Missing Since Monday

by Ann M. Martin

  “I didn’t know your parents were coordinating all this,” I said, both surprised and grateful.

  Martha nodded proudly. “The police have been a big help, and Mom has even spoken to Search for the Children. They’ve given us lots of tips, too.”

  Mrs. Jacobssen was already busy with another couple who had shown up to help, so I just waved to her as Martha and Mike and I went downstairs. Later, I would try to thank Mr. and Mrs. Jacobssen for everything they were doing.

  In the Jacobssens’ large basement family room, Mike and I found David, Jane, Andrew, and about fifteen other kids. I scanned the crowd quickly and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that Brad was not there.

  “Hey!” exclaimed Mike with a lopsided smile. “What’s going on?”

  “They’re here to help,” said Martha.

  David stood by me, grinning. “I figured that whatever you wanted to discuss,” he said, “had to do with finding your sister. So I decided that the more help you had, the better.”

  I should have known. David could always be counted on.

  “Wow. Thanks everybody.” My voice caught, but I managed to keep from crying.

  David and Martha and Mike and I joined the other kids on the floor and I got right to the point, doubly determined to find Courtenay since her recovery would also vindicate my mother.

  I cleared my throat. “What I wanted to discuss,” I said, “are other things we can do to help find Courtenay. The fliers”—I pointed upward to indicate the adults who were working so hard—“are great, but we need posters, too.” I held up the poster of Lacey Meigs. “We need to make some of these for Courtenay—as many as we can—and hang them everywhere.”

  A voice spoke up from the back of the crowd. It was Paul Keane, a friend of Mike’s. “My mother owns a printing business. If we do all the work—put the information together, set the type and everything—she’ll probably let us make copies for free on cheap cardboard.”

  “Great! Thanks, Paul,” said Mike.

  “We could break up into small groups to post them,” suggested Jane.

  “And if each group gets a car, we could really spread the posters around,” added someone else. “We could hit all the towns around here—Lawrenceville, Blawenburg, Skillman, Hopewell, Kingston.”

  “Fantastic,” I said. “And keep in mind that even though we’ve already been on TV and stuff, we have to make sure we talk to people about Courtenay. Keep her in their thoughts. If you put up a poster in a store, tell the clerk or even the customers about Courtenay. If you’re posting them in a neighborhood, tell the residents about her. And be sure to mention the reward.” I looked around. Everyone seemed eager to begin.

  “Well,” said Martha, “let’s get started. Pass around the poster, Maggie. Let everyone see it.”

  And that was how I started my own search for Courtenay.

  11

  Search for the Children

  THE NEXT DAY, MIKE and I went back to school. We barely made it to our lockers. Everyone knew about Courtie. Kids who had never spoken to me stopped me in the halls to say they were sorry or, more often than not, to ask what had really happened. They’d been hearing rumors for days. Now they wanted the true, gruesome details.

  When I finally reached my locker, I found Martha waiting for me with Paul Keane, whose mother ran the printing business.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back!” Martha exclaimed as I turned the dial of my combination lock. “I hate it when you’re not at school.”

  “I’m kind of glad to be back myself,” I said. “It’s awful at home, but now I feel like I’m not doing anything to help.”

  “Well,” said Martha, “the reason Paul and I are here is because we wanted to suggest that the kids who are going to help look for Courtenay could eat a really fast lunch today and then hold a meeting in the cafeteria about the posters.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Good,” said Martha. “I’ll get Mr. Sakala to make an announcement this morning about the meeting. Maybe other kids will want to help, too.”

  More than one hundred students gathered around Martha and me in the cafeteria at lunchtime that day. They took over eight of the big tables by the windows. I was astonished. I couldn’t believe so many people cared.

  Martha, David, Mike, and I talked to the students as a panel. We asked them to divide themselves into groups of three for distributing the posters. There were thirty-nine groups all together. That meant one hundred and seventeen kids, counting ourselves.

  “Gosh,” I said, leaning over to Paul, who was sitting in front of me, “even if we give each group just fifty posters, which isn’t nearly enough, that’s almost two thousand. How many can you really print up? We ought to give everybody more like a hundred. That’s almost four thousand posters.”

  Paul gulped. “I hadn’t counted on that many.”

  David nudged me. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  I explained.

  He slipped his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned against him gratefully. “I’ve got an idea,” he said softly, brushing his lips against my ear. David stood up on his chair and cleared his throat. The students, who were trying to divide territory among their groups, fell silent. “Sorry,” said David, “but we’ve just run into a problem. I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before, but we’re going to need some money to run this search. A lot of people will donate their time, materials, and facilities, but not everyone.”

  A few kids groaned.

  David held his hands up. “I’m not asking for donations from you guys,” he said, “but we’ve got to think of some ways to raise money—fast.”

  I spoke up. “Could we organize a bake sale, like by Sunday?” I asked.

  “Sure,” said a couple of voices.

  “The Joggers Club could run a marathon and take pledges for miles run,” suggested someone.

  “How about a car wash?” said Mike. “We got one together pretty fast to raise money for the earthquake victims last year.”

