Songs for the Missing (8 page)

See, she thought, most of their secrets were happy like that.

“What?” Hinch asked, turning from his window.

“What?”

“You sighed.”

“Thinking too much.”

“You need to be more like me,” he said.

“Yeah—no thanks.”

She took the turn on to Lakewood like she had a million times before. Any normal day they’d be at the river, and she wished herself there, floating on the cold water with her eyes closed and the sun flooding her skin.

“Look at this shit,” Hinch said.

A block from Kim’s house, cars lined both sides of the road. Mr. Hedrick from next door was talking with a cop in the driveway, and there was a crowd on the porch. Nina overshot, grabbed the first spot she saw, nudging the curb, and they hustled back as if they were late.

At the bottom of the porch stairs, a woman she didn’t know gave them each a nametag. Mrs. Lavery who taught art was there, and Ashley Bisbee, and Jen Gaither’s mom, and Mr. Riggio who umpired their softball games. She didn’t recognize everyone; they were probably neighbors and people Kim’s mom and dad worked with. Kim’s mom sat at the far end of the porch behind a folding table, handing out posters and rolls of tape. Since the moment Nina had found out, she’d been irrationally afraid that Kim’s mom would blame her, but now Nina went directly to her, brushing past strangers, and Kim’s mom stood and took her in her arms.

“Where is she?” Kim’s mom asked, squeezing and rocking her side to side.

“I don’t know” was all Nina could say.

Kim’s mom let go of her to hold Hinch, then dabbed at her eyes and nose. Without makeup her face was gray, an age spot like a water stain on her cheek, and Nina wanted to tell her not to worry, everything would be all right, they’d find her.

“Kim’s dad’s out putting up flyers.” She motioned to a stack. They’d used the picture Kim hated, the one that made her face look fat, and another glam shot Nina had never seen. It seemed like bad luck just to look at it, and Nina’s eyes skipped off, trying to find a neutral spot to rest on. Taped to the table was a map of the county crosshatched with magic marker, a perfectly plotted grid that made her think of old war movies. “I guess I should sign you guys in. You both have your cellphones?”

J.P. had beaten them by nearly an hour. The sheet said he was assigned to section D-4, right downtown. Elise and her mom were up by him, covering Lake Road from the township park out past the golf course.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Kim’s mom said, like they might not have. She waved to someone behind them, smiling like a hostess, making Hinch twist around, then excused herself, saying she’d see them later. “Frank,” she said, “I’m so glad you could make it.” Hinch popped his eyes like this was creepy, but Nina thought it was a skill, flying on autopilot. All morning, between calls, she’d felt herself drifting that way and had to snap awake. All she had to do was think of Kim walking up from the river with her, the two of them climbing single file up the path, the flaming sun on the small of Kim’s back peeking out of her cutoffs. What did she say to her—“See you there, Squinky Square.” It sounded like something from SpongeBob. That could not be the last thing they said to each other.

They joined a group from the Larsens’ church as a heavy woman named Connie with brightly dyed hair and a clipboard briefed them on the procedure. The idea was to saturate every square on the map, moving from the center of town outward. The Copycat had donated the flyers, so they shouldn’t be shy with them. The most effective approach was to ask people who worked at gas stations or fast food places to post them on their doors. Banks, grocery stores, laundromats, pharmacies, the post office—anywhere people gathered. After that, hit utility poles on corners where cars had to stop. And no trees—this was very important. The town could fine them for any flyers on trees.

“Questions?”

“What if we run out?” an older lady asked.

“We’ll give you enough so you won’t.”

Connie split them into teams of two, making Nina wonder who was with J.P. They drew F-5, the neighborhood off State behind the Railroad Museum. It was mostly ratty back streets sloping down to Conneaut Creek. Nina couldn’t think of anything there except the old firehouse and Monroe Park and was disappointed. They wouldn’t find anything there.

The church had provided a van, but the woman encouraged anyone with a car to drive and save those open seats for people who needed them. Heading over, Nina was just as glad; Hinch was more than enough company for her. He’d grabbed a free water and was reading the flyer out loud. He was surprised that Kim was five foot eight.

