“Emily, quit making excuses.” Olivia always called Emily out—but in a good way.
“I just don’t see the point in getting Drake in trouble when I really don’t know it’s the same jacket, you know?”
Olivia shook her head. “Just a second ago, you were pretty sure it was.” She pointed a finger, right at Emily’s face. “You aren’t thinking about Drake . . . you’re thinking about how people will talk about you for saying anything.”
Heat shot up the back of Emily’s neck and spread across her face. She knew going to the principal was the right thing to do, but she also knew what it could cost her. Just this past Sunday, Pastor Lukkari had led the discussion around Deuteronomy 6:18 about doing what is right. Period. No discussion.
Emily stood.
“Em?”
She lifted the yearbook. “I’m telling Mr. Morris I need to see Principal Sturgeon.”
Ten minutes later, she sat on the row of chairs outside the principal’s office. She clutched the yearbook, her finger inserted to keep the place of the photograph. Teachers and kids alike stared at her as they passed in the hall, the area usually reserved for those in trouble. She would almost rather be in trouble than be labeled a snitch.
Do what is right and good in the Lord’s sight, so that it may go well with you . . .
Yeah, telling the principal was the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Not when it meant she’d be the social outcast of Rock Harbor School, which would probably lead into being a town outcast.
“Emily.” Principal Sturgeon opened his door and waved her into his office.
She dragged her feet as she followed him inside, then took a seat in one of the two chairs facing his desk.
Principal Sturgeon was almost as tall as Dad, but with a lot more gray hair and didn’t look like he ate as healthy as Naomi made Dad eat. He plopped down into his chair. It made a couple of popping sounds. “Now, what can I do for you, Ms. O’Reilly?”
“It’s about the jacket.” Forcing the words past the lump in her throat was harder than she’d thought.
“Yes?”
She flipped open the yearbook to the page with the picture. She set it on his desk in front of him and pointed at the picture. Maybe if she didn’t say anything, just showed him the picture and let him figure it out, she wouldn’t actually be snitching. Not really.
“What does this photo have to do with the jac—” His eyes widened. “I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ms. O’Reilly.”
She stood, clasping her hands in front of her. “Can I go now?”
“You may.”
“Um, Principal Sturgeon . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’d really prefer not to have it announced that I’m the one who brought this to your attention.” It sounded so shallow when she said it. God, I’m doing what I know is right. I just don’t want to have everybody hate me because I did.
“I understand.”
She left his office with her head ducked. Three high school boys sat in the row of chairs outside the principal’s office. Their stares followed her as she moved down the hall.
“I’ll be with you boys in just a moment.” Principal Sturgeon’s voice boomed throughout the office. “Ms. Givens, can you get Sheriff Kaleva on the phone, please? And get me Drake Wilson’s home address.”
Emily’s heart dropped to her stomach as she pushed open the office door and stepped into the breezeway. So much for remaining anonymous.
Her popularity points would be in the negatives by this time tomorrow. Great. Just great.
EIGHT
“Pyrethrin?” Emily stared at Naomi over the kitchen table, tuning out Sherlock’s whining at the back door.
“Dr. Meeks said all the tests were conclusive. Charley definitely ingested pyrethrin.” Her stepmom frowned as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “It’s a chemical found in insect sprays. You can buy them over the counter.”
“But we don’t have any insect sprays here because of Matthew, right?” She looked at her father.
Dad shook his head. “No, we don’t.”
“Is Charley gonna be okay?” Timmy took another bite of the borscht.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Naomi corrected him. “Dr. Meeks said Charley should be fine after his treatment. Matter of fact, if he does well on his treatment plan, Dr. Meeks said he’d bring him home this weekend.”
“Good.” Timmy slurped milk from his glass as Matthew reached for the salt.
Naomi moved the saltshaker out of Matthew’s reach. Matthew turned in his seat to stick his tongue out at Timmy.
