“Sure. Whatever.” I lean back into the chair and close my eyes. “But I'll warn you,” I say in a teasing tone. “I'm feeling kinda sleepy right now; I hope I don't nod off on you.”
“This isn't supposed to be hypnosis. Michael said you're supposed to just breathe and quiet yourself for a minute or so. He said for me to tell you to just empty your head of all distractions and just try to relax.”
“You sure this isn't hypnosis?” I ask with one eye open.
“I know…it probably sounds weird, Samantha. But I'm just following his instructions. To be honest, I've worked with composite artists before, but Michael's technique is new to me too. I'm interested to see if it works.”
Then she proceeds to ask me a lot of questions that seem pretty unrelated to anything. But I try to relax, and I try to answer as best I can.
“Okay,” she tells me. “That's all.”
“Do you think that will really help?”
“I hope so.”
“Me too.”
“Another thing.” She reaches into her desk. “This is for you.” She hands me a cell phone. “It's so we can stay in touch without using all of your friend's minutes.”
“Thanks.” I flip open the phone. “This is nice.”
“It has unlimited minutes. The phone number is written on a sticker on the side. I've already put it into my instant dial. And while it's for official use, no one will mind if you use some of those free minutes for yourself. Just make sure you don't tie it up too much.”
“Don't worry; I'm not much of a phone person, and I really don't have that much of a social life anyway.”
She laughs. “Yeah, tell me another one, Samantha. A pretty girl like you?”
“Seriously, I mostly just hang with Olivia, and we go to youth group and school stuff. I'm not really a social butterfly or anything.”
“No boyfriend?”
I shake my head. “Although J was thinking about it today”
“Thinking about it?”
“Yeah. There's this guy who might be interested in me.”
“A nice guy?”
I nod. “I think so.”
She smiles. “So, what's the problem then?”
“I'm just not sure I'm ready for that. I mean, yeah, I'm almost seventeen, and I've gone out like twice, and both times were pretty pathetic. But this whole thing with Kayla is kind of unnerving. I sure don't want to end up like her.”
“She was kind of boy crazy, huh?”
“Yeah. But not always. Like before her parents split up, she was just a normal girl. She was a Christian and even went to youth group regularly. But she changed.”
“Too bad.”
“In fact, that reminds me of something. I already told Olivia about it today, and I made some notes in my notebook. It's not like a vision or anything, just something I remembered. Maybe another piece of the puzzle.”
“Hit me.”
So I tell her my memory of the day when Kayla started bragging about the San Diego boyfriend. “But I don't remember her ever mentioning his name that day. And I recall thinking it was kind of weird. At the time it made me suspect that maybe she was just putting on an act, to sort of show up Emma or maybe just to get her to shut up about Parker.”
Ebony is making note of this. “Have you asked Emma
“No. It just hit me today.”
“Do you mind if I ask Emma how she remembers it?”
“Notatali.”
“As you know, we came up with zip-zero-nothing down in San Diego. Kayla's aunt couldn't confirm anything. And now that we know about this Arizona connection, well, we might've been chasing a wild goose in California all along.”
“So, I was thinking…” I say. “If Kayla made up that whole story about the San Diego boyfriend, Mr. Perfect, but there was a guy in her e-mail named Colby, maybe she just wanted us to think it was the same guy. I mean, the made-up guy suddenly becomes her e-mail boyfriend. And then we all just assumed he lived in San Diego.”
Ebony nods. “I was sort of thinking along those lines too, Samantha, especially after your vision of the guy in the apron with the name Colby on the front. Still, it's going to be like finding a needle in a haystack with the few facts we have so far. Phoenix is a huge pjace. I think it's closing in on 1.5 million now. But what makes it even worse is that it's one of the fastest growing cities in the country. In other words, it's a great place to hide.”
“Oh…”
Ebony smiles as she stands, and I get the impression that she has someplace else to be about now. “But don't let that discourage you. We're making really good progress, And I can't wait to see what you and Michael come up with tomorrow. Do you need a ride home or anything?”
