Accidentally On Purpose

by J. M. Snyder

  “What is it then?” Alan asks. “An Amber Alert might find him faster.”

  Shaking his head, Jim tells him, “We don’t know what’s happened here. To issue an Amber Alert, we have to know something about who the kid’s with—usually a description of the person and their vehicle. We don’t have anything like that.”

  Alan tries to hide the disappointment in his voice. “So now what?”

  Jim tightens the arm around Alan, bringing him closer. “Crack his phone, go through his contacts. Get in touch with his girlfriend, whatever her name is. Find out when she heard from him last, what they did last night, something along those lines.”

  “How long is that going to take?” Alan asks.

  Jim shrugs again. “Don’t know. We’ll process the prints, too, just in case they aren’t his. Or yours. But I really think once we find her, we’ll probably find him, too.”

  Alan isn’t so sure. Still…then it hits him. “I might not know her last name, but I know where she lives.”

  Jim’s arm slips away and he turns to stare at Alan in disbelief. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “Well, I didn’t think of it until now,” Alan says, defensive. “But I’ve picked her up and dropped her off so many times, the car could probably find the way on its own.”

  “Alan…” Jim smooths a hand over his hair, then scratches the back of his neck. The look he gives Alan is hard to read.

  “What?”

  “Go get dressed!” Jim tells him. “We’ll drive over and see if he’s there.”

  “If he is, he’s going to wish he wasn’t,” Alan growls. He can’t believe he didn’t think of calling on Kylie sooner.

  Chapter 23

  Jim drives. From the outside, his car is an unmarked sedan, just like any other late model Ford. But inside there are blue and red lights on the visors, and another bar of lights across the back window. The center console has a radio that squawks occasionally—the first time it happens, Alan jumps. And a laptop is strapped to a mount above the radio. At the moment the laptop is off, the lid shut.

  On the other side of the laptop, in the passenger seat, Alan stares out the windshield. Black chinos replaced his lounge pants, but he kept the denim shirt. It’s comfortable and familiar at a time when everything else in the world seems a little up in the air. As Jim drives, Alan mulls over the memory of the first time Brooks directed him along this same route to pick up Kylie. She wasn’t his girlfriend then.

  A terrifying thought catches his breath in his throat—what if she’s gone, too?

  Suddenly Jim’s hand finds Alan’s, as if he’s able to somehow sense what Alan’s feeling. His strong fingers fold around Alan’s, warm and comforting. Softly he says, “She’ll know where Brooks is.”

  Alan pulls Jim’s hand into his lap. “I hope you’re right.”

  Kylie’s house sits along one side of a circular cul-de-sac in an upscale subdivision. Nothing is amiss, from what Alan can see—no police cars or flashing sirens, no hysterical mother on the porch, nothing to indicate Kylie’s missing, as well. That doesn’t necessarily mean she isn’t, but it gives Alan hope.

  Jim parks at the curb in front of the house. As he unbuckles his seatbelt, he says, “You can stay here, if you want.”

  Frowning, Alan asks, “Can’t I come?”

  “Sure, but…”

  “But what?”

  With a sigh, Jim looks him in the eye and admits, “But I really think he’s going to be in there.”

  “What do you think, he spent the night?” Alan doesn’t believe it. Brooks wouldn’t flout his curfew like that, regardless of what Jim thinks. Not Alan’s curfew, at any rate. He knew his uncle expected him to be home and in bed by eleven, and he didn’t know Alan was going to be late coming back, did he? Not until Alan texted him after the opera. After his curfew. So he wouldn’t have chanced leaving.

  And would her mother actually let him in after she dropped him off back home? I doubt it.

  Unless she didn’t take him home, in which case Alan wants to be there when she explains herself.

  “It sounds weak, I know,” Jim admits. “But we have no other leads—”

  “What about that broken window?” Alan asks. “It wasn’t like that before.”

  Jim nods. “True, but that doesn’t mean it’s connected to Brooks.”

  For a long moment, Alan studies him. Then he says softly, “You think he did it.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what?” Dull anger rises in Alan and he has to tamp it down, keep it in check.

