Emily looked at Graeme nervously. “I don’t know.”
“It’s routine, dear,” Graeme said. “Lieutenant, just send your questions to Archibald Gale. He’ll be representing our interests in this matter. We can do it tomorrow if you’d like.”
Stride grimaced. So much for cooperation. Archie Gale was the most feared criminal defense lawyer in northern Minnesota, and Stride had tangled with the suave old goat many times from the witness stand.
“Do you feel it’s necessary to have a lawyer involved?” Stride asked, his voice chillier.
“Don’t misunderstand,” Graeme replied, as calmly and cordially as before. “We have nothing to hide. Even so, in this day and age, it would be reckless of us not to retain counsel.”
“Are you willing to talk to me now, without Gale present?”
Graeme smiled. “Archie is flying back from Chicago. He reluctantly agreed we could review the facts without him.”
Reluctantly. Stride knew Gale, and that was probably an understatement. But he wasn’t about to lose his chance—it might be the last opportunity to talk to the family without an attorney screening every word.
Stride slid a notebook from his back pocket and uncapped a pen. Immediately on his left was a rolltop desk. He pulled a swivel chair out from behind the desk and sat down.
“When did you see Rachel last?” Stride asked.
“Friday morning before she went to school,” Graeme said.
“Did she take her car then?”
“Yes. It was gone when I arrived home Friday night.”
“But you didn’t hear her return overnight?”
“No. I was in bed by ten. I’m a sound sleeper. I never heard a thing.”
“What did you do on Saturday?”
“I was in the office most of the day. That’s typical.”
“Mrs. Stoner, were you at home during this time?”
Emily, who had been staring into the fire, looked back, startled. She took a long swallow of brandy, and Stride wondered how much she had already had to drink. “No. I only got back early this afternoon.”
“And where were you?”
She took a moment to focus. “I was driving back from St. Louis. My sister moved down there several years ago. I started home Saturday morning, but I was too tired by evening to go the rest of the way. I stayed overnight in Minneapolis and got into town around noon.”
“Did you talk to Rachel while you were gone?”
Emily shook her head.
“Did you call home at all?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“When did you start getting worried?”
“After Emily got home,” Graeme answered. “We still hadn’t heard from Rachel, so we started calling her friends. No one had seen her.”
“Who did you call?”
Graeme rattled off several names, and Stride jotted them down in his notebook. “We also called people from the school,” Graeme added. “And several of the clubs and restaurants her friends mentioned. No one had seen her.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?” Stride asked.
Emily looked up. She pushed a lock of hair from her face. Her voice was weary. “Rachel goes through lots of boyfriends. They don’t last.”
“Is she sexually active?”
“At least since she was thirteen,” Emily said. “I walked in on her once with a boy.”
“But no one special?”
Emily shook her head.
“Have you checked with relatives? People she might go to?”
“We don’t have any relatives here. Both my parents are dead, and Graeme is from out of town. There’s no one but us.”
Stride wrote: How did these two hook up?
“Mrs. Stoner, what kind of relationship do you have with your daughter?”
Emily paused. “We’ve never been very close. When she was little, she was her daddy’s girl. I was the wicked witch.”
Dayton Tenby frowned. “That’s not fair, Emily.”
“Well, that’s what it felt like,” Emily snapped. She spilled a little of the brandy and dabbed at her sweater with her fingers. “When her father died, Rachel drifted even further away. I hoped when I married Graeme, we might start becoming a family again. But as she’s gotten older, it’s only gotten worse.”
“What about you, Mr. Stoner?” Stride asked. “How is your relationship with Rachel?”
Graeme shrugged. “We were relatively close right after Emily and I got married five years ago, but as Emily said, she’s grown more distant as she’s gotten older. Today it’s the same. Cold.”
“We tried to reach her,” Emily said. “Graeme bought her that car last year. I guess it seemed to her like we were trying to buy her love, and I suppose we were. But it didn’t help.”
