First Girl Gone(43)

“How did she seem that morning?” Charlie said, the scream of the espresso machine’s milk steamer almost drowning her out.

“Fine. The same old Amber. Just super thoughtful and gracious. It was such a wonderful surprise.”

“What was?”

“The shower? Oh, I probably forgot to explain that part,” Sarah said and stroked her belly. “I’m pregnant. Obviously. Amber had organized kind of a mini shower. A surprise. She’d even gone to the restaurant ahead of time and put out decorations on the table and everything. It was just… so sweet.”

Sarah started to tear up, and Sophie reached over to pat her arm.

“Amber’s always been good at organizing things,” Sophie added. “She has this way of pulling a group of people together and getting the best out of them. She was the captain of our dance team in high school. That’s how we all know each other.”

The waitress returned with Charlie’s drink.

“So you didn’t notice anything unusual at brunch?”

“Definitely not,” Sarah said. “It was just a really pleasant morning. Hard to believe things could go so terribly wrong just after.”

Charlie nodded, took a long drink of tea. She knew the feeling well.

“Did Amber mention where she was headed after the brunch?”

“Back to East Lansing,” Jennifer said. “She said she had a mountain of laundry to do before she left.”

The same frustration Charlie had felt at the beginning of her search for Kara Dawkins resurfaced. Asking the same old questions and getting nowhere.

Sarah glanced at her watch.

“Oh shoot! I have a doctor’s appointment to get to. Are we almost finished?”

“We’re done, actually,” Charlie said. “Thank you all for coming down here.”

Tucking her notebook into her bag, Charlie scooted away from the table and left a few bills to pay for her tea. As she headed for the door, Jennifer and Sophie were helping Sarah maneuver into a fluffy down jacket.

Charlie pushed outside, a burst of icy air ruffling her hair. She took a deep breath and hoped the Ritter house was ready to give up its secrets.





Chapter Thirty-One





By the time Charlie arrived at the Ritter house that evening, the family was just sitting down to eat. Todd Ritter, the stepfather, led her toward the dining room, stopping just shy of the doorway. Charlie could see Amber’s mother and brother seated at the table in the room beyond, both of them noticeably quiet compared to earlier. She sensed an awkward tension in the air.

“You’re sure you’re not hungry?” Todd said. “You’re more than welcome to eat with us. Chicken parm tonight. Made it myself. Not to brag or anything, but it’s sort of my specialty. Secret’s all in getting a good crispy texture.”

“No thanks. I just wanted to get a look at Amber’s room, if I could.”

“Her bedroom?”

“Yeah. You never know what little detail might help.”

Todd nodded, gave a shrug. Charlie couldn’t help but notice the contrast between his relative level of nonchalance and the family’s demeanor in the next room, which seemed somber. Choked. Tight.

“Sure. That makes sense,” he said. “It’s just upstairs. Second door on the right.”

He waved his finger at the staircase, pointing like an air traffic controller waving in a 747.

“You need anything, just give a shout. We’ll be down here digging in.”

“This guy seems way too much like a sitcom dad or something,” Allie said, keeping her voice quiet, as though he might hear.

Charlie climbed the stairs and found the door to Amber’s room—white paneled wood with a Winnie-the-Pooh sticker just above the doorknob. The edges of the yellow sticker had been peeled back, some of the white papery layer underneath exposed. Maybe Amber had put this here as a kid, and years later, embarrassed, made some half-hearted attempt to remove it. Funny how that worked, Charlie thought, how we always tried to erase our pasts. Opening the door, Charlie’s eyes snapped to the corkboard on the far wall with photos pinned to it. She crossed the room to get a closer look.

Snapshots. The pictures all featured Amber and her friends at a variety of wholesome locations: the school cafeteria, an amusement park, even one of a big group at the bowling alley, everyone giggling.

Now Charlie’s eyes latched onto a picture of Amber and another girl smiling at the old Poseidon’s Kingdom amusement park. They were seated high up in the Ferris wheel. She’d heard about people climbing it to sit in the very topmost cars, but Charlie had never had the guts to do it.

At last she took a step back to get a look at the rest of the room. There was certainly more of a traditional girly feel here than she’d found in Kara Dawkins’ room. Pinks and purples dominated the area around the bed. That region almost seemed trapped in little-princess mode to a creepy degree.

The rest of the room spoke more to the twenty-year-old that Amber truly was.

Posters of various pop and rock stars coated most of the walls, spanning multiple genres and eras. Adele. Beyoncé. Kurt Cobain. Jim Morrison.

She picked up a music box from the high closet shelf, turning it over and over in her hands. She wound it up, opened the lid, and it tinkled out its melody—the theme from Swan Lake.