“She’s not,” Nina said. “She’s five seven.”

“Is this bracelet the one you gave her?”

“Yeah.” Nina had given it to her for her twelfth birthday, and Kim still wore it for luck.

“What would you call your complexion?” Hinch asked.

“Olive.”

“What about mine?”

“Annoying.”

There was no way around the Dairy Queen and the cemetery. They repeated like the background in a cheap cartoon. The sidewalks were empty, only the occasional car nosing in, windows closed against the heat. Even in the summer, Nina thought, this town was so dead. If Kim had run away (and she didn’t, she wouldn’t), the only thing Nina would blame her for was not taking her with her.

At the Railroad Museum they had their choice of parking spots. A yearly field trip when they were in grade school, it was closed and for sale. Inside the chained gate massive black locomotives and coal cars sat marooned in thigh-high weeds. She held a flyer at eye level between the barred ticket windows while Hinch taped the top and bottom. Immediately she wanted to rip it down, as if it weren’t true.

“Which way?” Hinch said, wearing the tape on his wrist like a bracelet.

They zigzagged down the street, hitting every telephone pole, then at the end cut left on Sandusky. The blocks back here were shady and quiet. The farther in they went, the smaller and shabbier the houses were, bungalows and saltboxes with short driveways and carports sheltering derelict cars. A felt banner announcing JESUS IS THE LIGHT hung from a porch covered in astroturf.

They’d just started on Rockledge when they came across a competing flyer. REWARD, it said, above a grainy black-and-white picture of what was supposed to be an orange cat. His name was Tuffy, and his family missed him very much. It didn’t say how long he’d been gone, but the paper was stained and wrinkled, and it hadn’t rained in at least a week. Down the block, his owners had stapled one to a tree; someone had torn it off, leaving the four corners. Another clung to the rounded top of a mailbox.

“That can’t be legal,” Hinch said.

Nina took a new flyer and fixed it next to the old one, and he didn’t argue with her.

They matched Tuffy all the way into the park, wrapping one around the pole of each basketball hoop, taping another to the side of the dry water fountain. Where she could, Nina put Kim above the cat, as if to reestablish the natural order, but as they passed from the glare into shadow again she noticed she was glancing down driveways and peering under cars, checking along hedges, ready to dial the number on the flyer. Sometimes her father left the back gate open and their dogs wandered out—dangerous, considering how fast their road was—but they weren’t adventurous. When Nina opened the front door they’d be waiting there. Cats were different, but still, especially now, she couldn’t help but sympathize. Her first reaction—that she would trade a million Tuffys to have Kim back—turned into a grudging acceptance that other people were hurting too, and then, out of desperation more than anything, bloomed into a childish equation: Maybe if she found Tuffy, someone would find Kim.

On Laurel a jungle of ivy had taken over one place, swamping tree trunks, a coachlight, the whole yard.

Hinch made kissing sounds. “Here, Tuffy. Here, kitty kitty kitty.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“It says he knows his name.”

Spring Street, Willow, Townsend down at the bottom of the hill. Holding the flyer up again and again, she couldn’t avoid memorizing it. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION CONCERNING THIS CASE, PLEASE CALL THE ASHTABULA COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT.

The information she had might be useless, since it was at least three months old. She hoped so. Kim had said it was a one-time thing, and seemed more embarrassed than concerned, as if she was sorry she hadn’t thought of the consequences. Nina told her not to worry, and that was the last they spoke of it. If she’d continued to see him, Nina didn’t know. She and Nina had practically spent the last month together, and she didn’t think so.

J.P. didn’t know, she knew that much.

The problem was that everything was connected. One lie covered another, which covered a third, which rested against a fourth. It all went back to Kingsville being so goddamn small.

They’d reached the last street, half a block long. On the far side shotgun shacks with rusty mailboxes and gardens for front yards backed up to the creek. There were only two poles. Both had a Tuffy poster.

It was hot and the walk up the hill was long.

“How many we got left?” Hinch asked.

She showed him the inch-thick stack. On top, looking up at her, Kim’s face was a question. What had Kim said? “It was
definitely
a mistake.” That could have meant anything, or nothing. It wasn’t the first time she’d picked the wrong guy.

