These Silent Woods: A Novel(54)
“Yes. Hey,” Marie says. “You said you’d stay on the rug.”
“Come on, Manny.”
“This book. Tuck Everlasting. It’s a kids’ book. My daughter read it last year.”
Manny is standing over our heads, his thick boots covered in mud and dripping slush. A small piece of ice falls through the crack and lands on Finch’s cheek, and I hold her arms tight to keep her from reaching up to move it. Manny opens the book, and Finch’s bookmark, a one-inch-wide piece of cherished construction paper, decorated with pressed lavender from the summer before, falls to the floor, floats, flips over and over and lands just above us, right on the crack where a shaft of light spills through. If he sees us—
Finch clutches my hand tighter. The drip from Manny’s boot slides down her face.
“I’m a librarian,” Marie says. “I read all sorts of books. Adult books, children’s books.” Her voice shaking now. Hands, too. I can see them through the floor. She sounds defensive, guilty.
Steady, Marie. Calm down.
Manny kneels and picks up the bookmark and he is so close I can smell him: sweat, coffee, bacon. “Finch,” he reads.
I press my hand over Finch’s mouth.
“One of the library’s patrons.”
He slides the bookmark back into Tuck Everlasting and puts the book on the table, tiptoes back to the front door. “It’s a good book, Carly said. Made her cry.”
“Heck, Manny. Look at the floor. She asked us to stay on the rug.”
“Just doing my job, boss.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll clean it up, ma’am,” Sheriff says. “You got a towel? A rag or something?”
“No, no. Please: don’t worry. It’s all right. I’ll get it.”
“Well, let me show you this before we go. The parents, they’re understandably beside themselves. Both of them, just a wreck. Anyway, they had a flyer made. It’s posted all over town, but I’m assuming you haven’t seen it. The girl’s a senior in high school. Her name’s Casey Winters.”
A torrent of thoughts. The girl we saw—she’s missing. Whatever that means. She isn’t home, hasn’t been to school. It seems unlikely, impossible, almost, that she has been in our woods all this time, but what if, for some unknowable reason and against all odds, she’s still here?
Marie mutters and grips her skirt and then takes the paper the sheriff is holding. Finch and her notebook and the story of the girl with red hair in the woods—I can picture it, Marie connecting the dots, piecing together some semblance of truth.
“Anyway, the girl was a photographer,” the sheriff says. “Good at it, apparently. Worked for the school newspaper but her parents say she wanted to work for National Geographic or one of those places someday, so she would go out in the woods sometimes. Sort of an Into the Wild type, apparently.”
“But all the snow,” Marie says. “Surely you don’t think she’s out in the woods now?”
“Hard to tell. You know kids. We found two SD cards from her camera in her room, so hopefully we’ll get some answers from those.”
I knew it, that day. I knew that girl was trouble but it was nice, living in this dreamscape with Marie and Finch and the snow. Chocolates and tea and companionship. Christmas lights strung on a white pine. Got swept right into it, let my guard down. I see it now, plain as day. Let myself believe maybe it was nothing, our crossing paths with her in the woods. Just a flicker of bad luck that had passed us by. I thought we were safe. But no.
Marie clears her throat. “Do you have any suspects?”
“Not really. But we just started looking through pictures this morning. Thousands of them, but something might turn up that could be of use to us.”
It dawns on me that this is bad bad bad because we were there, and she was there, and even if she didn’t see us when she paused, looked in our direction, if she clicked when we were in her viewfinder, if there are pictures of us—
Through the cracks in the floor, I can see the sheriff unbuttoning his pocket and pulling out a business card. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, hopefully. But meanwhile, keep an eye out. You see something or hear something that seems a little fishy, get in your car and drive out to 86. I doubt you have cell coverage here, but you’ll get reception once you’re there. Here’s my card.” He turns to go but then stops. “Ma’am,” he says, resting his hand on Marie’s shoulder. “You sure everything’s all right?”
All she would have to do, I realize, is point downward. Communicate with her eyes, gesture. Her back is to me; I wouldn’t even see it.
“Yes,” Marie says, but her voice is shaking. “Everything’s fine. Just a little nervous now, that’s all. It’s so quiet here, and usually I don’t see a soul, and then you two show up and tell me there’s a girl missing and to keep an eye out. I’m just a bit ruffled, that’s all. You understand.”
“Well. No need to be nervous. We’ve got all hands on deck, I promise you that. You want us to come back out in a day or two? It’d be no problem.”
“No. No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be heading home soon. Later today, probably.”
Finch fidgets, tries to turn and look at me. Upset about Marie leaving, I’m sure. I hold her still.