ONCE LOST

by Blake Pierce

  The truth was, she really felt sorry for them.

  They’d lived in this lousy town all their lives, feeling as isolated in this sea of whiteness as she did. Not that they ever complained about the subtle undercurrent of bigotry here in Angier. But she knew they hated their jobs and probably hated their whole lives. They weren’t even happy with each other anymore. They just stayed together out of lack of anything better to do.

  Camryn desperately hoped she wouldn’t wind up like that. But this whole town felt like a trap that was ready to snap shut on her.

  The phone rang again, and this time she looked to see who was calling.

  Oh my God! she thought when she saw the name.

  It was somebody she wanted to talk to after all.

  She picked up the phone carefully without smudging her wet nails.

  “Hello,” she said in her most mature voice.

  “Hello, Camryn. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  “Not at all. This is perfect.”

  “I’ve got some information on a scholarship program that I think you’ve got a good chance for. It calls for a lot of information and an essay, but I think it’s ideal for you. I’d like to go over it with you.”

  Camryn almost let out a yelp of joy. But she managed to keep her voice under control. She didn’t want to sound like an overexcited teenager.

  “That sounds great,” she said. “Could you email me the application?”

  “Sure. But before we do that, I’d like to meet with you in person and go over every item together. This is a big one, and you’ll have to give it a lot of attention. Then you can take your time filling it out, and I’ll be glad to review it for you again.”

  Camryn’s heart lifted. This was just the break she needed, a big financial boost. And if she got it, the prestige would also help.

  “When do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  “How about right now?”

  Camryn looked at her watch and gulped silently. She only had an hour before she had to be at work. But she didn’t even want to mention her crummy job right now.

  Besides, which was more important—waitressing or getting a big scholarship?

  If she was late for her shift, the other servers would just have to deal with it.

  Right now, she didn’t much care if she even got fired.

  “I’ll catch a bus and come right over,” she said.

  “I’ll tell you what, I’m not too far away. I’ll come and pick you up.”

  “Perfect,” Camryn said, still trying not to betray her excitement. “Give me just fifteen minutes.”

  The caller sounded pleased.

  “OK. But listen—I know it’s tempting to shout this news from the rooftops. But don’t jump the gun and tell anybody, not just yet. I want to be sure we know what we’re doing and get everything right. And there’s a limit on applications from each district. I want to make sure you get first crack at this.”

  Camryn almost laughed at the idea that she might tell anybody. Who did she know who would even care about it? Besides, she sure didn’t want to jinx her chances by bragging about it.

  She said thank you, and the call ended.

  She hurried to put on nice clothes and comb her hair. She was glad she had done her nails in a muted shade. He was being so helpful, she wanted to look like she was worth all that trouble.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next morning when she and Jenn drove to visit Holly Struthers’s parents, Riley was feeling conflicting emotions.

  She didn’t know what to expect.

  She didn’t know what to hope for either.

  She knew that Chief Sinard’s officers were probably interviewing Trip Crozier right now, trying to make their case against him. It was entirely possible that Crozier’s alibi for Katy’s murder would fall through and he’d turn out to be guilty.

  He also might prove guilty of whatever had happened to Holly Struthers.

  On the other hand, there might be no connection at all between Holly’s disappearance and Katy’s rape and murder.

  Whatever the truth turned out to be, Riley was sure of one thing—that she loathed the town of Angier. The town was starting to make her sick to her stomach with its phony facade of wholesomeness and respectability. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a negative gut reaction to a town.

  Of course, if there was no connection between Holly and Katy, she and Jenn had no more business here.

  And that would be fine with Riley. She wanted to get out of here—this morning, if possible.

  On the other hand, if there really was a serial killer at large in Angier, she and Jenn had urgent work to do. They had to figure him out before he could strike again.

  But then, for all Riley really knew, he had already struck again. The body of another young girl could already be buried somewhere—or even more than one.

  A farmer noticing something odd in his tilled field had been a stroke of luck. If George Tully hadn’t been out at that spot that morning, the corn planter would have rolled right over the buried body. Then the town would have had two lost girls with no clue to the fate of either one. And a serial killer would have gotten away with it.

  As their car approached the Struthers’s house, Riley observed that the neighborhood houses were newer than in the area where the Philbins lived. They were also somewhat larger, with wider lawns and two-car garages attached to every home. But these modular houses aped the bungalow designs of an older neighborhood, making them just look superficial as far as Riley was concerned.

  This well-cared-for neighborhood was surely what she’d heard real estate people call “high pride of ownership.” It probably wasn’t the richest part of town, but families would feel good about themselves for settling down here.

  Riley could almost smell a certain smugness in the air.

  Jenn parked in front of a house with brown siding and beige trim, a broad porch, and a conspicuous garage. It was so neat and dollhouse-like that it looked like it might have been planted here yesterday. Riley half expected to find it inhabited by plastic toy people.

  Riley and Jenn walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door. Riley was glad they had called ahead. Perhaps they would cause a little less alarm this way.

