The Mystery of Hollow Places(34)

“Can’t you tell me why I’m lying on the job? Is this . . . is this about last night?”

“Chad, just leave it alone,” Jessa cuts in, an uncharacteristic growl in her voice.

Her brother trains his eyes on me and I lift my chin, bracing for more questions, for a repeat of last night’s pity party. Instead he peels off his gloves and wipes a hand down his face, flushed from the cold. “What do you need me to say?”

If he’s willing to let it go, so am I. More than willing. Gratefully, I tell him how on the drive over, Jessa looked around and found an optometrist’s office called Lionel Sorbousek Eye Care in Torrington, Connecticut. It’s the closest match to Lil’s guess at my mother’s former employer. And I explain my plan. “But we need a grown-up.”

A familiar dimple punctuates his left cheek.

“I mean we need someone who sounds like a grown-up.”

I follow him into the office off the ski shop while Jessa stands watch outside. Not that this is a high-risk mission. The young employees in the lodge seem more interested in sharing epic stories of their epic weekends than in whatever’s happening in their third-rate ski slope’s tiny back office. Chad sweeps aside a collection of giant slushie cups on the desk and sits in the rolling chair, reaching for the phone. “I’ll put it on speaker, okay? Just keep quiet.”

While he dials, I pull up a metal folding chair and study my winter-chapped hands until a woman answers, “Lionel Sorbousek Eye Care, how may I help you?”

“Yes, hi, this is Bob White in HR at the Marple Slopes. I’m calling about an applicant for a job we recently posted. She has your office listed as a reference, but this would’ve been five years ago. Is there someone there who would’ve been her supervisor?”

“One moment, please,” she answers, and peppy, bland music like you might hear in toothpaste commercials trickles over the line.

“How did you come up with this plan?” Chad asks in a stage whisper.

“I read it in a book.” A Shriek in the Dark, in fact, the tenth in a series by popular medical mystery writer Joshua Scott.

“Im,” he starts, louder now. “Last night, I didn’t really—”

The music cuts off. “This is Dr. Sorbousek.”

“Yeah, yes, hello.” Chad drops his deep voice an octave so it’s practically on the ground. He’s not as good a liar as his sister, but he mostly gets the script right. “I’m calling in reference to one of your previous employees, Ms. Sidonie Faye.”

“Sidonie? Haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“She’s applied for a job at our resort, and I was hoping you could tell me a little about Ms. Faye.”

“She did work for us for, oh, about two years. She was a hard worker. Polite.”

“So you didn’t terminate Ms. Faye’s employment? Because her resume mentions unusual circumstances, but it’s a little fuzzy on that point.”

“She wasn’t fired, no.” Lionel Sorbousek sounds taken aback. “In fact, I told her if she found herself back in the area after she settled her business, we’d try to find a place for her.”

“Uh-huh,” Chad says, watching as I dig a pen and pizza coupon out of the junkyard that is the desktop and jot a quick note. He squints at my handwriting. “Did she quit for any particular reason?”

Dr. Sorbousek hesitates. “Mr. White, I’m not sure I can say any more. Policy, you know?”

While Chad fakes a dramatic cough to buy time, I scribble a longer note and nudge the pizza coupon across the desk. Chad shakes his head no. I shake my head yes. He frowns. “I understand the position you’re in, Dr. Sorbousek, but you have to understand the position I’m in. Ms. Faye will be working in the children’s center, and will at times be responsible for the safety of a large number of children. Should she prove . . . not up for the task, I don’t want us or anyone else to be liable. You’re her most recent job listed, and the conditions of her leaving are vague. Any insight you could give me would be very much appreciated.”

The doctor clears his throat. “There’s not much I can tell you. She was quiet, but she did the job. Showed up regularly for work. Then one day she didn’t, and called to say she’d gone back home for good. Said it was where she needed to be. I assumed it was a family matter. I told her we understood, and we were sorry to lose her. And I didn’t hear from her again after that.”

Three sharp knocks on the office door startle us: Jessa’s warning.

While we’ve been listening to Lionel Sorbousek, Chad and I have both crowded around the phone, heads nearly together, breathing the same breaths. Now, Chad shoves his chair backward. “Thanks so much for your help, doctor. We’ll, uh, take all of this under advisement.” He rushes to hang up, then shuffles around in the bottom desk drawer. The two of us are seated a respectable distance from each other when the door swings open and a muscular girl in a blue Marple Slopes T-shirt strolls into the office.

“Busy?” she stops and asks.

“What’s up, Pari?” Chad says.

The girl—Pari—crosses to the desk and props her elbow on his shoulder, her body resting against his arm. The tips of her fingers brush his chest, and one blue-black side braid dangles by his ear. Chad doesn’t lean into her, but he doesn’t shrug her off or roll away.