The Herd(36)
“That should be doable.” She paused. “And Katie, I’m so, so sorry. I’m sure she’ll turn up, but I’ll do everything in my power to help.”
* * *
—
I fell asleep praying I’d wake to happy news: Everything’s fine, they found her and she’s A-OK, it’s actually a hilarious story, come on in and she’ll tell us all about it. My heart battered around in my ribs as I pulled my phone off the nightstand, but…
Crickets.
I showed up at the Herd around eleven and spotted Mikki and her things scattered across a sofa. She was wearing high-top sneakers and velvet leggings under a huge sweatshirt and drinking an iced coffee the size of Montana. “Nothing?” I said, in lieu of a greeting.
“Nothing.” She gave me a halfhearted hug. “How are you doing?”
“Broken. Miserable. Sick with worry.”
She nodded. “I used up half my CBD pen trying to fall asleep last night.”
I sighed. “Where’s Hana?”
“She said something came up. Told me to tell you that.”
“Huh.” For some reason, this felt like an affront.
“I can see not wanting to be here with Eleanor gone. Since we’re not supposed to”—her eyes widened and she lowered her voice—“since we’re supposed to keep it on the DL.”
I dragged an acrylic chair over. “Has anyone checked Eleanor’s office?”
She groaned. “Aurelia said it’s locked. I suggested smashing the glass, but nobody seemed into that.”
“Does Eleanor usually lock her door?” I asked.
“I think so. Definitely after the whole vandal break-in situation.”
“Good point.” I tapped her knee. “Hey, I forgot to return the question. How are you doing?”
“I’m just worried,” she said with a shrug. “And I hate having to act like it’s business as usual. I’m supposed to have a gallery visit this afternoon.”
“For the collages?” She nodded and I wrinkled my nose in sympathy. “I’m sure you can reschedule.”
“I will. But it’s not like anything’s happening here anyway. With the investigation or whatever. Nobody’s heard anything from the cops.”
I thought back to my checklist. “Can we review the security footage from Monday?”
“You’re not gonna believe this.” She leaned forward. “You know how they just got new cameras? Well, they’re in the middle of switching over systems or something, so the cameras didn’t record.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I know. Aurelia had a long call with the technician this morning. She was so frustrated, she burst into tears.” She shook her head. “Poor thing is in over her head. Aurelia’s basically a glorified assistant, but with Eleanor MIA and Stephanie in fucking Goa, she’s somehow in charge.”
“Hold on. You said she had a call with the technician? Was it Ted—did he install the new cameras?” Seemed odd he wouldn’t have mentioned it.
“No, a private firm.” She sighed. “They installed the new cameras last week but then there was some issue with the router not recognizing them. The guy told Aurelia it was just bad luck.”
“?‘Bad luck’? That it just randomly stops working the night Eleanor goes missing?” I felt a stab of fear. Maybe someone needed that footage deleted. Maybe something really did happen to her. Maybe this was real.
An issue with the router—Ted had been here to reset it Friday, packet overload. I texted and asked if he could walk me through his reset, adding that it might help us track down Eleanor, and he replied in seconds, noting that he’d be in the neighborhood later if I wanted to meet up. My phone jolted as I was still typing, and I stared in confusion at the text for a few minutes before the pieces snapped into place.
The sights and smells and sounds around me, women and clatters and chatter and colorful fabric, sunlight from the windows and upholstery the color of jewels—all of it faded away, the world on a dimmer switch, everything reduced to a meaningless gray blob around the outskirts of this text.
It was from Carl. My scheduled but noticeably absent coffee date from Monday. Carl Berkowski, men’s rights activist, plaintiff in the doomed case of Berkowski v. The Herd, Inc. Known enemy of Eleanor Walsh. He’d chosen now, right now, to finally answer my texts and calls.
Ice pitched through my stomach as I reread it, over and over.
It said: “So it seems Eleanor’s out of commission, hmm?”
CHAPTER 11
Hana
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 10:52 A.M.
I dreamed about the numbers I’d found in Eleanor’s bed: They had something to do with money, and Daniel was using them in lieu of cash to pay Eleanor’s ransom. I woke up and willed the dream’s details to stick so that I could comb through them later in search of baubles of insight, but then I grabbed my phone and saw Mikki’s text still at the top: I think we need to tell them. Terror lurched through me again, so tense and taut that Cosmo sensed it and vaulted off the bed. Last night I’d sent back one word right away: No. Now I deleted the whole exchange and tended to my other alerts, and the dream slipped away like something sinking into a quarry.