  A nervous-looking woman answered. Riley guessed that she was in her early forties, although she probably made some effort to look younger.

  Riley and Jenn produced their badges and introduced themselves.

  “Yes, yes,” the woman said in a shaky voice. “I’m Dorothy Struthers. My husband and I have been expecting you.”

  As she escorted Riley and Jenn into the living room, she called out, “Harold, it’s the FBI people.”

  A trim, ordinary-looking man came trotting down the stairs into the living room. Dorothy invited Riley and Jenn to sit down.

  Dorothy’s eyes darted back and forth between Riley and Jenn.

  “Is there … news about Holly?” she asked.

  With his anxious expression, Harold Struthers seemed to be silently asking the same question.

  “No, not at this time,” Riley said.

  She was slightly surprised when the Dorothy let out an audible sigh of relief.

  Then Riley realized—she had been worried that she and Jenn had come over to confirm her very worst fears, that her daughter was dead.

  Her voice still unsteady, Dorothy said, “Oh, when that girl gets home, she’s really going to get it.”

  Riley was taken aback. The last thing she had meant to do was raise the couple’s hopes.

  In her current state of denial, Dorothy had taken Riley’s words as confirmation that her daughter was probably alive and well. Of course, Riley had said nothing of the sort. Was it going to be even possible for Riley and Jenn to set her straight as to facts?

  What facts? Riley thought.

  Dorothy continued, laughing nervously.

  “She’ll never hear the last of it from me … The nerve of that girl, putting u
s through this … She’ll be grounded until, I don’t know, forever, or when she starts collecting Social Security or something …”

  As Dorothy rambled on nervously, her husband kept gently trying to interrupt her.

  “Dorothy … Dorothy …”

  Finally the woman turned to Harold with an annoyed look.

  “What?” she asked.

  Harold lowered his head.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  Riley could now tell that Dorothy’s husband wasn’t in the same state of denial. But he had no more of an idea of what to say to her than Riley did. Dorothy continued her diatribe until Jenn managed to speak.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Struthers, we need to ask you some questions.”

  “About what?” Dorothy said.

  She sounded absolutely mystified that there was anything left to discuss.

  Jenn asked, “Does your daughter have a history of doing this kind of thing? Running away, I mean?”

  Dorothy forced a laugh.

  “Oh, yes, more than once. Odd, she was a perfect little girl growing up. But when she hit her teenage years—well, it was like she’d gone completely crazy. She rebelled and lashed out about every little thing. Didn’t she, Harold?”

  “She sure did,” Harold said quietly.

  Dorothy said, “She sometimes disappeared for a night or two. Usually she’d sneak away to a friend’s house. Once she rented a motel room and holed up there for three nights. Can you imagine? We never called the police before. This time we did it just to make a fuss and embarrass her. If the police picked her up, maybe it would teach her a good lesson.”

  She sighed.

  “Harold and I have no idea what’s going on in that little head of hers.”

  Harold patted his wife’s hand.

  He said to Riley and Jenn, “Holly just can’t commit herself to anything these days. She keeps trying things out and dropping them—cheerleading, soccer, tennis, different kinds of clubs at school.”

  He pointed to a baby grand piano at the far end of the room.

  He said, “Last fall she said she wanted to become a concert pianist. She had some talent, and she seemed so determined, so we were all excited about it and bought that piano. But she lost interest and the piano has just been sitting there ever since.”

  Riley asked, “Have you contacted all of her friends?”

  Harold said, “Yes—at least all the friends we know of. Nobody seems to have any idea where she went this time.”

  Riley saw that Jenn leaned forward in her chair.

  “We need to ask you a few questions about Katy Philbin,” Jenn said.

  Dorothy tilted her head with curiosity.

  “Oh, the girl who was killed. Well, I never knew her. Did you know her, Harold?”

  Harold shook his head silently.

  Dorothy said, “And I’m sure Holly never knew her. She never mentioned anyone named Katy. I’d remember.”

  Riley knew that it was a delicate line of questioning that could easily send Dorothy into a full-scale panic.

  But Riley soon realized that Jenn was handling things well enough, asking questions that didn’t upset either Harold or Dorothy any more than they were upset already.

  She’s learning, Riley thought.

  She decided to let Jenn keep on asking the questions. As she listened, she sat studying the immaculate, middle-class surroundings and made guesses about the family.

  Just how dysfunctional were they?

  Was anything sinister going on in this household?

  Chief Sinard had mentioned that Harold was a chiropractor. Riley suspected that Harold had grown up and studied chiropractic elsewhere, perhaps in a big city. He had come to Angier hoping to really stand out here and make his mark on the community. He’d been financially successful enough to raise his family in comfort, and his wife didn’t have to work outside the house.

  But Riley doubted whether Harold and his wife were really satisfied with the life they’d carved out for themselves here. They’d surely found that the prominent families of Angier were a closed group that had been here for many generations.

  Social climbers with no place to climb, Riley thought.

  They didn’t seem especially self-aware, so they probably weren’t fully conscious of their own lurking resentment.

