Pretty Girls Dancing(42)
Fifteen minutes later, Claire was seated on the edge of the sofa in the family room. Had she asked Barbara to stay? She couldn’t recall. But the woman had accompanied them into the house, retrieved coffee from the kitchen, and was handing out mugs. Claire’s fingers wrapped tightly around hers. Marta must have left for the day. The distant thought flickered. She always made a fresh pot before leaving. David liked coffee after dinner. He never seemed to suffer the side effects of drinking caffeine before bedtime.
“Mrs. Willard?” Belatedly, she became aware that both Mark and Barbara were looking at her. “I asked if it was okay to speak freely in front of your friend.”
“Oh. Yes.” She glanced at the woman by her side. “Of course. What’s this about?”
The agent took some folded sheets from the interior pocket of his jacket. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to bring up difficult memories. But I’m sure you’ve heard of Whitney DeVries’s disappearance. As I told your husband, we’re looking at any connections to your daughter’s case.”
His words seemed to come from a distance. “My . . . husband?”
“Yes, when we spoke Friday. I’m sure he told you about our conversation.” The man’s smile was probably meant to be reassuring. “He was very helpful.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Managing a laugh, she brought the coffee to her lips. Forced herself to take a sip. She hadn’t spoken to David since he’d called to say he would be away for the weekend again, although she knew he’d FaceTimed Janie. “The weekend can be so busy. I’d completely forgotten.”
We’re looking at any connections to your daughter’s case . . .
The words bounced around in her head like an internal echo. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. After all this time. All the news stories she’d been so certain were linked in some way to Kelsey, it hardly seemed possible . . .
“This is something you filled out for the agents seven years ago.” Somehow, he was in front of her. He opened the pages he carried and handed them to her before returning to his seat. “It lists all your relatives, friends, acquaintances . . . everyone you knew even peripherally at the time your daughter went missing. I’d like to ask you to look it over and update it.”
She stared at the papers in her hand uncomprehendingly. “I don’t understand. How would it help?”
“They’ll check for names that appear on your and David’s lists and those that Shannon and Brian filled out.”
Barbara touched her arm. “This can be a good thing, Claire. It means looking at Kelsey’s case, as well as this new one.”
Her eyes filled. A good thing. Her mind was buzzing, her thoughts a jumble. But one thought rang through, clear as a bell. If the two cases were connected, finding Whitney DeVries might also mean finding Kelsey. The rapid surge of hope left her weak.
“Of course.” Her voice was husky, so she took another drink. “Of course I’ll update it.” She’d do anything. Everything. Whatever it took for them to start looking into Kelsey’s disappearance again. They’d have to, wouldn’t they? If the agents were looking for links, that must mean they would comb through Kelsey’s investigation. Maybe see something the other agents hadn’t. Or chase a lead that hadn’t been examined seven years ago. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to feel this sort of wild, burgeoning joy.
“Thank you. I know this is painful. What about your daughter? Janie? Is she home?”
Her mind abruptly blanked. “What? Why?”
Mark leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped around the mug. “I’ve been reading through Kelsey’s file. Janie was a child seven years ago. And her . . . disability . . . meant the agents weren’t able to speak to her at the time. I thought now she might be in a better position to—”
“No!” As suddenly as the joy had come, it was replaced with rage, a hot, pulsing river of it. “No, you will not be talking to my daughter. She’s still a minor. We can prevent you from speaking to her.” Could they? Surely so. “You have no idea what she went through after Kelsey—” Her voice broke then, and she could feel Barbara slipping an arm around her shoulders. “The trauma was too much for her. She had a setback. Couldn’t leave the house for almost two years. Couldn’t go to school. We had to hire tutors.” She shuddered at the memory of the double-edged tragedy: the one that had befallen the daughter they’d never seen again, and the other targeting the one who’d survived. “This can’t affect her. I won’t allow it.”
“Janie still suffers from social anxiety,” Barbara said from her side. “She’s back in school, doing extremely well academically. But I’m sure her therapist would agree that drawing her in to the middle of this wouldn’t be beneficial for her.”
The man’s expression was somber. “I didn’t realize the ongoing nature of Janie’s disorder. It’s fine. I can get by without talking to her.”
Until Barbara’s arm tightened around her, Claire didn’t realize she was shaking. In the last five years, Janie had made incredible strides. Had slowly transitioned into public school again. Then had gradually improved her attendance. Her participation and vocal responses. With her grades, it would be easy to forget that as far as she’d come, she still had miles to go to adjust to a socially interactive world. From Claire’s conversations with Dr. Drake, she knew her daughter’s anxiety would always remain with her, in some fashion.