Lost in the Never Woods(52)

Detective James sat down in a wooden chair with cracked black leather cushions behind his desk. “Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing.

Wendy sat down in the only other chair in the room. It was metal, cold and uncomfortable. Wendy fidgeted with her hands in her lap.

Detective James set a pad of paper and a pen on his desk, but then leaned back casually in his chair. “So,” he began, giving her that smile again. Wendy gripped the edge of her seat. “Let’s get right to it. I assume by now you know that Alex Forestay went missing last night?”

Wendy nodded. “I saw you on the news talking about it.” It was true enough.

“You saw him yesterday before he went missing, is that correct?”

“Yes, I read to the kids in the children’s clinic,” Wendy said. She wondered if he could hear the guilt hammering in her chest from across the desk.

“How often do you do that?” He began writing on his pad of paper, giving her a reprieve from his icy blue stare.

“Once a week.” Should she give longer answers? Were short ones suspicious? Or would she sound guilty if she rattled off information?

“Had you seen Alex prior to that day?”

Wendy shook her head. “No, that was the first time he’d ever come to story time,” she answered. “I think that was his first visit for treatment?” Shouldn’t he already know that? Was this a tactic for catching people in lies?

Detective James nodded. “Did you talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“What about?”

“Sharks.”

“Ah, sharks.” Detective James’s eyebrows arched in amusement, but he continued to write. “Was he acting strange? Did he seem at all scared?”

“Scared?” Memories of Alex’s cries and the look of sheer terror on his face as he got dragged into the woods flooded her vision. “No, not scared,” Wendy said, swallowing past the dryness in her throat. “He was shy, definitely shy…” Her fingers itched.

“When you were at the hospital, did you notice anyone suspicious in the children’s ward? Anyone who looked like they didn’t belong there?” Wendy could tell he was trying to keep his voice casual and light, but there was a distinct severity to his eyes as he watched her.

Wendy shook her head. “No, I pretty much know everyone that works in the children’s department,” Wendy said.

Detective James hummed to himself. “Small town. Everyone knows everyone else, right?”

“Right…” Wendy cleared her throat. “It was just nurses and doctors, some of the kids’ parents, too.”

“So, there wasn’t anyone in the room with you who was a stranger? No one you thought didn’t belong?” he asked, watching her.

Wendy’s palms were sweaty and her hands shook.

Did they know about Peter? Did they know he had been in the room? Peter said adults didn’t notice him, but was that right? What if someone had seen him talking to Alex? And then talking to her? Wendy didn’t know how to answer that question, but she was taking too long. She had to say something.

So she shook her head again. “No, I didn’t notice anyone like that.” Technically that wasn’t a lie. She knew who Peter was now, so he wasn’t a stranger. But he definitely shouldn’t have been in the hospital to begin with …

Detective James took a long moment to jot down some more notes. Did he know she was lying? He must.

Wendy straightened her back, bracing herself against impending doom. For Detective James to reveal his hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, he put down his pen and sat back in his seat. “I have to say, Miss Darling, I find it very curious how, after what happened with the mystery boy you found in the road—Peter, I believe he told you his name was?—and now Alex’s disappearance, things seem to keep coming around back to you.” His expression was serious. He didn’t even try to put on that plastic smile.

Wendy didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

He continued on, “Have you seen anyone strange around town, Wendy? Has anyone been following you? Bothering you at all?”

She could feel the tremor starting, barely a quiver in the center of her chest. “No, no, nothing like that,” Wendy said. A rough shudder jolted her shoulders.

Detective James leaned forward in his seat. “Are you sure?” he asked, snagging her in his gaze. “Wendy—” His eyes flicked to the edge of his desk. His brows drew together.

Wendy looked down. She held a pen, poised as if about to write something down. Her hand shook furiously, the tip a mere inch from the desk, bobbing through the air as if writing on its own.

Or drawing.

Wendy slammed the pen down.

She shoved her hands under her thighs.

Detective James watched her, expression unreadable.

Wendy made herself stare back. She took slow, deliberate breaths.

After a long pause, Detective James asked, “Have you seen Peter since he went missing from the hospital?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Do you think he had something to do with this?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

He considered her question before responding. “Right now, all we know is that kids are going missing—disappearing from their homes—and that this boy, Peter, also went missing. While, currently, I can’t say that we’ve recovered enough evidence to make any connections…” He said it in a way that sounded very rehearsed. “What we can say is that you and Peter were, at one point, in the same place. We don’t know in what capacity, but we can’t deny that all of these disappearances could be connected, because the two of you are connected. It’s possible that he’s being held captive with the other children who have gone missing.”