  Their teenage daughter had probably been more aware of it than they were.

  Hence Holly’s pattern of rebellious behavior.

  At least that was one plausible scenario for what was going on here.

  Riley heard a clattering of footsteps coming down the stairs. A pimply teenaged boy burst into the room. Riley guessed that he was maybe fifteen or sixteen years old.

  He said, “Hey, Dad, we’ve got to get going. The rocket club event starts in just a few minutes.”

  Harold introduced the agents to his son, Zach.

  The boy’s mouth dropped open.

  “The FBI!” he said. “Jesus!”

  “Language!” his mother said.

  Harold said to Zach, “They’re here asking questions about Holly.”

  Zach shook his head.

  “Wow. Is that girl in trouble now or what?”

  To Riley and Jenn he added, “Well, when you find her, do us all a favor and just keep her. She’s a real pain in the ass.”

  Dorothy let out another exclamation of maternal disapproval, which Zach shrugged off.

  Jenn said, “Zach, do you know anyone who might have meant your sister any harm?”

  “Aside from me, you mean?” he said with a sneer. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t ask her any questions about her life, and she doesn’t ask me any questions about mine. It works for both of us.”

  Then he turned to his father and said, “Come on, let’s get going.”

  Riley briefly considered stopping the kid to ask him some more questions. But she had a feeling that he’d really meant what he’d said—that he paid as little attention to his sister as he could. He probably knew next to nothing about what might have happened to her.

  Besides, any questions were only going to upset his parents further.

  Riley said to Harold and Dorothy, “Thank you both for your time and cooperation. We’re sorry to have disturbed you. We’ll get in touch if we have any news.”

  Riley and Jenn left the house and got into the car.

  “So what do you think of the kid brother?” Jenn asked.

  “Typical teenager, I guess,” Riley said. “A classic case of sibling rivalry.”

  “Do you think there’s any reason for us to stay in Angier?”

  Riley mulled it over, but couldn’t form an opinion one way or the other.

  “What do you think?” Riley asked.

  Jenn thought for a moment.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “So far we don’t know of any connection between the Philbin girl and the Struthers girl. And now we know that Holly had a history of rebellion and running away. She might turn up any day, or she might have gotten herself into serious trouble, maybe even killed. So we’ve got no reason to think that Katy’s murder was anything but an isolated event. But even so …”

  Jenn’s voice trailed off for a moment.

  Then she said, “If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think we should jump on a plane and fly out of here just yet. Holly Struthers went to Lincoln High. Maybe could pay the principal a visit.”

  “It’s Saturday,” Riley said. “But let’s see if he’s at school today anyhow.”

  Jenn dialed the school number and confirmed that the principal was indeed in his office. When she hung up, she said, “He’s willing to talk with us today. He said to press the bell and he’ll buzz us in.” After a moment she added, “He sounds kind of like a used car salesman.”

  Riley agreed that seeing the principal was a good idea, and the younger agent started driving toward the high school.

  Riley mulled things over as Jenn drove.

  Jenn was right. As far as they knew, Holly’s disappearance had nothing to
do with Katy’s murder. In fact, it might even be likely.

  But Riley had a bad feeling about Holly all the same. More than a week was a long time for a teenager to deliberately disappear.

  Riley couldn’t help thinking that something terrible had happened to her.

  She reminded herself that she couldn’t solve all the problems in a messed-up town like this.

  But could she really leave Angier while Holly was still missing?

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Lincoln High School looked oddly out of place to Riley. While Wilson High had seemed like some weird throwback to a bygone time, Lincoln looked sparkling and new, all steel and glass. It reminded her of the school that April went to, which was unsettling because it gave a grim reminder that kids weren’t safe anywhere anymore.

  But something else about the building bothered her.

  She realized that she couldn’t help thinking of it as phony—a false façade like everything else in this town seemed to be. Riley cautioned herself to double-check her own perceptions. She no longer knew if she was sensing an actual dark underbelly to every part of all this apparent normality, or if she was simply imagining it.

  As Jenn rang the buzzer at the front entrance, Riley suppressed a sigh and focused on the job at hand. The door was opened by a nattily dressed man in an expensive-looking shirt, a tie, a sweater vest with diamond patterns, and pleated pants.

  “I’m Nigel Pelelo, the principal,” he said in a hearty tone. “I believe you’re here to speak with me. Right this way.”

  As Riley and Jenn followed him to his office, Riley looked him over.

  He reminded her disagreeably of Carl Walder, except that his face was markedly better looking. He actually had something of the self-confident bearing of a male fashion model.

  When they got to his office, the principal invited Riley and Jenn to sit down, then took his place behind his desk.

  “Goodness, the FBI!” Pelelo said with a chuckle. “I hope I’m not under investigation.”

  Riley didn’t even try to force a laugh at the lame joke.

  “I’m afraid we’re here on serious business, Mr. Pelelo,” she said. “I’m sure you know that a girl who goes to school here has gone missing.”