Stiff Competition

by Annelise Ryan

  He sighs with irritation but says, “Okay, where do you want me to meet you?”

  “I have Matthew with me. I need to call Dom to see if he can watch him for me and then drop him off. How about I meet you at the station in ten minutes?”

  “Fine.” With that he disconnects the call, clearly annoyed with my interruption.

  I place a call to Dom, who answers on the first ring. “I have a lead on Emily and need to follow up on it right away,” I tell him. “I’ve got Richmond meeting me in ten minutes to help, but I have Matthew with me. Any chance you can watch him for me for a while? I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

  “No problem. Just drop him off here at the house.”

  “Thanks, Dom. I owe you.”

  “And I know just how you can pay me back,” he says.

  Crap.

  I disconnect the call and as I’m looking at the bare spot on the desktop, I flash back to Emily’s laptop on my coffee table at home, and how Hoover had sniffed at it and laid his head on it. I walk over to Emily’s hamper, grab a T-shirt from the top of the pile, and then grab Matthew in his carrier.

  It takes me about thirteen minutes to get back to the police station and meet up with Richmond. I expect him to be past his annoyance, but judging from his expression, he’s not. “I’m sorry to interrupt your gym time, but Hurley didn’t answer when I called him and he’s still in Chicago. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “It’s not a problem,” he says, but he isn’t looking at me and his expression remains annoyed.

  “I can try to call Junior or one of the uniformed guys.”

  “I said it’s fine,” Richmond snaps. A second later his expression softens. “Sorry,” he says. “It really is okay. It’s just that . . . I was . . . I wasn’t at the gym.” He shoots me a sidelong glance and his face starts to color. “I was with Rose Carpenter.”

  “Oh.” Then I realize what he was likely doing when I called. “O-o-o-h,” I say, wincing.

  “Can we get going, please?”

  “Right. Sorry. We need to talk to either Carly Randall or Olivia Mason, maybe both. I think Olivia is the brains behind this, but I think Carly is the one who will be more likely to talk. Plus I know her mother, Debbie. We went to school together.”

  “Do you want to call them first?”

  I think about it for a second. “No, let’s surprise them if we can. I don’t want to give anyone a chance to think up a story.”

  “What if they aren’t home?”

  “Then we’ll ask around until we find out where they are. Or wait for them.”

  Richmond doesn’t look pleased with this answer but he doesn’t object. Instead he says, “Ride together?”

  “I’d rather take my own car. I have Hoover with me.”

  “Your dog? Why?”

  “Because I think he might be able to help.”

  It only takes us a few minutes to reach the Randall house, and I park right in front and leave Hoover inside the hearse. There are lots of lights on inside as we walk onto the porch and ring the bell. And as luck would have it, Carly answers the door.

  “Ms. Winston,” she says, her eyes wide. She smiles, but it looks tentative. When she glances at Richmond, the smile starts to fade.

  In my best stern adult voice, one I suspect I’ll need to hone over the years as my son grows up, I say, “We need to talk to you, Carly. Is your mom home?”

  The smile disappears. She swallows, nods, turns back into the house, and yells, “Mom!”

  Richmond and I, through some unspoken tacit understanding, both take advantage of Carly’s retreat and enter the house. We stop just inside the door and wait for Debbie to put in an appearance. She enters the room carrying a dish towel, wiping her hands, and looking curiously at us with the same tentative smile her daughter had a moment ago. She gives Richmond a quick once-over but her gaze lingers on me. “Mattie Fjell, is that you?”

  “It is,” I say.

  “You changed your hair color.”

  Sigh. “Debbie, we need to talk to Carly about an urgent matter.”

  Debbie looks over at Richmond. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

  Richmond nods and Debbie looks back at me.

  “And I heard you work for the ME now.”

  “Yes, I do. But we aren’t here in any official capacity. At least not yet,” I add, giving Carly a pointed look. Her eyes widen again and she takes an involuntary step back. “Emily is missing and I think your daughter knows something about it.”

  Debbie’s smile is gone in an instant. “Who is Emily?”

  “She’s my stepdaughter,” I say, stretching the truth a bit.