“Has she ever talked about running away?”
“Not in a long time,” Emily said. “I suppose it sounds crazy, but I always thought she felt she could cause more trouble for us by staying around and making us miserable. It gave her a cruel sense of satisfaction.”
“Was she suicidal?” Stride asked.
“Never. Rachel would never have killed herself.”
“Why are you so sure?” Stride asked.
“Rachel liked herself too much. She was always cocky and confident. It was us she despised. Or me.” Emily shook her head.
“Mr. Stoner, did anything happen while your wife was gone? An argument, a fight, anything like that?”
“No, nothing. She ignored me. That was routine.”
“Did she mention meeting anyone new?”
“No, but I don’t suppose she would have told me even if she had.”
“Did you notice unusual cars in the driveway or on the street? Or see her with anyone you didn’t recognize?”
Graeme shook his head.
“What about your personal situation, Mr. Stoner? You work for the Range Bank, is that correct?”
Graeme nodded. “I’m the executive vice president for the bank’s operations in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, and the Dakotas.”
“Have you received any threats at home or at work? Strange phone calls?”
“Not that I recall.”
“You’ve never felt in danger?”
“No, not at all.”
“Is your income at the bank widely known?”
Graeme frowned. “Well, I suppose it’s not a secret. I have to file as an officer with the SEC, so it’s a matter of public record. But it’s not the kind of thing that makes the papers.”
“And you’ve received no contact of any kind that would lead you to believe Rachel has been kidnapped.”
“No, nothing,” Graeme told him.
Stride flipped his notebook shut. “I think that’s everything for the moment. I’ll need to talk with you further, of course, as the investigation continues. And I’ll be in touch with Mr. Gale.”
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it. She obviously wanted to interrupt.
“What is it?” Stride asked.
“It’s just that—well, it’s one reason we were so concerned. The reason I insisted Graeme call Kyle.”
“Kerry McGrath,” Tenby murmured.
“She lived so close,” Emily exclaimed. “She went to the same school.”
Stride waited until Emily looked back at him, and he held her stare, putting as much compassion as he could in his eyes. “I won’t lie to you. We’ll be looking for connections to Kerry’s disappearance. We would be remiss if we didn’t. But just because there are surface similarities doesn’t mean that Rachel being missing has anything to do with Kerry.”
Emily sniffled loudly. She nodded her head, but her eyes shone with tears.
“If I can answer any questions for you, please call me,” Stride said, extracting a card from his coat and placing it on the rolltop desk.
Dayton Tenby rose from his place near the fire and smiled at Stride. “Let me show you out.”
The minister guided Stride back through the house. Tenby was a nervous, e
ffeminate man, who seemed intimidated by the upscale trappings of the Stoner house. He walked gingerly, as if his aging brown wingtips were leaving dirty footprints. He was small, around five-foot-eight, with a narrow chin, tiny brown eyes set closely together, and a pinched nose. Stride sized him up as a holdover from Emily’s past life. BG—Before Graeme.
Stroking his chin, Tenby glanced curiously outside at the lights and crowds gathered there. “They’re like vultures, aren’t they?” he observed.
“Sometimes. But they can be useful.”
“Yes, I suppose. I appreciate your coming here, Lieutenant. Rachel is a difficult young girl, and I would hate to see any harm come to her.”
“How long have you known her?” Stride asked.
“Since she was a child.”
Stride nodded. BG, he thought. “When did she begin to have troubles?”
Tenby sighed. “As Emily mentioned, it was after her father’s death. Rachel was utterly devoted to Tommy. She couldn’t bear the loss, and I think she turned all her anger and grief against her mother.”
“How long ago was that?”
Dayton pursed his lips and stared at the vaulted ceiling as he thought back. “Rachel was eight when he died, I believe, so it was about nine years ago.”
“Tell me, Reverend, what do you think happened here? Could Rachel have left on her own? A runaway?”
