He should have grown immune to these mentions of Jill in the news by now. But this one came after the detectives––both Fredriks and Simonides––had summarily dismissed Mitch’s new suspicion about Greg Hamaker. Fredriks had––reluctantly, Mitch thought––contacted Hamaker again, but insisted there was nothing new worth pursuing, and asserted that Hamaker’s alibi remained airtight.
And Simonides had reamed Mitch out for talking to Hamaker without their clearance. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
He smoothed a crease in the newspaper and forced himself to finish the article.
A spokesperson for the Missouri State Highway Patrol said that although less than two hundred of nearly one thousand persons reported missing in the state this year are still listed as “whereabouts unknown,” many cases still in the database are no longer being actively investigated since some are more than fifty years old. But the spokesperson said law enforcement agencies are always looking for tips that could lead to solving a cold case.
Was this it? Was this what Jill’s “obituary” looked like? A generic article in a newspaper—one most people would skim over in their rush to read the latest celebrity gossip or stock market news?
He wouldn’t have it.
“If you’re still speaking to me, could I ask a big favor?” Mitch had caught Shelley over the backyard fence, hoping to keep their conversation short and sweet.
“Why wouldn’t I be speaking to you?” She rested her forearms on the chest-high gate that separated their backyards, and her narrowed eyes gave him the distinct impression that she knew exactly why he wouldn’t be speaking to her.
Since that night when she’d revealed her doubts that Jill was even alive, he’d managed to mostly avoid Shelley. It hadn’t been as hard as he’d thought to ensure that when their paths crossed, it didn’t require more than a wave across the driveway. He and the kids had been gone over most of the Christmas holiday, and wintery weather had kept the entire city indoors for the past couple of weeks.
He’d made a halfhearted attempt to smooth things over with her––waving at her across their driveways, tossing her paper onto the porch on Sunday mornings, and clearing her front walk when it snowed. All things he’d done for his neighbor––Jill’s friend––before he lost Jill.
But through the ordeal with Jill, Shelley had become a friend––not just Jill’s friend, but his. And things had gotten . . . complicated. And now, somehow, they’d turned into strangers.
It still made him angry that Shelley had lost hope, but he’d overreacted and spoken too harshly to her that night. And he hated the rift between them. The truth was, he missed Shelley Austin. She was a tie to Jill, someone that knew who he was grieving. Someone who would let him talk on and on about Jill. Who even shared some of the same memories of her.
Looking at Shelley now, he saw the same sadness in her eyes that he saw when he looked in the mirror. And he felt a prompting to make things right between them. “Shelley––I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly . . . that night. I know you were only being honest.” And she was grieving too. He sometimes forgot that.
Jill had been her best friend––really, Shelley’s only close friend. Mitch could imagine how devastated Jill would have been if something had happened to Shelley. He’d never looked at it that way until this moment, and it broke his heart. And helped him understand her better. “I know you were just trying to process everything that happened. Same as I was. That wasn’t fair of me and––”
“No, Mitch. Please. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I––” Tears welled in her eyes and she swallowed hard. “I was wrong to say the things I did. Please forgive me for being so negative. I didn’t mean to . . . take away your hope. That truly wasn’t my intent.”
“Well, maybe you were right. Because . . . here we are all these weeks later and we still don’t know any more than we did that night.”
“So there hasn’t been any news at all?”
“Fredriks––the guy who replaced Simonides––keeps assuring me her case is still open. But I don’t know what they can be doing on it when they don’t have any new leads. And then I give them something and they brush it off.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. Has something . . . ? Do you have new information?”
He shook his head, and yanked off a withered strand of the honeysuckle vine that Jill had planted on their side of the fence. “Nothing new from the police. But”––he debated whether to tell her, but decided to go for it––“I had an interesting conversation with Greg Hamaker on Friday.”
Her eyebrows rose, and he told her briefly about the encounter with Hamaker in Kansas City. “I still don’t understand why she would have taken that jewelry,” he said. “He says he doesn’t remember, but I’m pretty sure it’s stuff he gave her.”
“Maybe she meant to give it back to him.”
“Do you think he asked for it back?”
“I don’t know why he would. It didn’t have any value.”
“But why else would she have taken it there? And left it in the hotel? After all this time . . . that doesn’t make sense.”
But Shelley shook her head. “I think it might make sense. If it were me, I would have given it back. I wouldn’t want the guy to have one thing he could hold over me.”
Mitch thought for a minute, trying to connect the dots and not liking where they were leading. “But then . . . when she left here, she must have thought she was going to see him. If she had the jewelry with her.”
“But maybe this explains why she left the jewelry at the hotel, Mitch. Maybe she changed her mind about seeing Greg, but she didn’t want to bring the jewelry home with her. I could see Jill doing that. It’s what I would’ve done.” The lilt in her tone told Mitch she felt certain that was what had happened.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think Simonides thinks this has any bearing on Jill. Or maybe––” He hung his head. “Maybe he just thinks this gives credence to the scenario where Jill left of her own accord.”