  “Are you accusing Carly of something?”

  “Not yet,” I say in what I hope is a friendly, reassuring tone. “But I need her to answer some questions. I think Emily is hurt or lost somewhere. And I think your daughter knows where she might be.” Debbie has her defense shields up. I can tell from the arms folded tightly over her chest, the grim set of her lips, the rigid posture. “Please, Debbie. Emily’s life could be at stake here. I need Carly’s help.”

  My plea works. Carly starts to cry. “I’m sorry. Olivia made me promise not to tell.”

  Debbie gapes at her daughter. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” Carly sobs, giving her mother a pleading look.

  “Emily wrote in her diary that you and Olivia were going to drive her to a secret place to meet Johnny. Where is the secret place?”

  Carly winces and hiccups a sob. “There isn’t one. We made that up. We just wanted to drop her off in the country somewhere and make her walk back to town.”

  Debbie gasps.

  “Why?” I ask. I’m so angry with Carly I want to slap her even as some part of me realizes this is probably not the best parenting instinct I could have. “What did Emily do to you?”

  “She didn’t do anything to me,” Carly says, sniffling. “It’s Olivia who got mad at her.”

  “Why?”

  In a long, frantic confession, Carly spills the beans. “Because Olivia likes Johnny Chester and wants him for herself. The two of them were friends back before Emily came because Olivia is friends with Johnny’s older sister, and Olivia was hoping something more would develop between her and Johnny. But when Emily showed up, Johnny was totally into her and Olivia got mad. She’s been pretending to be a friend to Emily to keep tabs on her and Johnny so she could find a way to drive them apart. It was supposed to be Emily who got kicked out of school because of the weed. Olivia slipped it into her coat pocket and then wrote an anonymous note to the principal’s office that someone in the school was dealing weed. She knew Johnny was a straight arrow and wouldn’t like that Emily had weed on her. The principal brought in a cop with a drug-sniffing dog later in the day, and that’s when Olivia discovered that the jacket was actually Johnny’s and Emily had only been wearing it earlier in the day. So Johnny was the one who ended up getting kicked out of school and that made Olivia even madder.”

  She pauses for a second and sucks in a breath before continuing. She’s talking so fast, I have to focus hard on what she’s saying.

  “So Olivia told Johnny that Emily had set him up with the pot on purpose because Emily was into someone else and wanted Johnny out of the picture. Olivia knew Johnny wouldn’t believe her right away, so she dared Brian Morgan, who has a major crush on Olivia, to kiss Emily. He did it and Olivia snapped a pic so she could show it to Johnny as proof. She thought Johnny would get mad, but instead he just looked hurt and said he wanted to talk to Emily. Problem was, his mom took away his cell phone as part of his punishment for having the weed. Olivia offered to be a go-between, figuring she could keep the two of them apart that way. So when Johnny wrote a note to Emily saying he wanted to talk to her, Olivia tore it up and told Emily Johnny wanted nothing to do with her. She didn’t tell Emily that Johnny’s phone was taken away because she wanted her to believe he was ignoring her calls and texts. Then Olivia faked
a note from Johnny that said he was willing to hear her out but they would have to meet somewhere out of town so his mom or her dad wouldn’t see them or spot his car. Olivia told Emily that the reason Johnny wrote out a paper note was because his mom was monitoring his cell phone. Olivia offered to drive Emily out to a spot she had suggested to Johnny because it was a secret place that her and I went to all the time. The plan was to drop Emily off, leave, and force her to walk back to town when she realized Johnny wasn’t there. Then Olivia was going to tell her that Johnny never intended to meet her, he only wanted to punish her for framing him. She figured the two of them would hate each other by then, paving the way for her and Johnny.”

  She stops then and lets out a ragged breath. Clearly she’s relieved to unburden herself.

  “So you drove her out in the country somewhere?” I ask. Deb mutters something under her breath and she is glaring at her daughter. Carly nods. “Where, exactly?”

  Crocodile tears are coursing down Carly’s face. “We told her it was out in the woods by the Haas place. Olivia told me to make up some phony landmarks so Emily would wander around for a while.”