  A hand shot up. “I’ll be in charge of that.”

  “Thanks, Nicky,” I said. “Listen, everybody, we’ve only got seven minutes until sixth period. Let me quickly make a list of the things we can do to raise money and then assign people to be in charge of them. Paul, do you think your mom would let you print four thousand posters now, and we could pay her whatever we owe when we’ve got the money? Kind of an advance?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Terrific. Okay, let’s assign the projects now.” I was really into our meeting. I’d never been much of a leader, but since the cause was really important, I found that everything else slipped into unimportance. All that mattered was finding Courtie and clearing my mom. Therefore, all that mattered were posters and bake sales and marathons. I finally felt as if I were really doing something to find my sister.

  By the time the meeting was over, six fund-raising projects were under way. Martha, David, Mike, and I were going to be generally in charge—we were to run things, act as troubleshooters, organize the poster distribution, and be the teacher-student liaisons. When the bell rang, I felt as if we’d accomplished a lot.

  After school, David and Mike and I went with Paul to his mother’s business. Paul had put a sample poster together the night before. Mike and I studied it carefully. MISSING, it said, COURTENAY LOUISE ELLIS. Under the heading was Courtie’s photo. And under that were the words Date Disappeared: April 21, 1986. Then came Courtie’s description, the place where she had last been seen, and even a mention of the suspicious green car. Following the information was the number to call if Courtenay was found or seen.

  I stared at the poster and blinked back tears. “It looks fine to me,” I managed to say.

  “Yeah,” Mike added. He turned away from us. In a few short days he’d become somber, completely different from the Mike who used to fool around with the imaginary microphone. (“Okay, Jay, what do we have in the box for Mrs. Tudweiler?”)

  “Al
l right?” David said, just to make sure.

  I nodded.

  “I guess we can start printing, then,” he told Paul.

  So Paul set to work and showed David and Mike and me how to help him. Before we left, which wasn’t until six-thirty, I went into Mrs. Keane’s office and thanked her profusely.

  “I had no idea we’d have to print so many,” I told her, “but all these kids showed up at the meeting today and they want to help.”

  Mrs. Keane smiled warmly. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “We’ll pay you back whatever you think is fair,” I added. “We’ve figured out lots of ways to raise money, so as soon as we have it—”

  Mrs. Keane waved her hand nonchalantly. “Paul and I will work it out later. You concentrate on your sister.”

  I nodded. “Thanks again.” I left her office and found that Paul and Mike were already gone, so David and I walked to my house alone together.

  When I got there, I found a woman in our living room talking to Dad, Leigh, and Becker.

  Dad stood up as I entered the room. “Hi, sweetie,” he said. “How was school?”

  “Okay.”

  There was a pregnant silence. Then Dad tried to make a joke about my cool behavior. “Just okay?” he said, smiling.

  “That’s right.”

  Things had been pretty chilly among Leigh, Dad, Mike, and me ever since Dad and Leigh had come home. I was used to the distance between Leigh and me, but not to the one between Dad and me. The situation was not helped by the fact that I was creating the distance. Dad, feeling guilty about Mom, was bending over backward trying to set things to rights—and Mike and I wanted nothing to do with him. I didn’t think I could ever forgive him. I was even trying to find a way to leave home for the summer—get a job as a camp counselor or something.

  My father cleared his throat. “Maggie, I want you to meet someone.”

  I put my books down on an end table and entered the room. “This is Mrs. Cromwell. She’s a friend of Search for the Children. Mrs. Cromwell, this is my daughter, Maggie.”

  Mrs. Cromwell shook my hand and smiled at me warmly. “I’m called a friend because I’m simply here to help you with anything you need. Search for the Children has friends in many cities and towns across the country. We know this is a difficult time for your family, and we’re just here to give a hand. If you need someone to go to the store, to sit by the phone, or just to talk to, give me a call. Any time.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I hear you’re conducting your own search for your sister.”

  I nodded. “Over a hundred kids at school are helping.” I saw Dad raise his eyebrows. “One boy, Paul Keane, said his mother would donate her printing facilities. We designed a poster, and we’re printing four thousand of them.” Dad’s eyebrows rose higher. “Mrs. Keane can’t pay for all four thousand, though, so to raise money we’re going to hold a bake sale, a car wash, and stuff like that.” I glanced at Leigh to see if she looked impressed, too. I couldn’t read her expression, though. “Then the students are going to divide into groups of three with one driver and car per group and distribute the posters as widely as possible. Throughout the county, I guess.”

  “That’s fine,” Mrs. Cromwell said approvingly.

  The phone rang.

  Lamberton leaned out of the kitchen, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

  “Would you mind answering it?” Dad asked him.

  “Sure thing.”

  The call was brief. A few seconds later, Lamberton came out of the kitchen. His hands were jammed into his pockets and his face was as gray as a dirty sweatshirt.

  Leigh was on her feet immediately. “What is it?” she cried.

  Lamberton’s eyes flicked from Leigh to Dad to Becker to me and back to Dad, where they settled. “That was Sweeney at the station. Someone found the body of a little girl over in Sussex Woods. It’s pretty slashed up, but it matches Courtenay’s description. They want someone from your family to go take a look at it.”