“No. We know that’s not true!”
Mitch loved her adamance. “Either way, Shelley, I can’t just sit around and do nothing. I’ve got to have some answers.”
“I’m so sorry, Mitch. About . . . everything.” She fixed her gaze on a spot beyond him, a faraway look in her eyes. He knew that look, knew she was remembering some little thing about Jill. But when their eyes met again, she brightened a little. “You said you wanted to ask a favor?”
“Yes. Would you mind too much taking care of TP for a few days?”
“Sure, I’d be glad to.” There was curiosity in her smile, but it felt like an olive branch.
One he should have extended first. Weeks ago.
“So,” she said, “are you going up to see your kids this weekend?”
“Actually, I was asking for Wednesday––of this week. I took a few days off from work. I’m going to search for Jill again.”
“But . . . where would you search?” She looked at him like maybe she thought he’d finally gone over the edge.
“I’m not sure. I have a meeting at school Tuesday that I can’t miss, but I’d like to leave early Wednesday morning. I’ll feed TP before I leave, but would you mind letting him out when you come home for lunch, and again after work? It’ll be the same the rest of the week. I’ll be home after dark every night so I’ll take care of him in the mornings.”
He pretended not to see the skeptical look she shot him.
“Mitch, where can you look that hasn’t already been searched?”
“I plan to drive the routes she could have taken from Kansas City. Even the back roads and out-of-the-way detours. I’ve mapped out some new––”
“Haven’t they done that already? Along with half the city of Sylvia? We don’t even know for sure that she ever left Kansas City, Mitch.”
He shook his head. “I have to think she did. You heard the message she left. She’d left the hotel for sure. Filled up with ga
s, according to that credit card bill. It sounded like she was on her way home.”
“It did, but . . .” She bit the corner of her bottom lip.
“There are still side roads she could have taken. Roads we haven’t checked as closely. Side roads she could have made a wrong turn onto. Some of those roads aren’t even on the map. And with the trees bare of leaves now, maybe I’ll spot something we missed before. It’s a long shot, I know. But . . . it’s possible.” He scuffed the ground with the toe of his sneaker. “I know you think I’m foolish, but I can’t live in this limbo another day. I can’t––”
“I don’t think you’re foolish.” She sighed, looking near tears again. “I understand why you want to do that. Need to. But. . . Why do you think you’ll find anything different than the police and Missing Persons, and all the others who’ve searched? So . . . you took time off from work?”
He nodded. “Believe me, they won’t miss me. I’ve been worthless at work anyway. There has to be something they’ve missed. There has to. I have to find out what happened.”
He looked down at the withered vines wrapped around his palm. “Even if I find out she’s dead––” He sucked in a breath, shocked that he’d said it aloud. But he’d begun to think it more and more. Dead. After all these months, any other scenario was too agonizing to ponder.
“Do you think she might be, Mitch? Dead?” Her voice was a whisper, but at least she was brave enough to look him in the eye when she said it. And she didn’t say I told you so.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore. I just know I can’t keep on like this. I can’t . . . do nothing. I have to do something.”
“Let me go with you. We can bring TP along. He might even be able to . . . I don’t know . . . sniff out where Jill’s been?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. Not after all this time.” He remembered something. “You know, TP was always antsy anytime Jill was gone. He was always her dog at heart. From the very beginning. The day she left for that conference he did his usual whining and sniffing at the garage door. But . . .” He studied Shelley, debating whether to share more, but he thought she would understand. “After that first night when Jill didn’t come home, TP just . . . quit looking for her.”
“Really?”
He nodded. It had seemed a small thing, but it disturbed him deeply. “They say animals have a sixth sense about these things.”
“The kids came home that first night though. Maybe that was enough to satisfy him.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Are you saying . . . TP somehow knew Jill wasn’t coming back?”
“No. I’m saying maybe he knows she is coming back. And he’s just . . . I don’t know”––he shrugged––“exercising canine patience or something.”
She didn’t respond, and he read skepticism––or worse––in her silence.
He knew it sounded a little crazy, but he’d reached a point where he was willing to risk seeming a little crazy. Because if he didn’t do something, he would be certifiable. Time to change the subject. And make a confession. “I’m not just going to drive the roads.”
“What do you mean?”
Should he tell her? Shelley was trustworthy, despite how worried he could tell she was about him. “There are people I need to talk to along the way. People who might have talked to Jill the day she disappeared. Maybe someone had a conversation with her, or overheard something that will give us a clue.”
“You mean the people who were at the conference?”
“Yes. And the people at that gas station. And the hotel. Somebody had to have seen something. There has to be some kind of clue in all this. There just has to be.”
“But didn’t the police talk to those people already? And even if you could find them, would they remember anything they haven’t already reported? How could you possibly track them all down after all this time?”
“I have a list.”
“How?”