  “What did you tell her?” My friendly tone is gone and Carly doesn’t miss this fact.

  “I don’t remember,” she whines, looking fearfully from Richmond to me.

  I’m tired of tiptoeing around and decide to play hardball. Clearly Carly feels both guilt and fear over this and I intend to take advantage of that fact. “If something bad has happened to Emily because of this, you could go to prison, Carly.” I have no idea if this is true and frankly don’t care as long as it has the desired effect.

  Deb gasps and Carly shakes her head in vigorous denial. “It was all Olivia’s idea,” Carly cries.

  “But you helped. What were the landmarks you gave her?”

  “I told you, I made them up.”

  I look over at Richmond and make a give-me gesture with my hand. “Let me have your handcuffs,” I say to him.

  “I told her to look for a tree with a knee,” Carly blurts out. “And then I think I told her to look for one that resembled a witch.”

  Deb’s arms are folded over her chest and her expression is a mix of disappointment and disbelief. “I told you to stay away from that Olivia Mason,” she says, tight-lipped. “She’s not a good influence.”

  “You can talk about that later,” I tell them. “Right now we need to head out to the woods to look for Emily and I want Carly to go with us so she can show us where they dropped her off.”

  “Are you taking me to jail?” Carly sobs, her eyes wide with fear. “I’m sorry. I really am. We thought she’d just walk back to town and be mad and that would be it. I don’t know why she didn’t come back.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to tell someone about it?” I ask, getting in her face.

  “Olivia said we’d get into big trouble if we did that.”

  “Well, you got into big trouble anyway,” I tell her. “Bigger trouble than it would have been if you’d said something sooner. You just better hope that we find Emily and she’s okay.”

  I make Richmond take Carly and her mom in his car since I’m so angry with the girl, I’m afraid of what I might do or say to her. And then there’s the whole hearse thing, though to be honest the idea of using it as a scare tactic with Carly has a certain appeal to me.

  Richmond is on his phone as he heads to his car with Carly and Deb, asking for volunteers to meet us in the woods and help with the search. I climb into my hearse to wait for Richmond to pull out, and take out my cell phone to call Hurley.

  This time he answers. “Hurley, I’ve got some news,” I tell him. I fill him in on what I discovered with the diary, our talk with Carly, and where we’re headed. “I’m thinking Emily went out there to meet Johnny and something happened to her. We’re going out there now to look for her. Richmond is calling for volunteers.”

  “I’m on my way home,” Hurley says. I can hear a mix of relief and urgency in his voice. On the one hand, knowing that Emily wasn’t kidnapped by someone is a huge load off our minds. But Hurley, like me, knows that anyone who has been outside in the elements for as long as Emily has been missing might not be doing well . . . or might not be alive. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but call me with any news, okay?”

  “Will do.” I start to disconnect the call but I hear him call out my name. “Yeah?” I say, putting the phone back to my ear.

  “You . . . I . . . thank you for helping to find my daughter . . . our daughter.”

  I smile. I suspect he wants to say something more but words of endearment don’t come easily to Hurley. The only time I heard him say he loved me was when Matthew was born and he was overcome with emotion. “You’re welcome,” I say. And when I disconnect the call, I come up with a silent prayer that we will find her, and she’ll be okay.

  I follow Richmond’s car out of town and after driving about three miles beyond the city limits on the main road, he turns onto a side road, drives on that for a mile, and then turns onto a dirt road. The dirt road ends several hundred feet in, but there is a snowmobile trail that intersects it and runs along the edge of a thick copse of trees that lies directly in front of us. Based on where we are, I figure that straight beyond that copse, maybe a mile or so as the crow flies, is what’s left of the Haas farm. In fact, the woods in front of us are likely part of the remaining Haas acreage.

  We park the cars and Richmond gets out of his and directs Carly and her mother to do the same. I grab the shirt I removed from Emily’s hamper, take a flashlight out of my glove box, and after leashing Hoover, I get out and join the others. Richmond is on his phone directing someone on the other end to our location.

  “Is this where you and Olivia dropped Emily?” I ask Carly.

