by David Bell
His mom didn’t respond. She stared straight ahead, her eyes on the road. Jared could see she’d learned something, that ideas and thoughts percolated through her brain.
And he wondered what they could have been doing in the car that made Ursula freak out so much. Had Ursula said they were kissing? He couldn’t just ask, could he?
“Did you learn anything, Mom?”
They turned onto their street. His mom didn’t answer. She just shook her head as if she’d been made privy to some piece of particularly disturbing information. He wanted to press her for more, but the distant look on her face told him to hold his tongue. They were pulling into the driveway, and he knew if he gave her time to cool down, she’d probably tell him everything he wanted to know.
Not that he wanted to know if she was making out with Ian.
That he might be happy to remain in ignorance about.
His mom seemed to read his mind. Like always. “For the record, we were not kissing. I gave Ian a hug. He’s upset.”
“That’s cool,” he said. “I’m not worried about it.”
She stopped the car and killed the engine. Before the lights went off, something moved near the front of the house. A person. Only the legs were visible at first as they moved toward the car. Khaki pants and white sneakers moving across the lawn. Then he passed through the cone of the headlights. A man, tall and thin and almost sixty, whom Jared had never seen before.
His mom gasped.
“Do you know that guy?” she asked.
“No.”
“That’s not—”
“No, it’s not her dad. It’s not William Rose.”
“Then who the hell is it?” she asked.
His mother reached for her purse. She pulled out her phone and a canister of pepper spray. The man walked to the driver’s side of the car and waved. He wore a lopsided grin, and the zipper of his winter coat was open, revealing an untucked checked shirt.
“I’m calling the police,” she said.
“Hold it, Mom.”
“Who knows who this creep is?”
She lifted the phone. The man gestured. He wanted the window rolled down.
“Mom, just crack the window. See what he wants. Maybe he’s selling something.”
“This late?” His mom handed Jared the phone. She kept the pepper spray. “If he tries anything, he’s getting a face full of this. And then you call the police.”
“I’m on the case, Mom.”
She pressed the button, opening the window less than an inch.
“Hi,” the man said. His grin grew wider. He looked like somebody’s grandpa.
“Who are you?” his mom asked.
“Are you Jenna?” he asked. “Of course you are. I recognize you. I recognize Jared too. I’ve seen you on TV and the papers.”
“Are you a cop?” Jared asked. “Or a reporter?”
The man laughed. “Heavens no. I’m Rick Stearns.”
He said the name as though it would mean something to them. Jared looked at his mom. Was he some kind of relative he’d never met and his mom had forgotten about? Jared hated when he met those people, the ones who knew who he was and he couldn’t remember them to save his life.
“Who?” his mom asked. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t explain yourself. Now.”
“Okay, okay.” The man laughed again. “Of course. Silly me. You don’t know me as Rick Stearns. You know me by my other name.”
“What other name?” she asked.
Then the guy said something weird.
“Domino fifty-five.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Jenna told Jared to get out of the car and go to the house.
“Mom—”
“Just go,” she said. “Walk to the door.”
She kept her eyes on the goofy, smiling face of Domino55. Rick Stearns. He looked as though he should be coming to the door to sell insurance. Or else teaching math at the local community college.
Jared’s door opened and closed, and only then did she turn away and watch her son climb the front steps and use his key to enter the house. Like a good boy, he flipped the porch light on, and then she saw the curtains move as he stuck his head out to check on her.
“Move back,” Jenna said. “I’m getting out. And I have my pepper spray ready.”
“Oh,” he said, backing away from the car as she pushed the door open.
She stepped out onto the driveway, her shoes scraping against the pavement. She kept the pepper spray clutched in her right hand and her keys, their tips sticking out through her fingers like jagged claws, in her left.
Rick Stearns took all this in and moved back farther. “I can go if this is a bad time.”
“What are you doing here?” Jenna asked. “Why do you keep writing me and saying those things about Celia?”
He blinked a couple of times. “Because I’m like anyone else on those boards. I want to help.”
“If you want to help, go to the police. If you know something, call the tip line.”
Rick looked wounded, as if she’d reached out with the keys and poked him in his soft belly. “Do you think they listen to a guy like me? Hundreds of people, maybe thousands, call those tip lines. Some of them are nuts. They don’t get taken seriously. And I live in northern Indiana, a few hundred miles away from here. I can’t just talk in person to the detective investigating the case. Naomi Poole, right?”
“She’s here in town. And now so are you. Go talk to her. Go right to the station. They’re open twenty-four hours, I hear.”
He lifted his hands, as though he were surrendering. “I wanted to talk to you first. You know Celia better than anyone. I want your opinion before I go to the police.” He lowered his hands and sounded resigned. “I wanted to show you something. It’s something you’re going to want to see.”