Emily forced a sip of water down. “What kind of treatment?” At least they knew what it was, and at least it was treatable. She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if . . . well, she wouldn’t even think like that. Thank you, God, for letting Charley get treatment to make him better.
“Well, right now they’re giving Charley medication to control the muscle tremors, which is what Timmy saw. They have him on an IV so he doesn’t get dehydrated and he can get his medication to counteract the poison directly into his bloodstream.”
The word poison slammed against Emily’s brain. “How did Charley eat poison that we don’t have around here?” She listened carefully to make sure she could still hear Sherlock at the back door. Maybe his whining wasn’t such a nuisance after all.
Naomi’s frowned deepened. “We don’t know for sure. Maybe when he was at the school after the fire. It’s possible some of the toxin was spilled.”
Toxin. Another word that rubbed wrong against Emily. Sherlock had been at the school, and he wasn’t nearly as smart as Charley. “The school science lab had this stuff?”
“No.”
Good thing. Emily could think of some of the older kids who weren’t as careful as they should be. It was bad enough when nontoxic stuff got spilled. “Is it used to put out fires?”
Naomi swallowed and looked at Dad, who took a sip of his water and set the glass down. “No. Not according to the fire chief.”
“So why would it be spilled at the fire scene?” Surely they wouldn’t use anything toxic or poisonous at the school science lab. Not like that. “Is it flammable?”
“For the most part, no.” Dad held his fork midair. “And before you ask, no one has any idea why it would be at the school.”
Sherlock whined. Her stare stuck on the back door.
“According to Dr. Meeks, symptoms appear within six hours. Sherlock’s fine.” Naomi smiled. “But go ahead and let him in. I know it will make you feel better.”
Emily jumped from her seat and flung the back door open. Sherlock skidded on the wood floor. Matthew clapped.
Naomi turned and snapped, then pointed. “Sit.” Sherlock dropped to his haunches. “Stay.” Her voice was firm, just like Bree taught everyone at the school.
Emily ate a bite of soup, her mind still processing. “So we really don’t know how he got the stuff, right? It could’ve been at the school, but it could’ve been somewhere else. Right?” Charley got the poison somewhere Sherlock wasn’t, because if Charley drank something while Sherlock was around, Sherlock would’ve gotten sick too. If what Dr. Meeks said was true about the six hours, then Charley would’ve had to drink it Tuesday night to have symptoms on Wednesday morning.
But Sherlock was with Charley all of Tuesday, even at night. How did Charley drink the poison and not Sherlock?
Unless someone gave the poison to Charley.
Emily’s stomach tightened, and she set her spoon atop her saucer, ignoring the uneaten slice of Ruis bread sitting there. “Could someone have poisoned Charley on purpose?”
Matthew and Timmy ceased their discussion on airplanes. “Someone poisoned Charley?” Timmy asked.
“We don’t know that,” Naomi replied.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Emily turned away from Dad’s scowl. She didn’t want to upset Timmy, or Matthew either, but Timmy wasn’t a baby and he loved Charl
ey.
Naomi pressed her lips together.
“We’ve requested Dr. Meeks give Sheriff Kaleva all the information. If Mason finds anything suspicious, he’ll open a full investigation. Until then, we won’t assume.” Dad’s voice left no room for argument.
She ducked her head and drank the last of her water, but she wasn’t buying the no assumption bit. Emily could tell by Naomi’s lips forming a straight line that she couldn’t explain how Charley had gotten the poison. By the sternness of her expression, it was clear she wasn’t happy about not having the answer.
Neither was Emily. It could easily be Sherlock at the vet hospital, and as a small puppy, he would have been in a lot more danger than Charley had been.
There was just so much going on: the fire . . . Charley being poisoned . . . Olivia’s adoption . . . Marika calling.
Emily started to ask another question, then caught the way Dad and Naomi were looking at each other. They were dealing with a lot too. Maybe it was better to just wait until they heard what Sheriff Kaleva thought.
“I’m sorry for calling so late.” Inetta sounded concerned. “But I needed to talk to you.”
