The thought of that single strand of hair brought a lump to his throat.

  “Looks like they didn’t return those things either.” Shelley looked pointedly at the empty envelope.

  He hadn’t thought of that. And he didn’t want to think about why they’d probably kept them.

  “Is that Jill’s phone?”

  He nodded. “Simonides said they made recordings of everything.” He picked up the phone and slid open the keyboard. “I’ll need to find a charger for it.”

  “Can I see?” Shelley reached for the phone and inspected it. “I might have one of those universal connectors. If Audrey didn’t take it to school with her.”

  “Hey, I think we’ve got one around here somewhere.” He went back to the den and found what he was looking for.

  He plugged in the phone, waited for it to power up, then pressed some buttons, searching for voice mail. “I never did like her phone.”

  “It’s almost like mine,” Shelley said. “May I?”

  He handed her the phone, and she clicked through several screens, expertly pressing keys.

  Mitch started as his own voice filled the room. Where are you? I’m going to fire up the grill. Let me know when I should put the steaks on . . .

  The room tilted and he gripped the edge of the table. The events of that September day came back to him like it was yesterday, except now he saw so vividly how everything had changed in the space of a phone call. And here they were, two months later, and Jill never had come home.

  Shelley must have read his thoughts. She snapped the phone shut, silencing the recording. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. It wasn’t her fault. Yet he couldn’t seem to find his voice to tell her so. From somewhere outside the sound of a car revving its engine penetrated the walls of the house.

  “It still doesn’t seem real, does it,” she said softly.
>
  “No . . . It doesn’t.”

  His cell phone burred from his belt, making them both jump. He slipped out his phone and checked the caller ID. “It’s Jill’s mom. I’d better take this.” He nodded toward Jill’s phone. “Would you mind scrolling through her messages and see if there’s anything there the police might have missed? There’s no way they could pick up on what’s behind some of the text messages and even voice mail. I’ll listen too, but some of it, you’d get better than I would.”

  “Sure.” Once more, she slid the keyboard out and bent her head over Jill’s phone.

  Mitch’s phone rang again and he clicked to answer. “Hello, Miriam.”

  “Hello, Mitchell. Is there any news?”

  “I’m sorry, no.” Miriam had called him every other day since the kids had gone back to school. He didn’t begrudge her the calls, but he felt guilty every time he had to tell her that there was nothing new. “You know I’ll call you the minute we hear anything, Miriam.”

  “Why haven’t they found her yet? This is ridiculous. You’d think with all the satellites and TV cameras at every stoplight and that Goggle thing on the Internet, they could surely find her.”

  In spite of everything they’d both been through these past weeks, he curbed a smile at his mother-in-law’s gaffe. “I know. It does seem like they should have news for us by now. But I talked to the detective again just tonight, and he assured me they’re doing everything possible to locate her. Shelley’s here right now going through Jill’s mes––” He stopped.

  He’d been going to tell her about Jill’s phone being returned, but thought better of it. He’d given Bert and Miriam only the bare details, not wanting to worry them needlessly, and right now he couldn’t remember if he’d ever told them about Jill’s phone showing up at the hotel.

  “Oh? Shelley’s there?” Miriam seemed not to notice his abrupt U-turn. “Tell her hello.”

  “I’ll tell her.” He winked at Shelley, knowing Miriam always spoke at high enough decibels that Shelley was probably hearing every word.