Jenna wavered. She looked to the house where Jared was still peeking out through the front window. It would be so easy just to dash inside and call the police, have Rick taken away, off her lawn and out of her life.
But what if he really did know something? What if he was one of those amateur online sleuths who managed to piece something together? Could she stand to turn him away?
“Where’s your car?” she asked.
He nodded toward the street. A dark-colored Prius sat at the curb. In the glow of the streetlight, she saw the Indiana plate.
“Did you come here through downtown?” she asked.
“Yes. On Highway Fifty-nine.”
“Go back the way you came.”
“Wait a minute—”
“Downtown there’s a place called Webb’s Diner. It’s also open twenty-four hours. Go there. Get a table. It’s usually fairly crowded . . . and it’s a block from the police station. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He smiled, his teeth straight and white. “Okay. Do you want me to order you something?”
“No. Just go.”
He nodded and started off across the lawn. Before he crossed the street to his car, he turned back. “You really are going to want to see this. It’s a picture. I think I found her.”
Jenna watched him go and then she entered the house.
Jared waited for her in the living room, his phone in his hand. “Should I call the police?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Where’s he going? Are you just letting him get away?”
“Relax,” Jenna said. She kept her coat on. “I’m going to meet him at Webb’s.”
“What for?” Jared asked.
“He claims he has information about Celia. And before you tell me the cops should be involved, I know. I’ve already covered this with him, okay?” She came forward and placed her hands on his upper arms. “You need to trust me on this one. I’m not going to endanger myself. We’re goin
g to be right by the police station, in a public place.”
“Let me go with you.”
“No. Stay here.”
“Mom—”
“No. Stay here. I’m going to text you every fifteen minutes. If I miss one, call the cops. Okay? I need to know what he knows. He says he knows where Celia is.”
Jared’s mouth opened a little. “Do you believe him?”
Jenna hugged him, pulling him close. When she let him go, she looked him right in the eye. “I desperately want to. Don’t you?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Jenna walked into Webb’s, a greasy spoon that had been serving the residents of Hawks Mill since shortly after World War II. Several different families had owned the place, and Jenna remembered going there as a kid, her dad buying her a milk shake and a plate of french fries. She and Celia went there after school for hamburgers at least once a month, and Jenna had never imagined that the smell of fried food and coffee could summon so much nostalgia. The smells and the nostalgia washed over her in waves.
Rick smiled at her from a booth near the back. He faced the door, his lopsided grin almost sliding off one side of his face. The diner was about a quarter full, a mix of high school kids and families and elderly couples just marking time. Jenna walked through them to the back and sat down across from Rick.
“I ordered coffee and a sandwich,” he said. “Do you want something?”
“No.”
“My treat.”
“What do you have to show me?” Jenna asked.
Rick looked hurt, but he recovered quickly. “Can I just shake your hand?”
“Come again?”
“I’d like to shake your hand.” He held his out over the table, his sleeve just above the ceramic mug of coffee.
“Why do you want to do that?” Jenna asked.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said. He took his hand down when he saw Jenna wasn’t going to shake. Again hurt passed across his face, and again it left quickly. “You see, I live in a little town up in Indiana. It’s called Leesburg. Nothing really ever happens there. My dad farmed, but I worked in a factory. I’m retired now.”
“Rick, is this relevant?”
“Now, hold up. You see, I live a little life up there. It’s nice but slow.” He held up his left hand. Jenna saw the gold wedding band. “I lost my wife four years ago, and since then I’ve been spending more time online, looking at missing persons cases.”
Jenna swallowed hard. “Wait a minute. Lost her? Did she disappear?”
“No. Cancer. I’m lonely, so I’m online a lot.”
“Oh.” Jenna felt relief. She didn’t need to hear another sad tale. Not that a lonely old widower wasn’t sad enough. “I’m sorry.”
“What I’m saying, Jenna, is I’ve never met a celebrity before. That’s why I wanted to shake your hand. You’re famous. You’re on TV and everything.”
He looked so sincere and pathetic it was sickening. Jenna held her hand out and they shook. Rick even placed his left hand over top of hers, a two-hand shake. The waitress came by and Jenna ordered coffee and a blueberry muffin. When the coffee came, Jenna poured more sugar in than she needed. But she loved coffee only when it was supersweet. She didn’t understand the people who drank it black.
“Okay, Rick, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”
“Right. Sure. So I’ve been following this case ever since I first heard about it. And I’ve read all about the recent events, the things having to do with your son and that missing girl. You know, I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk to him more. He seemed like a nice kid.”
“He has to stay out of this stuff. It doesn’t concern him. Not directly.”
“I didn’t like what Reena said about you tonight. I watched it in my hotel room here. I like her show, but sometimes it seems as though . . .” He seemed to be grasping for the right way to say what he wanted to say. “She has this tendency to turn against people.” He spoke about the TV host as though she were a close personal friend. “She builds people up, has them on the show, and then at some point, she turns against them and tears them down. I guess it’s for the ratings.”