Emily glanced at the clock on her computer. It was only seven. What did Inetta think: she was ten? “It’s fine. What’s up?” She moved to sit on the floor and pet Sherlock’s ears. They were so soft and silky. She loved the feel of them.
“Did you receive a response from Charlotte Tarver’s office?”
“No. Have you found out anything?” Emily rolled Sherlock onto his back, rubbing the side of his belly until his leg moved in automatic response.
“Kinda. I had a friend of mine, an investigator, call. He told me the private investigator that freelances for the Tarver Agency had done a little research on me.”
“Why?”
“Well, that’s what I don’t know for sure.” Inetta’s voice still sounded pretty strained. “We’re working on getting answers, but the only thing I can think that would prompt attention is the queries I put out about Charlotte Tarver.”
Sherlock licked Emily’s chin. “I don’t understand.”
“For a private investigator to be poking around about me, I’ve hit a nerve somewhere. In my experience, that usually means someone is checking me out because I’ve been checking them out and it’s made them nervous.”
“Like they have something to hide?” Was there something to Olivia’s adoption like she’d thought? Maybe her birth parents really were in witness protection or something.
“I don’t know. I think maybe I should tell your parents what’s going on.”
Oh no. Dad would be angry that she’d been nosing around in something that was none of her business. And Naomi? Well, she’d be hurt that Emily hadn’t told her. But she’d promised Olivia she wouldn’t say anything. “Why? There’s no point. I haven’t even gotten a response, and I remembered to check my spam and junk mail folders.”
“Then maybe I’m wrong. But just in case, don’t do any more searches on Charlotte Tarver. At least until I can find out what’s what.”
Emily got off the floor and sat on the edge of her bed. “Should I do anything else instead? Like see if I can find anything more at Olivia’s house? She’s looking for a copy of her birth certificate tonight.”
“That’s fine, but it probably won’t yield any new information. Just don’t do any more research right now until I know for sure.” Inetta coughed. “Hey, on a different subject, do you know Drake Wilson?”
Her heartbeat sped up a notch at just the mention of his name. Lodging the cell between her shoulder and her cheek, Emily grabbed her UGG slipper just before Sherlock bit it. “I know who he is, but I don’t know him, know him. Why?”
“Sheriff Kaleva is on his way to his house to take him and his parents to the sheriff’s office for questioning. It seems he’s the owner of the jacket found at the scene.”
Her mouth went dry. “The sheriff isn’t going to talk to him and his parents at their house?”
“He lied to the sheriff last night when he was asked about the jacket.”
Emily tossed the chew toy on the ground for Sherlock. “So he’s in trouble?”
“He is. His father, as county coroner, is going to be really upset. It’s a big mess. I’m waiting for the sheriff’s office to make an official statement.”
This wasn’t good. “Even if that jacket is Drake’s, that doesn’t mean he was involved in the fire.”
“I don’t know, Em. His not coming forward when he had the chance is really suspicious. At least, that’s what I hear from my sources.”
Emily didn’t know what to say. Then again, she’d probably said too much anyway already. She felt nervous butterflies in her stomach.
“I have to run. I just wanted to check in with you about Charlotte Tarver.”
“Okay. Thanks. Let me know if you learn anything else.”
“I will. Oh, and Em?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t say anything about Drake being questioned. I need to get the sheriff’s statement first.”
“Sure.” The one word caught in her throat as she disconnected the call and then set the cell on her desk.
Her hands shook a little, and her first instinct was to call Olivia. But what if Mrs. Webster answered? Emily didn’t know what to say, exactly. Sure, she could tell Olivia about Drake being taken in, but she couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—say anything about Charlotte Tarver.
The doorbell rang.
Maybe there was news about Charley’s poisoning. She could hear Naomi reading Matthew a bedtime story as she headed down the hall, Sherlock growling as he followed her.
When she got to the door, she found Dad and Sheriff Kaleva walking into the living room.
