All the Missing Girls(81)
I clung to him much longer than what might be considered appropriate for a girl with a fiancé and a guy with a missing girlfriend.
“I’ll be back tonight,” he said, pulling away.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I said.
“Why not? Her mother just showed up and saw my truck here. There are going to be rumors anyway,” he said.
“Your missing girlfriend really isn’t something to joke about.”
“She’s not missing. She’s just not here. And I think it’s safe to say, whenever she shows up, that we’re over.”
“Oh my God, stop joking.”
He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do, Nic.”
I nodded at him, squeezed his hand. And then I watched him go.
As soon as his truck was out of sight, I went back inside and pulled open the kitchen drawers, dumping the contents on the floor, trying to piece together my father’s life over the last ten years.
* * *
THE RAIN WAS SUPPOSED to break the heat, but it didn’t. It was a hot rain, as if it had manifested out of the humidity, the air unable to hold it any longer. The only thing it did was keep us all from searching the woods.
I drove to the library after lunch, sat at one of the computers in the corner, and pulled up the Yellow Pages site, looking for pawnshop listings. I scribbled down the number and address for any within an hour’s drive, then stepped into the back courtyard of the library, which was essentially the backyard of a home encircled by a high brick wall, plants along the sides and benches in the middle. It was abandoned in the rain. I stayed pressed against the wall, under the lip of the roof overhang, the water streaming down six inches in front of my face, and dialed the first number on the list.
“First Rate Pawnshop,” a man answered.
“I’m looking for something,” I explained, keeping my voice low. “It would’ve come in sometime yesterday, probably. Or maybe today.”
“I’m going to need a little more information than that,” the man responded.
“It’s a ring,” I said. “Two-carat diamond. Brilliant setting.”
“We’ve got some engagement rings,” he said, “but nothing that’s come in recently. Have you filed a police report?”
“No, not yet.”
“Because if you don’t, if this was stolen from you and it turns up in a shop somewhere, we’re not just gonna hand it over to you. That’s the first step, honey.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said.
“Do you want to leave a number in the meantime, in case it shows?”
I paused. “No,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”
Shit. I shoved the list deep in my purse to keep it from getting wet and headed through the library back to my car. I would have to see for myself. Navigating the roads in the rain, browsing the crappy stores on the corners. Just looking, I’d say. Just passing through. The sign just caught my eye, is all.
* * *
FIVE HOURS LATER AND I needed dinner. I hadn’t found the ring, and I was irritable, and I knew it was partly because I was hungry, but also because of the ring, and also because Daniel’s car was in the driveway and I wanted quiet. I needed time to think, to work this all through. I needed to understand.
I ran through the rain, holding my purse over my head. “Daniel?” I called from just inside the front door. The only noise was from the rain on the roof, the wind against the windows, the distant rumble of thunder. “Daniel!” I called from the bottom of the stairs. Getting no reply again, I took the steps two at a time to the second-floor landing and paced the hall, calling his name.
The rooms were empty.
I went back downstairs for my phone, called his cell, and heard the familiar ringing from somewhere in the house. I pulled the phone from my ear and followed the noise into the kitchen, saw his phone on the edge of the table, beside his wallet and car keys. “Daniel!” I called louder.
I threw open the back door, eyes drilling into the woods. Surely he wouldn’t be out there in this storm. I switched on the back porch light and stood in the rain calling his name. Down the steps, around the side of the house, and no sign of Daniel. I ran to his car, peering in the window, now completely drenched. I saw a few tools in the backseat but nothing too out of the norm. Then I heard a sharp thud, like a hammer, just under the thunder—from the garage. A faint light seemed to be coming from the side window. I shielded my eyes from the rain, walking closer.
The sliding doors to the garage were shut, and Daniel had hung something over the windows. I pounded on the side walk-through door. “Daniel!” I yelled. “Are you in there?”
The noise stopped.
“Go in the house, Nic,” he called through the door.
I pounded more. “Open the f*cking door!”
He unlocked the handle, pulled it open. His hands were covered in white chalk, and the floor was fractured and splintered—chunks of concrete off to the side, the earth below it exposed.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, pushing past him into the room. “What the f*ck are you doing?”
He closed the door behind me. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m digging.” He ran his hand over his face, the white chalk streaking down with his sweat. “I’m looking.”