Dayton Tenby seemed divinely sure of himself. “Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but that’s what I believe. I really think you’ll find, when all is said and done, that she’s out there somewhere, laughing at us.”
4
Emily downed the last swallow of brandy and pushed herself off the recliner. As Dayton Tenby returned to the room, she held out her empty glass. “I need another.”
Tenby took the glass and returned to the living room to refill her drink. Emily watched him go, then spoke to Graeme without shifting her gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“That’s all right. How’s Janie?”
“She’s fine,” Emily said. “I meant to call.”
“I told you it doesn’t matter.”
Emily nodded, feeling hollow. “I thought you’d be angry.”
“Not at all.”
“Did you miss me?”
Graeme waved his hand, dismissing the question as if it were nothing. “What a stupid thing to say. You know I’m lost without you. Yesterday, I wanted to go hiking, and I couldn’t even find my tennis shoes.”
“Shoes,” Emily murmured, shaking her head.
Tenby reappeared. The portion of brandy in the glass he carried looked smaller than the last one. Emily took the glass and finished it in a single swallow, ignoring the burn that the liquor caused in her throat. She handed Tenby the glass and turned away. She wiped her eyes, but it was too late. She knew he had seen the tears.
“She’s doing it just to punish me,” Emily said. “It’s a game with her.”
“It may be more about Tommy than it is about you. Even after all these years,” Tenby said.
“Tommy,” she said bitterly.
“Emily, he was her father,” Tenby reminded her. “She was eight years old, and her daddy could do no wrong.”
“Yes, everybody loved Tommy,” Emily said. “And I was always the bitch. No one ever understood what he did to us.”
“I did,” Tenby said.
Emily took his hand. “Yes, I know. Thank you. And thank you for coming over here tonight. I think I would have gone to pieces without you around.”
Graeme stood up. “I’ll walk you out, Dayton,” he said, a veneer of politeness in his voice. “I’ll make sure the press doesn’t hassle you along the way.”
Tenby was dwarfed by the larger man as the two of them retreated from the porch. Emily watched them go, listening to their footsteps, hearing the noises of the crowd outside as the front door opened, then the tomblike silence of the house as the door closed.
She was alone.
Even when she was with Graeme these days, she felt alone.
He said all the right things, and treated her well, and gave her the freedom to lead her own life, but he didn’t pretend that there was any passion between them anymore. She wondered if he felt anything at all for her. She had deliberately not called from St. Louis, wanting to make him angry, wanting him to yearn for her enough to call her himself. If he called, if he missed her, if he screamed at her, at least she would see some of his emotions.
But he didn’t need her. Except when he couldn’t find his shoes.
And then to come home and find Rachel was gone. For years she had expected it, wondering when her daughter would leave her a note and run away. Sometimes she had even wished for it, as a way to end the hostility and restore some peace to her life. She had never realized how empty she would feel when it really happened, when all she could do was think about the missed opportunities that had kept them divided. She had long since accepted that Rachel would never know how deeply Emily loved her, in spite of the venom the girl had directed at her for so many years. Even when she tried to stop loving her, she couldn’t.
Gone.
What if she hadn’t run away? What if she ended up like that other girl, snatched off the street?
“Where are you, baby?” she said.
Emily heard noises in the front hall as the door opened and Graeme returned. She didn’t want to see him. She couldn’t balance all of it, her estrangement from Graeme, her grief over Rachel. Emily got up quickly and fled through the kitchen to the back stairs. She listened as Graeme returned to the porch. She imagined him glancing at the empty room, realizing she was gone. Emily didn’t expect him to follow her, and he didn’t. She could barely make out the tapping of keys as he sat down at his desk and worked on his computer. She hurried up the stairs to the second floor.
She wouldn’t sleep in their bedroom tonight. He wouldn’t miss that, either.