  “I don’t know,” Jim tells him. “I’m going to go talk to the girlfriend. What’s her name, Kylie? And her mother. You said she was the one who drove them to the movies last night. You can stay here if you want, or—”

  “No, I’m coming.” Alan unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the car door. As he steps out onto the freshly cut lawn, he mutters, “I already know he isn’t here.”

  He better not be.

  * * * *

  They stand together awkwardly on the porch. Rather, Alan feels awkward; Jim looks like he’s done this sort of thing before.

  He has, Alan reminds himself, clasping his hands in front of him and rocking back on his heels. At my house, all those times he brought Brooks home.

  He wants to say again that he doesn’t think Brooks is inside, but before he can open his mouth, he hears footsteps on the other side of the door. Jim rang the doorbell—they heard it echo away into the depths of the house—and now waits with his badge in one hand. He gives Alan a terse grin, then turns as the door opens.

  The woman before them looks like a grown-up version of Kylie, so Alan knows they’re at the right place. With a slight frown marring her pretty features, she glances from Jim to Alan and back again, her brow creased in confusion. “Yes? May I help you gentlemen?”

  Jim holds up his badge. “I’m—”

  “Oh God,” the woman moans, leaning on the doorframe for support. “Is this about Kylie? What’d she do?”

  “Ma’am,” Jim starts.

  Then Alan steps forward, hand outstretched. “So sorry to bother you like this, ma’am. I’m Brooks Wallace’s uncle. Alan Travers?”

  She looks dazed but offers her hand, which Alan takes in both of his. “Brooks, yes. Kylie’s friend.”

  Kylie’s boyfriend, but she apparently hasn’t shared that little nugget of information with her mum.

  “Yes, hi.” Alan holds her hand and moves closer. “You took him home last night.”

  “I did.” The woman’s gaze flicks past him to Jim. “What’s this all about, if I may ask?”

  Jim answers. “Brooks Wallace is missing, ma’am.”

  From the way she gasps, Alan suspects this is news to her. Which means Brooks isn’t holed up inside her home, watching Saturday morning cartoons in the living room with Kylie on the sofa beside him.

  “No! Missing?” She grasps Alan’s hand almost painfully. “What happened?”

  Alan admits, “We don’t know yet, Mrs.…?”

  “Simmons. Kitty Simmons.” She shakes Alan’s hand now that they’re formally introduced, then lets go. “I dropped him off at home about a quarter to eleven last night. I pulled into the driveway and sat there until I made sure he went inside. He closed the door, then opened the living room curtain to wave out at me so I knew everything was alright. Where is he now?”

  “We don’t know,” Jim says, echoing Alan. “But if I could maybe ask you and your daughter a few questions—”

  “What’s Kylie have to do with this?” she asks, but she steps aside and motions them in. “She’s going to take this badly. She really likes your nephew.”

  Alan nods. “He likes her, too. Very much so.”

  Jim pockets his badge and replaces it with his notepad. “Just a shot in the dark, but Brooks wouldn’t happen to be here, would he?”

  “What?” Mrs. Simmons shakes her head. “Oh, heavens no. Kylie isn’t allowed to have boys in her room, so
if he was here, he’d be in the living room. And he isn’t. I know, I was just in there myself when the doorbell rang.”

  The front door opens on a small foyer. To the right, a flight of carpeted stairs disappear up to the second floor. To the left, a wide doorway opens onto a large, cozy room with a sofa, two wingback chairs, and a coffee table tastefully arranged in front of a dormant fireplace. A hallway off the foyer leads to a kitchen, barely visible through the wooden slats of a pair of louvre doors.

  As Mrs. Simmons shuts the front door, Alan hears footsteps above them. He looks up and sees Kylie standing at the head of the staircase. She wears an oversized T-shirt and boxers, and her hair is disheveled from sleep. When she sees Alan, she rakes her fingers through her long locks, trying to straighten them out. “Is Brooks here?” she calls down.

  “Put on some clothes,” her mother says, “and come join us, won’t you?”