He shook his head. “I think it would be best if I didn’t say.” The former high school principal, whose place he’d filled, had mentioned that he knew the director of the professional development conference Jill had attended. One thing led to another, and when Mitch got back from Jill’s folks’ after Christmas, Jerry Boston had delivered a list of names to him––all the teachers who’d been on the conference roster, and the schools where they worked. But Shelley didn’t need to know the details.
The skeptical expression on her face was clear.
Truth was, Mitch didn’t know exactly how it had all come about. He hadn’t asked Jerry how he got the list. Or about the legality of him using it. Teachers placed a high value on confidentiality––understandably––and it wasn’t difficult to justify having the list in his possession. He didn’t intend anyone harm. It wasn’t like he had their home addresses and was harassing them in their living rooms. But he would do whatever it took to find Jill. There were almost a hundred names on the list, in thirty-eight school districts.
“Somebody has to remember something,” he said. “Surely someone at the conference talked to Jill. Even if they didn’t think their conversation was significant, there might be something that would hold a clue. And I want to talk to people––while they still might remember.”
Shelley nodded, the crease in her brow remaining. But she surprised him with her next words. “Let me go with you. I might pick up on some clues you wouldn’t.”
He hated the truth of that. But she was right. Not only because his wife had confided secrets to Shelley that Jill had kept from him, but because Shelley was more sensitive and intuitive than he was. He had to admit that she would be a valuable asset in what he hoped to accomplish.
“I plan on coming back home each evening by a different route. It will mean long days. But I want to accomplish as much as possible with the few days I have. I was hoping to leave at sunrise every morning. And keep looking till after dark.”
“That’s okay with me.”
He studied her for a long moment. “How are you going to get off work, Shelley? Haven’t you used up all your vacation time already?”
“Don’t worry about that. Can I come or not?”
He wanted to say yes. She would be an asset. And she was right––they could take TP with them.
Something told him to say no, but before he could examine why, he nodded. “Yes. If you’re sure you can get off work. I’ve already made phone calls to some of the teachers on the list. I think we can talk to the rest in four days––and cover at least some of the roads I mapped out in the process. But I need to go during the week––when school is in session. You’d miss at least three days of work, unless you were supposed to work Saturday. Then you’d miss four. I thought I could talk to people Wednesday through Friday. Take a different route each day. Then Saturday, if you come with me, we’ll see where we are.”
She waved away his question. “I can get off.”
“You’re sure?” He sighed. “I’d really appreciate having you along. We can cover more territory if there are two of us to talk to people.”
“I’m glad there’s something I can do to help.”
“Okay then . . . Let’s do it.”
That earned him a smile.
“I’d like to leave as soon as it’s light Wednesday morning. Around seven or so? We probably won’t be able to get hold of anyone at the schools until around nine, but we can drive to the farthest point on our route and then choose our routes back each night––starting with the ones she was mostly likely to have taken.”
“Sounds good . . . I’ll be ready.”
Something about her demeanor restored a hope he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Chapter 19
Tuesday, January 11
Shelley worked until eight Tuesday night, and it was well after dark when she got home. She quickly went through the house, turning on lamps. She hated how early the sun went down now that winter was here. She’d always hated the darkness, but
it seemed to have taken on a more sinister quality since Jill had gone missing.
It startled her to realize how much time had passed since that awful day. She’d arranged to take the rest of the week off from work, even though her boss was not very happy about the idea. In a show of good faith, she’d stayed after closing tonight, and promised Jaclyn she would work after hours next week taking down the New Year’s displays and putting out the rest of the Valentine’s merchandise.
She pushed away the thoughts of work and let a twinge of excitement rise as she thought about a road trip with Mitch tomorrow. But she quickly checked her thoughts.
She changed clothes and went back to the kitchen and pulled the recipe box from a top cupboard. She’d been planning to make cookies to take to work. Valentine’s cookies, since they were gearing up for the February holidays at the store. She could make the cookies and pack a lunch to take on the road with Mitch tomorrow instead.
But one look at the pink-iced heart-shaped cookies pictured in the recipe book, and she realized how awkward that would be, given the nature of the holiday––let alone given the nature of her feelings for Mitch.
“Okay, oatmeal it is,” she said. Her voice echoed in the empty kitchen.
She had to keep reminding herself that no matter how solemn the purpose for their trip, she couldn’t deny that she was eager to spend time with Mitch. Alone with him.
She felt like a traitor even thinking such thoughts. And even worse, the truth was she had very little hope that Jill was alive after all this time. She had nightmares imagining what might have happened to her friend, and as much as she wished she could muster the kind of hope Mitch had, something––something that seemed beyond simple intuition––seemed to tell her that Jill was gone.
But whether Mitch truly still had hope or simply needed closure, she was glad he’d agreed to let her come along. If she were to play armchair psychologist, she’d say that Mitch had worked through his initial anger and fear, and now the emotions he wrestled with were bewilderment and confusion. No one––least of all her––could, or should, rush him through the grief process before he was ready. And the strange circumstances of Jill’s situation probably complicated the grieving process. He needed to get through this in his own time.
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