“Olivia told me to call her.”
“Does she know about all this?”
I nod. “Yeah, I kinda need someone to talk to.”
“Do you talk to your mom much? I mean, about things like this?”
“Not about this.” I pull my jacket back on and pick up my pack. “It'd just freak her.”
“So she doesn't know about your involvement in this case yet?”
I shake my head.
“She needs to know, Samantha. In fact, because you're a juvenile, she'll have to sign off in order for you to give evidence tomorrow.”
“Oh…”
“Do you mind if I call her and have a little chat?”
“I guess not.”
“I'll try not to freak her out.”
Thanks.”
“Is it okay to call her at work?”
“Sure.”
“She's still with the park district?”
“Yeah. Like about sixty hours a week.”
We're walking down the hall now. “We'll need you here around nine tomorrow. Do you need a ride?”
“I'll ask Olivia if she can bring me.”
“Olivia sounds like a good friend.”
I nod. “She is.”
Then I tell Ebony good-bye and use my new cell phone to call Olivia. I wait for her outside, but I'm surprised at how cold it's suddenly getting. I dig my wool scarf out of my backpack and wrap it around my neck. It almost feels like snow is in the air. I wonder what the temperature is in Phoenix. I'm guessing hot. Really hot.
Then I think about the fact that Ebony is going to call my mom, maybe even right now. I can't imagine how my mom will react to this. But I have a feeling that, although she'll probably be cool as can be with Ebony, she will be freaking underneath it all. And so while I wait, I pray.
Dear God, please help to smooth this out with my mom. I know she's got a lot of stress right now, and I don't want to add to her pile. Please, help her to understand this—and not to freak
Ten
Okay, maybe I'm just a big chicken, but when, Olivia invites me to spend the night at her house, I jump at the chance. Not that it's so unusual. I spend the night at her house at least a couple of times a month. And the fact that Mom might be in a huff after Ebony calls he, well, that's probably somewhat motivating too. Who can blame me?
“Let me pick up some things at my house,” I tell Olivia. “And leave Mom a note. She probably won't get off work until late anyway. She said they're working to put something together for the Christmas parade tomorrow.”
“I'm surprised she didn't rope you into it this year.”
“After last year?”
Olivia laughs. “You made a cute Mrs. Santa.”
“Yeah, right. Half the kids thought I was just an overgrown female elf.”
“So she let you off easy this year?”
“Yeah, we cut a deal,” I admit as she pulls into my driveway. “I get to do all her Christmas cards this year.”
I'm relieved that nobody's home. And hopefully this means Zach actually went to work today. Friday is a busy day at the video store, and I'm guessing if Zach does another no-show, he'll probably lose his job. Then Mom -c will be furious.
I gather up some of my things and write Mom a quick note, just like I usually do on nights like th
is. No big deal. Yet for some reason, I feel kind of guilty. Like I'm trying to escape something, which I suppose is partially true.
Then I remind myself that I'm not really doing anything wrong. Mom has always been perfectly fine with me staying at Olivia's. In fact; I think she enjoys having our house to herself sometimes. It's just that I'm sure she'll want to talk to me after Ebony tells her about how I'm helping on the case. So I take the time to explain in my note about my new cell phone and why Ebony gave it to me. And I even write down the number so Mom can call me if she wants. Although I'm hoping she won't. What more can I do?
“Want to pick up a DVD?” Olivia asks as I get in the car. “I heard that movie just came out, the one you wanted to see with Reese Witherspoon.”
“Okay.”
So Olivia swings by the video store, the one my brother is supposed to be working at. But I don't see his old beater in the parking lot. Hopefully he's parked it in back. When we go inside, I don't see Zach. And when we get to the counter, I ask if he's there.
“No.” The girl rolls her eyes as she gives us our change and receipt. “And he's in trouble now.”
“Sorry,” I tell her. But mostly I'm sorry for Zach.