Emily snapped and pointed at Sherlock. “Sit. Stay.” She made sure to keep her voice firm. Bree would be proud.
The sheriff held his hat in his hands. “I’m sorry to bother you, Donovan, but I don’t want Bree out near the woods alone.”
“What’s going on?” Naomi entered the living room and took Dad’s hand.
“Missing boy. We’re pretty sure he’s run away.” Sheriff Kaleva stared hard at Emily.
Who was missing?
“How can I help?” Naomi asked. “Charley’s still at the vet’s.”
Sheriff Kaleva nodded. “I know, but I really don’t feel good about Bree doing a search by herself in the woods.”
Naomi had already moved to the hall closet and snagged her jacket. “I’ll meet her there.”
Emily moved to the closet as well. “We can take Sherlock. He might be able to help.”
Sherlock’s body shivered at the mention of his name, but he didn’t move from his spot. It was as if he knew he was being tested.
Naomi hesitated for just a moment before looking at Emily’s father. “It’d be an extra nose in the woods.” She held the ready pack in her hand.
Dad paused. Emily’s muscles tightened. “Please, Dad. Let me help Bree and Naomi. And the missing boy. I know how scary being in the woods at night can be.”
He let out a sigh and nodded.
“Bree said she was heading to the Kitchigami Wilderness Preserve, near Pakkala Road.” The sheriff plopped his hat back onto his head.
“Who’s missing?” Emily reached for Sherlock’s vest on the hanger, then slipped it over his wagging body.
“Drake Wilson.”
NINE
They got out of the SUV behind Drake’s red Neon. A cold wind blew out of the north, snaking icy fingers down Emily’s coat. “Why hasn’t Samson found a scent?” She yanked gloves from her pocket and pulled them on.
Bree stopped and cracked open a pistachio. “We might have started in the wrong place. The sheriff didn’t know where he might have gone.”
The dogs nosed along a fence, but they clearly had no scent. The moon was out, but it cast little light over the dark landscape.
Emily stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Why didn’t we start at his house?”
<
br /> Naomi shrugged. “He took his car, and the dogs can’t track him when he’s in an enclosed space. His car was parked along the road here, so it made sense to give it a try.”
“What if he got in another car here?”
Bree gasped. “Good idea, Emily. Maybe a friend met him. Does he have a girlfriend?”
She thought about it. “Not that I know of. He mostly hangs out with the school jocks. I haven’t seen him talking to anyone special at school.”
She watched Samson’s tail go up. “Hey, I think he’s got something!”
Bree beat her to the dog’s side. He was dancing around a spot on the ground. “What you got there, boy?” She knelt on the frosted grass and peered around. “Hand me some gloves, Naomi.” When Naomi handed her some, Bree pulled them on and felt through the weeds. “He’s smelling something.” She flipped her flashlight on, and the beam pushed back the edges of darkness.
Careful not to touch anything, Emily knelt beside her. “I don’t see anything.” By now Sherlock had joined Samson. Tail wagging, the puppy seemed oblivious to the scent.
“Ah, what’s this?” Bree picked up something and held it under the light. “It’s a ski hat.”
Samson barked happily and ran in circles. “This must be Drake’s, from the way Samson is acting.”
Emily stood and dusted her hands off on her jeans. “But it’s not cold enough for a ski hat. I mean, yeah, it’s chilly, but this is for serious cold.”
“Maybe it fell out of his pocket,” Naomi suggested.
“The dogs should be able to lead us from here if he dropped it,” Bree said. She dropped the hat into a bag and held it under Samson’s nose. “Search, boy!”
“Let Sherlock try,” Naomi said. Emily shot her a smile, and she smiled back. “He’s itching to get involved.”
And the puppy did seem eager. He plunged his nose into the bag, then followed Samson around the open field as if he knew what he was doing.
Bree watched the dogs with a frown that deepened in moments. “They aren’t getting a scent.”
“How can that be?” Emily asked. “He was right here. He didn’t just disappear.”
Lost and Found Page 7