  “But Mom—”

  “Now, please.” Her mother’s stern voice sends Kylie hurrying out of sight.

  Jim and Alan exchange a look. Sounds like she hasn’t seen him. So what are they doing here, again?

  “Let’s talk in the living room,” Mrs. Simmons suggests, holding out a hand to guide the way. “Please, have a seat.”

  Jim enters first, Alan at his heels. When Jim sits in one of the chairs, Alan follows suit, taking the other one. That leaves Mrs. Simmons the sofa, and she perches on the edge of a cushion like a bird pausing in mid-flight. “May I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m good.” Jim nods at Alan.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Time seems to crawl by, though it can’t be more than a few seconds, maybe a minute at most. The three of them look at each other then look away, each waiting for another to speak first. Or maybe they’re waiting for Kylie to join them, but she has yet to make it downstairs.

  Another minute passes, maybe more, and then Jim clears his throat. “How about I ask you a few questions first, Mrs. Simmons? Then I can speak with Kylie once she comes down.”

  “Sure.” Mrs. Simmons crosses her arms, hands cupping her elbows as if she’s hugging herself. “Though I’m sure I already told you everything I know.”

  “Alright, thank you.” With pen poised over his notepad, Jim asks, “Walk me through your evening, if you can.”

  She frowns. “My evening?”

  Alan chews the inside of his cheek in anxious frustration. This is a complete waste of time.

  You didn’t have to come along, remember. You didn’t even have to come inside.

  But he wants to be here, with Jim, whose presence is enough to infuse Alan with some much needed strength. And it isn’t as if Alan has any other leads to chase down, does he?

  “Just from when you picked up Brooks,” Jim says. “You did take him to the movies, right?”

  “Yes, I picked him up.” She nods, not quite looking at them, but rather somewhere past them.

  Alan turns, curious, but there’s nothing to see, just a pair of white doors closing off the rest of the house.

  “What time was that?” Jim wants to know.

  She checks her watch, thinking. “Say seven-ish? No, earlier. Six or so. They ate at the food court and then saw that new action movie.”

  Jim frowns at Alan. “Action movie?”

  “Mission: Impossible, Brooks said.” Alan shrugs. “He said it was lady’s choice.”

  Mrs. Simmons nods again. “That’s the one. It was over by nine-thirty, I think. Kylie called me to come pick them up. I dropped Brooks off at home, then came back here. I don’t think it was eleven yet.”

  “And how did he seem to you?” Jim asks.

  Alan bristles at the question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m just asking—”

  “I know, but—”

  “Gentlemen.” Mrs. Simmons uses the same stern voice on them that she used on her daughter earlier. “To answer your question, I don’t really know. He sat in the back seat, said please and thank you. If anything, he seemed like a nice young man. When he got out of the car at his house, he told Kylie he’d see her at school. That was it.”

  Jim closes his notepad. “Okay, well—”

  Footsteps clomping on the stairs interrupt him. It sounds as if Kylie is throwing her whole weight down on each riser, and Alan’s surprised the walls don’t shake or the ceiling crumble. When she reaches the landing, she’s dressed in a short cropped sweater and tight jeans, and her hair has been meticulously smoothed down. With a dramatic sigh, she says, “Don’t tell me I got all dressed up for nothing. Where’s Brooks?”

  Her mother answers before Alan or Jim can. “Kylie—”

  Slowly, as if they might have not heard her, Kylie says again, louder this time, “Where’s Brooks?”

  Mrs. Simmons glances at Alan and Jim.

  Alan sighs. “We don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Kylie’s voice creeps up an octave or two, making Alan flinch.

  “Kylie, honey,” her mother says, “please have a seat.”

  “Where’s Brooks?” Kylie demands again, stomping down the last few steps and storming into the living room. She glares at Alan and Jim, her gaze flickering between them as she waits for a real answer.

  Leaning towards Jim, Alan murmurs, “Still think he might be here?”

  Jim shoots him a silencing look. “Kylie, Brooks is missing. We’re—”

  “Missing how?” she wants to know. “What’s that even mean? Where is he?”