“Do you think he'll get fired?” Olivia asks as we head for her car.
“Probably.”
“Let's pray for him,” Olivia says once we're in the car.
We bow our heads and really pray for Zach. We ask God to get his attention, to wake him up, to protect him, and to bring the right kinds of friends into his life—all kinds of things. Then finally we say amen.
“Sometimes it's hard to have faith when it comes to my own family,” I admit as Olivia starts to drive.
“Yeah, I know. It's like that with Clair and Dan.”
“Well, at least Clair and Dan aren't a mess.”
“Not so you'd notice. But I hear Clair saying things about their marriage to my mom sometimes. Things that worry me.”
“I just don't see why people want to make it so hard on themselves,” I say. “I mean, it's so much easier to live with God than without Him.”
“Yeah, you should know. You've had firsthand experience,” teases Olivia. “And back then I used to wonder the same thing about you. Like why did you want to go to so much trouble just to be miserable? You know?”
“I guess it's just one of those things that some of us have to walk through before we get it. Maybe that's what's happening with Zach…and Clair and Dan too.”
“I shouldn't talk. I suppose it could happen to me too.”
“Nah,” I tell her. “I think you're one of the smart ones, the kind who will hold on to God no matter what and never let go.”
“I hope so. For both of us.”
“Me too.”
Olivia lives in a pretty nice neighborhood. Not that my neighborhood is exactly a slum. It's not. Just more middle class. Whereas Olivia's is more upper-crust. Her dad is a city attorney, and her mom is a part-time social worker for the county.
Olivia's the youngest of three kids. Even so, she's not spoiled. Not at all. I'm not even sure why. I could assume it's because her parents raised her right, but I'm thinking it has more to do with who she is. In fact, if any of the three kids were spoiled, I'd say it's her brother Edward, and he's the middle kid, so go figure.
But it's always a pleasure to be at Olivia's house. And that's not just because they have money. It has more to do with Olivia's mom. Mrs. Marsh is one of those women who loves doing “home things.” Seriously, I think she and Martha Stewart could be related. Only Mrs. Marsh, in my opinion, is lots nicer.
So when you come to Olivia's house, you can always count on certain things. Like the house always looks gorgeous, there are usually good things to eat, and most of, the time music is playing. Mrs. Marsh is the kind of person who will light candles just because.
And tonight when Olivia pulls, up to their house, I'm not surprised that their Christmas lights, all white, are neatly hung and there's a big evergreen wreath on the glossy red front door. Not overly done. Just classy and right. And when Olivia parks her car in their big quadruple-wide garage, I'm not surprised that everything, as usual, is in its place. And her mom's Volvo is already there.
We go through the door that enters into the kitchen, and I can smell something baking combined with the smell of pine, which I assume is coming from the enormous Christmas tree in front of the big window in their great room.
“Hey, Mom,” calls Olivia.
“In here,” says her mom.
“Samantha's with me.”
“Oh, good.” Her mom steps around the corner and joins us in the kitchen. “I haven't seen you since before Thanksgiving, Samantha. How are you doing?”
“I'm okay. It sure smells good in here.”
“I'm trying out this new five-minute fudge recipe I saw on TV,” she says. “You guys will have to sample it after it sets.”
“No problem,” says Olivia.
“Your tree looks great,” I tell her. “We don't even have one up yet.”
She smiles. “Well, you know me. I have to get one up the first week of December. Will thinks I'm nuts. But it just puts me in the spirit. Did you girls hear that we're supposed to get snow tomorrow?”
“Cool,” says Olivia.
“I thought it felt pretty cold today,” I say. “I hope it doesn't put too much of a damper on the Christmas parade.”
“That's right,” says Mrs. Marsh. “I nearly forgot about it. Are you going to be Mrs. Santa again this year, Samantha?”
Olivia laughs. “No, she worked a deal with.her mom.”
“I'm doing Christmas cards instead.”
“Your mom's lucky,” she tells me, then looks at Olivia.”Any chance I can work a deal with you?”
