All the Missing Girls(77)

“Besides,” she said, “he’s supposed to be painting the nursery. Honestly. I could give birth any moment now.”

I whipped my head around.

“Don’t worry, I’m not.”

“Should you even be here?” I asked.

“Nic Farrell—”

I pushed through the crowd, following Officer Fraize, not knowing anyone else in my group other than by family association. There were eight of us on the team.

“The ground will be wet,” he said. “So watch your footing. And always keep a visual on the person to your side. Move as one, at the same rate. And make sure you’re all accounted for on your way out. We don’t have enough radios, so . . .” He eyed the group, handed the radio to an older man whom I recognized as the father of someone I went to school with. “Radio back if you find anything.”

“Hey,” I said, and Officer Fraize half looked at me, heading toward the next group. If he recognized me, he didn’t let on. “Did you contact her father? Her friends from college?”

“Yeah, we’re on it. We know how to run an investigation. Or do you have something to add? Didn’t realize you’d moved back, Nic.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “I didn’t. I’m just in town for a little while.”

He paused, his mind grasping for something, sorting through the pieces. “You staying at your dad’s old place?”

“Yes.”

“Happen to see anything in the woods night before last? Hear anything unusual? Anything like that?”

I shook my head. No sir, no sir, no sir.

He focused on me for a moment too long. “Off you go, then,” he said. He scanned the crowd before moving on to the next group.

I knew exactly who he was looking for.



* * *



WE STARTED NEAR THE back of Annaleise’s house, heading in the direction of the river. The search ended up being tedious work, exacerbated by an older lady who couldn’t keep up. We moved at a snail’s pace, and then she’d stop to pick up anything that looked out of place. A rock that had been displaced, a pile of sticks, a marker on a tree. The man in charge of our group by decree of holding the radio kept reminding her, “We’re looking for her. We’re not investigating a crime scene.”

We weren’t close enough to talk to one another in quiet conversation; we were supposed to be listening, anyway. For calls for help or something. Every once in a while, the girl on the edge would call, “Annaleise? Annaleise Carter?” Because there might be more than one Annaleise lost in these woods.

As we approached the river, we ran into another team. “We went too far,” I said.

Our leader, Brad, examined the map. “Nah, we’ve got to the edge of the river. They’re out of their zone. Hey! You’re out of zone!”

“What?” a man yelled back.

“I said you’re in the wrong place!”

They yelled across the expanse, then the two leaders walked toward each other, their maps out, arguing. I sat on a tree stump, waiting it out. This was a waste. We had no idea if the teams were covering the right sections. Not everyone was familiar with the woods. Not everyone knew the right landmarks.

“I think I found something!” The old lady was crouched over a pile of leaves about ten feet from the river. The girl beside me rolled her eyes. The old lady picked up something that glinted in the sunlight, holding it over her head, squinting. “What is it?” she asked.

I rose, slowly making my way toward them.

“A buckle,” someone said. “For a fairy. It’s tiny.”

“Oh,” she said. “Like from a bracelet, maybe?” She turned it over in her hands. It had two letters floating inside a circle, the edges coated in mud. “The initials are MK, so it can’t be hers.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said. “Are we really pulling every piece of trash from the forest? This is ridiculous.”

“Should you be touching that?” said a teen who had probably seen one too many cop shows.

The old lady frowned, put it back down, moved the leaves around to make it look natural.

“That doesn’t really work,” I said. I picked it back up, turned it over in my hand. “It’s from a dog leash. Did she have a dog?”

“I don’t think so,” the kid said.

Brad gestured for us to turn around. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s start back.”

I trailed the others by a few feet, scanning the surrounding ground as we moved. I slid the buckle into my back pocket. It wasn’t from a leash or a collar or a bracelet. I recognized that logo. It was from a purse.



* * *



I TOOK THE LONG way home, stopping at CVS, buying a soda, using the bathroom, dumping the buckle in the trash can, waving to Luke Aberdeen on the way out.



* * *



I STOOD IN FRONT of my house, tilting my head to the side, trying to see it as a stranger might. Nothing special, nothing to make someone look twice. My feet started sinking in a spot of mud, and I pulled them out, the suction gripping my sneakers before dislodging. I walked toward the porch, my steps slow and labored, as if my feet were sticking to the earth. I waited by the front porch, willing myself to go inside.