  She nods, her tearstained face highlighted in the moonlight. At least we have a full moon to help us with our search. “We told her to go straight into the woods from the end of this road, to look for a tree with a knee in it, and then turn right. Then she was supposed to look for a tree that resembled a witch and turn left. We said there was a small shed back in there and that’s where Johnny was waiting. She asked how Johnny got out here, and where his car was. Olivia told her he probably came at it from the other side of the woods because there was a farm there where he could hide his car, but it was a longer hike to the secret place.”

  Richmond disconnects his call and says, “We should have some help out here in a few minutes.”

  “You wait for them,” I tell him. “I’m going in.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise, Mattie.”

  “I don’t care.” I kneel down in front of Hoover and put Emily’s shirt up to his nose. “Remember Emily?” I say to him as he sniffs the shirt, and he wags his tail. “Let’s go find her.”

  I stand, turn on my flashlight, and repeat the command. “Go find Emily.”

  Hoover dutifully takes off toward the woods, his nose to the ground. Seconds later we are scrambling through thick underbrush that snags and drags at my feet and pants legs, and for a minute or two, Hoover follows a crazy zigzag pattern that makes me wonder if he’s really on the scent. After scrambling over branches, through dead bushes and leaves, and under a fallen trunk that’s wedged in the fork of another, nearby tree, Hoover stops for a moment and sniffs the ground.

  I shine my flashlight in front of me, scanning the trees. And miraculously, off to the right, I see a tree that has a weird split in the bottom of its trunk that creates a right angle. Darn if it doesn’t look like a knee. Hoover is still sniffing at the ground, so I put the shirt in front of his nose again. “Come on, boy. Help me out here. Go find Emily.”

  Hoover understands the go find command, because I use it with him in play all the time, telling him to go find his ball, or his bone, or his toy. He has enough of an understanding of these object words that he always gets the specific item I’ve requested and brings it to me. But I have no idea if he understands what Emily means. He’s spent time with her be
fore; she stayed in my cottage one night several months back and she and Hoover bonded. So I can only hope that Hoover somehow comprehends that the smell of Emily on her shirt and the go find command means he should sniff out Emily.

  I’m encouraged when he takes off in the direction of the knee tree and then angles off to the right. The trees begin to thin in number, making our walk a little easier. Behind me I can hear voices and motors that I assume mean our volunteer searchers have arrived. And I realize that if I can hear them, maybe Emily can, too.

  “Emily!” I holler. “Are you out here? Can you hear me?” I listen for a response, but I don’t hear anything. Then Hoover’s head pops up, his ears perk forward, and he whines. “What is it, boy? Do you hear something?” He angles his head to one side, then the other, then with a burst of energy he lunges forward, ripping the leash from my hand. He takes off at a full run and I follow. I don’t want to lose him here in the woods and I’m about to call out to him when I think better of it, not wanting to confuse him over the task at hand. Instead I take off after him as fast as I can. Seconds later I’ve lost sight of him, but I can hear him running through the underbrush and I follow the sound. Then I hear him bark and my heart leaps. I stumble between the trees, trying not to trip, following the sound of his barks. And suddenly I break through into a small clearing. Hoover is about thirty feet away, staring at the ground, barking like crazy.

  Over the next few seconds my mind whirls through a bunch of scenarios as I try to make sense of the scene. Clearly Emily isn’t anywhere to be seen so why is Hoover barking? Is he barking at something on the ground? Clothing? An animal? Or, heaven forbid, is he barking at something in the ground? Did Carly tell me the whole truth? Were those girls crazy enough to have killed Emily and buried her out here?

  My feet start moving forward and I shine my flashlight at the ground in front of Hoover. I can tell that something about it is odd . . . there is a depression . . . a void. Oh God, is it a grave? As I draw closer I see that it’s definitely a hole, and then I feel the ground beneath my feet change. I stop, sweep a foot through the dead leaves, and reveal a series of wooden boards. I’m about six feet away from Hoover now, and I can see that the hole isn’t in the ground per se, but rather in the boards. The rotted, broken edges of several of them are about five feet in front of me.