“Maybe.” Olivia grabs my arm and starts pulling me away. “Let me know what you have to offer, and I'll get back to you.”
There have been times'when I felt seriously jealous of Olivia's family. And back during my “dark era” after Dad died and I pushed God away, I almost let it come between my friendship with her. But for the most part, I think I've gotten over it. Mostly I'm thankful that I get to participate with her family. And really, they've been amazingly good to me. Still, I get twinges sometimes. Not really jealousy though. More like I wonder why Olivia's family seems to have it so good and my family struggles so much. It's one of those things I plan to ask God about when we're up in heaven. Although I suspect that I might not really care by then. But it's reassuring to know that I can ask if I want to.
We spend a fairly uneventful evening, and I'm relieved that my mom doesn't call me. We watch our movie, which is only so-so, play some computer games, eat too much fudge, then to compensate, do a workout in their mini-gym down in the basement. And finally we're both ready to call it a night.
“Are you worried about tomorrow?” Olivia asks after the lights are off and I'm almost drifting to sleep.
“A little.”
“I'm sure it'll be fine.”
And the next thing I know, it's morning, and since we overslept and it's already eight-thirty, we have to scramble to get dressed and out the door on time.
“What's the hurry?” Olivia's mom asks as we head toward the door to the garage. “I've got cinnamon rolls in the oven.”
“Sounds great,” I tell her. “But I have to, uh, be somewhere.” I glance nervously at Olivia. She knows that I don't o want anyone to know about my involvement in the case, O or my “special gift.” Including her parents.
“I promised to drop Sam at an appointment, but I'll be back in about twenty minutes.”
“Okay. Well, see you later, Samantha,” calls Mrs. Marsh.
“Bye. Thanks.”
“This is going to be tricky,” Olivia says as she starts her car.
“You mean not telling people?”
“Yeah. What if you end up helping to locate Kayla and then the newspaper gets ahold of this story? What will you do then?”
“I don't know. I just hope
we can prevent that. I'll ask Ebony.”
Olivia drops me off in front of the precinct, telling me to call when I need a ride. And this time when I go up the steps, I don't get the same sense that Dad is there. But I imagine he is. I imagine that he's watching me. And smiling.
“There you are,” Ebony says when I peek into her office.
“Sorry I'm a little late.”
“No problem. Michael just got here too. He's just getting set up down the hall. I'll show you where.”
“Hey, Michelangelo,” calls Ebony. “Here's our girl.”
“Almost ready,” says a short, stocky man with a gray beard and a ponytail. He's wearing an oversized corduroy shirt about the color of an eggplant, and when he smiles, a gold front tooth flashes in the overhead fluorescent light.
“This is Samantha McGregor,” says Ebony. “And this is Michael Taylor, the renowned composite artist.”
We shake hands, and he holds on to mine for just a few seconds longer than necessary, but he's kind of squinting and has this thoughtful look on his face. “I sense that Samantha has a very deep spirit,” he finally says as he releases my hand. “I think I will enjoy working with her.”
“I hope so,” I say nervously.
“Ebony showed me your answers to my questions.” He pulls out a chair for me. “It gives us a place to start.”
“Do you mind if I sit in?” asks Ebony.
He seems to consider this. “As long as you don't interrupt. I can't abide interruptions. It messes with the waves.”
“The waves?” I question.
“Yes. I rely on intuition as much as anything else. Surely you understand that, Samantha.”
I glance at Ebony. “Did you tell him about me?”
She nods. “I needed to let him know that you hadn't actually seen the suspect. Not physically anyway.”
“No worries,” he tells me. “I understand these things. You can trust me, Samantha.”
“It's just that I don't really want other people to know about this,” I explain to both of them. “I mean, it's hard for some people to understand this. And I'd rather just keep it under wraps, you know?”
Michael nods. “Oh, believe me, I know.” He makes a zipping gesture across his mouth. “These lips are sealed.”
Bad Connection Page 8