Nina could see herself calling from the pay phone at the edge of the lot of the Conoco, the way she’d seen hundreds of people do, leaning out of their cars to punch the buttons.

“How do you spell that?” the cop would say.

She wouldn’t even guess, because she’d be wrong. She had his address and his phone, but they could look that up. “Everyone just calls him Wooze.”

Or not, she thought. Just because it was true didn’t mean it was useful, and when it came to him Nina had her own secrets to keep. They all did. The detective would find out in time, she was as sure of that as Hinch was convinced he wouldn’t. Could telling him now help, or would it just fuck things up worse? As with any big decision, she needed to discuss it with Kim.

Baby Steps

There was a logical order to their panic, Fran thought. Every failure led to the next step.

The police weren’t doing anything, so they appealed to the media. She was lunch buddies with Jocelyn, who handled the hospital’s PR. Together they fashioned a cover letter, saying Fran would be available for interviews, and faxed it with the flyer to every TV and radio station and newspaper from Erie to Cleveland. Within minutes the
Star-Beacon
called. As she answered their questions—“Tell me a little bit about Kim as a person”—she wondered if Ed would be angry with her when he got back.

He wasn’t. He was still angry with the detective. He’d finally gotten through to Perry and discovered, after all this time, that Perry himself had actually stopped Kim for speeding yesterday around two o’clock and written her a warning. Fran didn’t know what to make of this clue, if that’s what it was.

“You’d think they’d check those records first,” she said.

“You’d think. He said she seemed fine, just a little nervous, which is normal since it’s the first time she’s been stopped, as far as I know. Anyway, we talked. He said he’d do what he could.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s the sheriff,” Ed said. “It’s his department.”

“He’s got to follow the rules like everyone else.”

“I’d say this is more of a judgment call.”

“So we should be hopeful.”

“I think so.”

They’d retreated upstairs to their room for privacy, leaving Connie in charge, and for a moment, holding him, she could believe they were making progress.

He sweated when he was nervous, and the bill of his Sea Wolves cap was soaked through. He peeled off his T-shirt, swabbing his armpits with it, then reapplied deodorant before tugging on a new one.

“Give me the hat, I’ll wash it.”

“No,” he said, “it’s lucky.”

He sat on a corner of the bed, trading his sneakers for his seldom-used hiking boots. He was taking J.P. and a team of volunteers to search along the river. Technically it was the last place she was seen, and though Fran doubted she’d go back there, she wanted to stay positive for him.

“Did you get lunch? Giant Eagle sent stuff over.”

“I’m not hungry. D’you get something?”

“I tried,” she said.

“What about Lindsay?”

“I took her a sandwich. I wish she’d come out of there. I’ve got tons of things she can do.”

Ed thought Lindsay’s reaction made perfect sense, but he also knew this cue was nonnegotiable. Fran rarely asked for help with the girls. The house was overrun, and he’d been gone for more than an hour, and now he was taking off again. It didn’t matter that his mind was miles away. In the basic emotional math of their marriage, he owed her.

He waited for her to go downstairs before knocking on Lindsay’s door.

She was reading with a half-eaten sandwich in her lap, and didn’t look up. Cooper sniffed at the paper plate. She shooed him with a backhand.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“I’m ten pages from the end.” It was
Julius Caesar
, part of her summer reading.

“It’s a little crazy down there.”

“I know, I can hear it.” She saved her place with a finger and gave him her full attention.

“When you’re done your mom could use a hand.”

“Okay,” she said, and he thought it was too easy, as if she was just agreeing to get rid of him.

“I know everyone’s worried about Kim. Your mother and I are worried about you.”

“Why?”

“If you were missing, do you think Kim would just be sitting in her room?”

“No—”

“I’m sorry.”

“—she’d be out rescuing me, but I can’t because I can’t do anything. I can’t drive, I can’t even answer the phone.”

“I don’t know what driving has to do with anything. We all need each other right now, so finish your book, then come down and help—please. Okay?”

“Can I go with you?”

Out of habit he was going to tell her to ask her mother, because the answer was no. He wouldn’t risk both of them. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”