Emily went to Rachel’s room. She smelled strangers there, the sweaty aroma of the police who had pawed through Rachel’s desk and dresser that night. In truth, the room itself was a stranger to her, because she had hardly stepped foot inside while Rachel was home. It was her daughter’s private fortress, and Emily of all people wasn’t allowed.
The room was largely barren. There were no posters up on the walls, only a pale coating of yellow paint. Her dirty clothes were piled in the corner, in and out of a white basket. She had a stack of schoolbooks, some open, some closed, spread randomly across the desk, with wrinkled notepapers, half-filled with Rachel’s scrawl, sticking out of the pages. Only her bed was carefully made—the one part of the room Rachel allowed the maid to touch.
Emily lay down on the bed, pulled her legs up, and curled her arms around them. She saw the photo, placed lovingly on her daughter’s nightstand, of Rachel bundled up in her father’s arms. Emily reached out with one hand and tipped the frame over, so she didn’t have to stare at it.
As she looked at the nightstand, however, she realized she couldn’t escape the past so easily. Next to the clock radio, perched on its hind legs, was a stuffed pink pig, adorned with black plastic sunglasses. A souvenir from the Minnesota State Fair.
Nine years later, and Rachel still kept it by her bed.
“Tommy,” Emily sighed.
Tommy hoisted Rachel onto his shoulders. Now taller than everyone around her, Rachel opened her mouth in wonder at the sight of all the people, crammed together shoulder to shoulder, from one side of the street to the other. There were tens of thousands of them, a sweaty, squirming mass, baking in the heat and humidity of a late August evening.
“It’s amazing, Daddy!” Rachel cried.
“Didn’t I promise you?” Tommy said. “Isn’t this great?” He lifted Rachel high in the air, swirled her around, and swooped her to the ground.
“Can we do the midway now?” Rachel sang out.
Emily had to laugh. She suspected that was the last thing Tommy wanted. All day long, she had watched Tommy and Rachel bury themselves in the fair. Tommy
ate everything, swallowing deep-fried cheese curds like popcorn and washing them down with giant plastic cups of ice-cold beer. He ate corn dogs, pork chops, onion blossoms, roasted corn slathered in butter, fried ravioli, and bag after bag of minidoughnuts. And now the rides would churn his stomach like a blender. But Tommy never said no to Rachel.
By the time they reached the midway, it was a tornado of light. Darkness had turned the carnival into a fairyland, where a sea of people screamed and their faces reflected a rainbow of colors from the rides streaking overhead. Rachel wanted to do everything. It didn’t matter how fast the ride went, or how high, or how many times she spun upside down with her hair tumbling below her. She took Tommy on the Ring of Fire, going up and over in circles, then the Giant Swing, then the Octopus, then the Avalanche, then the Tornado. Emily was secretly pleased to see that Tommy was looking green.
It took them nearly two hours to work their way down one row of carnival rides, then back up the next. They wandered by the baseball game, run by a seedy barker in a devil’s costume, with a button pinned on his red suit that said WELCOME TO HELL. He smiled, revealing two chocolate brown front teeth, and invited Tommy to try his hand.
“Break three plates, win the grand prize,” he said.
“What’s the grand prize?” Rachel asked.
The devil pointed at a giant stuffed bear, fat and soft and nearly as tall as Rachel. The girl’s eyes widened, and she looked longingly at Tommy, hanging on his arm. “Can you win it for me, Daddy?”
“You bet I can.”
The devil handed Tommy three baseballs. Tommy juggled two in his right hand and wound up with his left.
“You’re drunk, Tommy,” Emily warned him. “And you don’t look good.”
Tommy fired the first ball into the dead center of one of the ceramic plates. The plate smashed into shards, falling amid the litter of the booth, and the ball slammed into the aluminum wall with a bang.
“You did it, Daddy! You did it!”
Tommy grinned. He let the second ball fly, and crash, bang, another plate shattered.
“One more, Daddy, and you win!” Rachel cried.
“Make a place for that bear on your bed, honey,” Tommy told her.
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