The waitress brought the muffin, and Jenna checked her watch. “About Celia?”
“Okay, I’ve been following the case. She had that affair. And they haven’t found her body. They found that other girl’s body.”
“Holly Crenshaw.”
“Right. And they found this man’s body in the house where he was killed. But people have seen Celia other places, so maybe she ran away.”
“She wouldn’t leave her daughter.”
“I’m sure you know this, Jenna. But Celia’s grandparents used to own a house on a lake up near where I live. Sawmill Lake, it’s called. Her grandparents grew up in Indiana.”
Jenna sat back in the booth. Celia’s grandparents did come from northern Indiana. They had died before Jenna and Celia met, but Jenna remembered Celia talking about family trips up there when she was little.
“How did you know she had family in Indiana?” Jenna asked. “Was it in the news?”
“Now, that’s the funny part. It was someone on the message boards. At first, I thought this person was you because they seemed to know so much about Celia. But then I figured out who you were. To be honest, I just kind of guessed about you. Took a shot in the dark.”
“How exactly did you figure that out?” Jenna asked. “It’s kind of creepy, if you don’t mind my being honest.”
Rick looked hurt again. “No one’s ever called me that.”
“You’ll get over it,” she said. “How did you guess it was me?”
“Like I said, it was a guess. But you were so passionate about the case. You talked on the boards like you really knew Celia.” He reached up and rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t know how else to say it, except I felt your pain through the computer. It was palpable. You cared about Celia. Not because she was missing, but because you really knew her. Does that make sense?”
It didn’t surprise Jenna that she’d revealed too much. She always did. “I guess it does,” she said. “Who told you about the grandparents and Indiana?”
“This other person is just someone else who is curious about the case. But she’s really encouraged me. I think she’s a she. She says the picture I have really shows Celia, living in northern Indiana.”
Despite her misgivings and her desire to see Rick as a harmless kook, she felt her hopes rising, building in her chest and making her hands shake. She felt anticipation she hadn’t felt in a long time, a swirl of rising emotion. “You have a picture? Of someone you believe is Celia?”
“I sure do. Right here on my iPad.”
Jenna pushed her muffin and coffee mug aside. “You have to show it to me, Rick. Now.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Rick reached down below the table and brought out his iPad. He started swiping the screen while Jenna’s heart rate increased, a steady thumping she imagined the other diners had to be able to hear above the clatter of dishes and murmur of conversation.
“It’s not the best set of photos,” he said. “It’s tough to take pictures of someone when they don’t know you’re taking them and they don’t want anyone to see them.” He continued to tap and swipe. “My theory is Celia wanted to get away for a while, and it made sense for her to go someplace familiar, someplace she went as a child. It would be like returning to a simpler time. We can all relate to that. See, maybe she left the earrings behind to make people think she’d been taken. One in one place and one in another. Like she was dragged away or something. I read in an article that they were her favorite earrings.”
“They’re a family heirloom.” Jenna reached across the table. “Can I just see it?”
“There’s a few of them. Swipe left to see them all.”
The first one showed a woman from beh
ind. She appeared to be in line in a store. Maybe a hardware store, given the screwdrivers and socket sets in the background. She had brown hair, just like Celia’s, but unless Celia had gained some weight since she disappeared, it couldn’t be her. The woman in the photo was wider through the hips and butt than Celia had ever been. Or would ever let herself be.
Jenna swiped again. This time the woman was photographed at a gas pump, filling up her car. Her hair hung across her face, obscuring most of it. Same color, yes. But it could have been just about any middle-aged woman with brown hair. The clothes, functional and plain, didn’t look like anything Celia would ever wear.
She swiped to another one. The woman wore sunglasses and carried grocery bags. There was no way to tell who it was, and disappointment crept through the center of Jenna’s body. She felt like a deflated balloon.
“These don’t prove anything,” she said. “This could be anybody with brown hair. And Celia wouldn’t wear these clothes.”
“She would if she was hiding out,” Rick said, his voice full of triumphant pride.
“Did you talk to this woman? Did you approach her?”
“I called her name once. I shouted, ‘Celia!’ And she stopped and looked at me. And then she kept going.”
Jenna put the iPad down. She felt sorry for the old guy. Sorry for his enthusiasm and his loneliness and the disappointment he was about to feel when he understood he hadn’t solved anything or moved them any closer to finding Celia. She could tell he desperately wanted to do something important and relevant, to be one of the stars of the Dealey Society, but some blurry photos of a middle-aged woman going through her daily life and a half-baked theory about Celia escaping to a place she went to as a child wasn’t going to cut it.
“It’s not her, Rick.”
“How do you know?”
“She wouldn’t wear those clothes and you can’t see her face. And Celia’s body didn’t look like that.”