  “We’re trying to find him,” Alan admits. “We need your help.”

  Kylie throws herself onto the sofa beside her mother. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “When did you last talk to him?” Jim asks, pen at the ready.

  The way Kiley glances at her mother suggests she doesn’t want to say anything that might get her into trouble. But if she knows something that might help them find Brooks…

  “Mrs. Simmons,” Alan says suddenly, startling the woman.

  She sits up straighter, if that’s possible. “Yes, Mr. Travers?”

  “It’s Alan, please.” Alan gives her what he hopes is a disarming smile. She relaxes slightly, so maybe it works. “I wonder if I can’t bother you for that drink now, if you don’t mind?”

  “Certainly.” She has to step over Kylie’s legs to get out from behind the coffee table. “Would iced tea be okay? It’s already sweet.”

  “Brilliant, thank you.”

  He watches her leave the room, then turns to Jim. “You were saying?”

  “When did you last talk with Brooks?” Jim asks Kylie.

  She scrunches up her face, but before she can answer, her mother calls from the kitchen. “Oh no! I’m all out of tea, I’m sorry! Let me make some. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “No rush,” Alan calls back. He isn’t a fan of sweet tea, iced or hot, but if it keeps her out of the room long enough for Kylie to confide in them, he’ll drink whatever she serves.

  “Kylie?” Jim prompts.

  The girl gives another dramatic sigh. “Fine. We texted for a while last night, okay? He said you weren’t home—” she thrusts her chin out at Alan “—so he wouldn’t get in trouble for staying up too late.”

  Jim glances at Alan. “How late?”

  With a shrug, Kylie says, “Midnight, maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, yes, midnight. Twelve-oh-six to be exact. I know because I told him I was going to bed and he sent one last text, even though I told him not to. So I left it on read and didn’t hit him back until this morning. Only he never answered. I thought he was mad or something, I don’t know. Then you guys show up and I figured he came with you.”

  Left it on read? Hit him back? Alan asks Jim, “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  Jim gives him a distracted nod. “So midnight was the last time you heard from him, but only by text. You didn’t actually talk on the phone?”

&n
bsp; “Are you kidding?” Kylie shakes her head. “My mom’s room is right next to mine. If she heard me on the phone that late, she’d take it away for good!”

  “Okay.” Jim scribbles something down on his notepad. “Did he say he might go anywhere? Maybe mentioned heading out in the morning, or…?”

  Another head shake. “No, nothing.”

  Alan watches Jim chew on the end of his pen, lost in thought. When he doesn’t follow up with another question immediately, Alan jumps in instead. “Did he say when he’d see you or talk to you again? Your mum said something about seeing him in school on Monday.”

  With a dismissive wave of her hand, Kylie says, “That was for her sake. I mean, the moment I got home, I texted him. We talked like half the night.”

  “You mean texted?” Jim asks, clarifying.

  “Yes, okay.” Kylie rolls her eyes again and flops against the back of the couch. “I didn’t call or see him or anything, we just texted back and forth. But that counts. Then I went to bed. He did say we might could go out again tonight, but I already know my mom’ll say no. Besides—” she directs this to Alan “—I told him if he wants to go out again, it has to be sometime when you can take us, not her. Just so you know, she is not driving us again.”

  Alan can’t imagine what difference it makes, but he asks anyway. “Why’s that?”

  “Because she separates us.” Kylie drops her voice so her mother can’t overhear from the kitchen. “She makes him sit in the back all by himself, and I have to sit up front with her. What the hell kind of date is that? Sorry, heck. What the heck. You know?”

  Alan brushes a hand across his mouth to wipe away the smile he can’t quite tamp down. “Well, we’ll have to see about that. I can’t take you two anywhere if we don’t find him first.”

  “Any ideas where he might be?” Jim asks.

  Laying her head on the back of the sofa, Kylie stares at the ceiling and hums a few bars of something Alan doesn’t recognize. Then she shrugs, but doesn’t look at them when she says, “I don’t know. The mall? Is it even open this early?”