  12

  The Body in the Woods

  LEIGH WAS HYSTERICAL—AFTER SHE fainted. I’d never seen anybody faint before, not for real. I’d seen ladies swoon in the movies, or TV comedians fall over still as a board in a “dead faint,” but I’d never seen a live person faint. Leigh just closed her eyes and went limp all over. Nobody yelled “Catch her!” or anything dramatic like that. Besides, before she fainted she’d sat back down on the couch, so as she slithered over sideways, Dad just took her shoulders and laid her down.

  Mrs. Cromwell rose from her chair. “I’ll leave now, unless you’d like me to stay.”

  I shook my head, stunned.

  “Here.” She handed me a small white card. “This is my phone number. Call me any time for any reason. I’m here to help.”

  I thanked her quickly, and she let herself out the front door.

  “Maggie, call Dr. Lewis,” Dad said.

  I didn’t hesitate. Leigh was only just coming to and already she sounded hysterical.

  Mike walked in the front door as I was hanging up the phone. “Where have you been?” I said accusingly.

  “At Andrew’s, getting history notes for—”

  “Oh, never mind.”

  Mike took a look around the living room. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Before I could answer, Leigh started to scream. “My baby my baby my baby my baby!”

  Dad wrapped her tightly in his arms and tried to hold her still.

  “What is it?” Mike whispered.

  I took his elbow and pulled him into the den. “Some cop called Lamberton to say they found the body of a little girl in Sussex Woods.”

  Mike turned so pale I thought he was going to faint, too.

  “Someone has to go look at her. The police say she’s all slashed up, but she matches Courtie’s description.”

  “Slashed up?” Mike repeated.

  I nodded numbly. I knew what he was thinking. How could somebody “slash up” a four-year-old? When Courtie had first disappeared, I’d tried to convince myself she was just lost. When the police started searching for her body, I’d thought of drowning and other ways of dying accidentally. I had not allowed myself to think of murder. Apparently, Mike hadn’t either.

  “We better go back,” I said to Mike, nodding toward the living room.

  Mike looked scared but thoughtful. “Who’s going to go look at the body?” he asked.

  “Dad, I guess,” I answered.

  “If he wants someone to go with him, I’ll do it.”

  I put my arm around Mike and we went back to the living room, where Leigh was crying uncontrollably.

  “How could they do that?” she screamed. “Why would someone hurt my baby?”

  “Honey,” Dad said softly, “we don’t know that it’s Courtie.”

  “How many four-year-olds are missing in Mercer County?” Leigh demanded.

  More than you’d imagine, I thought.

  About ten minutes later, Dr. Lewis showed up. He actually made a house call. He and Dad led Leigh upstairs, where Dr. Lewis gave her an injection of something that made her sleepy.

  When the men came back downstairs, Dr. Lewis put his hat on and Dad thanked him for coming over as he showed him to the door. Then Dad put his arm around me and said, “Okay, Mike and I are going to go with Detective Lamberton now. I want you to call Leigh’s mother and ask her to come over.”

  “Dad.”

  Dad had had about as much of me as I had had of him. “Just do it. Leigh needs her mother.”

  “But—”

  “Call her, Maggie.”

  I really dislike Mrs. Simon. She dyes her hair blue and chain-smokes cigarettes in this long white holder. “I thought she was in Europe,” I said.

  “She came back this morning, and she knows that Courtenay is missing. She was going to come over here anyway as soon as she recovered from her jet lag.” He put his hat on. “Mike and I will be back soon, I hope.” Dad, Mike, and Lamberton s
hrugged into jackets and left the house.

  I sighed, sat down in the family room, and reached for the phone. The voice that answered after the fifth ring sounded as if it were speaking around a couple of large jawbreakers. I had to explain three times to Mrs. Simon what had happened. When she finally caught on, she screamed and said she’d be right over.

  I hung up the phone. “Swell,” I said aloud.

  The phone rang again immediately. I was sure it was Mrs. Simon, so I let it ring twice before I picked it up. She probably wanted to know if she could bring us a brisket. Or a roast turkey. She thought we never ate properly unless she fed us.

  Finally I picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  There was a long pause. “Are you there alone?” whispered the voice.

  My stomach lurched.

  “No, I’m not,” I said shakily.

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Yes, you are, baby.”

  Pause.

  “How’s your sister?” asked the voice.

  I jerked my head up. “What?”

  “Hey, what are you doing right now, baby?” the voice went on smoothly. “I bet you look pretty. I—”

  Very slowly, I put my finger on the phone button and depressed it. The line went dead.

  And two seconds later, Becker appeared in the doorway, looking stern.

  My eyes practically popped out of my head. “I didn’t know you were here,” I said.

  “I just got here. I met your father on his way out. He told me to let myself in. I didn’t think you were going to answer the phone. I picked it up in the kitchen.”

  “You—you heard all that?”

  Becker nodded. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Is there something you ought to tell me?” I guess.

  “He asked about Courtenay. How often has that happened?”