by Nic Joseph
“Ready for today?” I asked. “Sorry we didn’t get to talk yesterday about how things went.”
“It was cool,” she said.
“I know a new school is never easy—”
“It’s not a big deal,” she said, eyes wide, raising both hands to stop me. “I don’t need the lecture.”
“Of course it’s a big deal. New classes, new teachers, new friends…”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”
“Okay…” I took a deep breath. “Well, look, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
She seemed to think for a moment before nodding. “Actually, me too.”
I paused. “Really? Okay, you first.”
It wasn’t stalling. It was polite.
“Well, I was wondering—and it’s no big deal if not…”
“What?”
“Well, you know that hashtag campaign for Matthew Farr? The missing boy?”
My chest tightened, and I tried to keep my expression neutral.
“Oh, right. Of course.”
“I was wondering if you thought about doing any articles on him. Something a little more in-depth than what’s out there. See, I have some really cool ideas for how to mobilize people to get out and look for him. I just think we could do more, you know?”
I swallowed. “Oh,” I said. “Well, you know, the paper already has someone who’s covering it.”
“You mean the piece they had yesterday? It was total crap. It was the same information they already had on Channel 3, repurposed. Who wrote that?”
“Her name is Cynthia Green. She’s actually really good at her job—”
“Come on, Dad. You could do better than that. Matthew has been missing for almost a week now. We need someone to really dig into it and not be afraid to ask the hard questions of the Lansing police. What do you think?”
I recognized the ambush way too late, and I stood there with my jaw open, struggling to come up with a reasonable response.
And knowing it sure as hell wasn’t time to dive into Scroll family history.
“Well, I’m not sure I can—”
“You could try.”
“I mean, I could ask, but—”
“It’s not that hard, Dad,” she said. “He’s missing. Can you imagine what that little boy is going through?”
I blinked, stunned by how passionate she was.
Amazed and impressed.
But also terrified.
“Look,” she said, grabbing her bag off the couch and heading toward the door. “Are you going to write a story, yes or no?”
“Well, it’s more complicated than that.”
“No, it’s not,” she said as she opened the front door and spun around. “It’s just a suggestion. I thought maybe you’d be able to pitch something better, something that will actually help us find him. But maybe I should try another paper.”
“Amy—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m going to the library after school, so don’t wait for me for dinner.” With that, she left.
Shit.
In my mind, I ran after her and said something, anything, because anything would have been better than standing there and pretending like there was nothing else to say.
In reality, though, I stood there with my feet glued to the floor, my self-respect waning with every second that passed.
After a few moments, I pulled myself together and reached for my phone. I dialed Detective Jeffries again, pretty sure I was close to using up all my favors.
“Can you get me the info for a Detective Younger?” I asked.
“Younger,” he said slowly. “He retired a long time ago, but I think I have his number.” He gave it to me, but before I could hang up the phone, he asked, “Any news? You find Alex?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But thanks a lot. I think I’m getting closer.”
I dialed the phone number, and a man answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Um, this is Francis Scroll. Am I speaking with Ken Younger?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and I thought he’d hung up.
“Hello?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. The way he said it reminded me of his measured demeanor in the hallway outside my parents’ bedroom.
“Do you remember me?”
“I do,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“I was wondering if you had time to meet with me later today. I know it’s really short notice and out of the blue—but it’s important.”
“About your father, right?”
He wasn’t beating around the bush, so why should I? “Yes.”
“All right,” he said after a moment. “Meet me at Lady Beth’s on Carmen and Jeffery. You know where that is?”
“I can find it,” I said. “Thank you.”
I was finishing getting dressed when my front buzzer rang.
Walking quickly to the intercom, I pushed the button, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Cam.”
I relaxed and buzzed her in before walking over to my front door and cracking it open. Stepping back into the living room, I flung the couch pillows into place and grabbed a plate off the living room table. I was putting it in the sink when I heard Cam’s voice call out.
“Francis?”
“Hey,” I said, walking out of the kitchen.
“Hey.” She stood in the entryway. She was covered from head to toe in winter gear, her hat pulled low over her eyes, her peacoat stopping midcalf. Her bright-purple scarf was still wrapped around her mouth. She would punch me if I said it out loud, but she looked adorable. She was holding a Dunkin’ Donuts bag in her hand and a tray with two coffees. “I was heading to the office, and I stopped to get breakfast. I got your usual too and was back in the car before I realized you weren’t coming in. I decided to drop it off.”
I moved closer and took the food from her. “Thanks a lot. Really. Will you stay and eat?”
“Nah, I have to get going.”
“You came all this way just to drop this off?” I asked with a smile.
She shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she said, shifting the scarf away from her mouth. “How are you holding up?”
The words “I’m fine” were on the tip of my tongue, but they wouldn’t fall out. I was pulled back to the moment outside my father’s cabin when I wanted to tell her everything and didn’t.
With her standing in front of me, her eyes wide and filled with concern, I didn’t stand a chance.
“I’m falling apart,” I whispered.
She took a deep breath. “I know. That’s why I came. I’d be worried if you weren’t falling apart. It’s allowed, you know. You’re allowed to lose it over something like this.”
I nodded.
Cam placed a hand on my arm. “I’m not going to tell you not to keep searching for him because I know that’s what you have to do,” she said. “But make sure you’re eating and sleeping and spending some time with Amy. Okay? You’re no good to Matthew or Alex or anyone else if you fall apart.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
After Cam left, I downed the sandwich she’d brought me and finished getting ready before grabbing my jacket and heading out the door. On the way out, I grabbed the stack of photos of Matthew and Sam that I’d taken from my father’s cabin. I stared at their faces, father and son, and the love evident in their eyes was breathtaking. Shoving the pictures into my pocket, I bolted out the door.
• • •
Thirty minutes later, I turned onto Principal Murray’s street. I pulled up in front of her condo and parked the car. It was a large, modern building, and it was clear to me that she wasn’t doing too poorly on her principal’s salary. I got o
ut of my car and walked up to the front door to ring her buzzer.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Murray, it’s Francis Scroll.”
There was a pause, and then I heard the buzzer. I walked into the building and moved quickly past the elevators. I took the stairs up to the fourth floor.
She was standing at her front door when I came out of the stairwell. I struggled to breathe normally, but the four flights had winded me. She looked different than she had in the office the previous day. She wore a pair of jeans and a tank top, and her long hair was around her shoulders. She was in her midforties, but from a distance, she passed for a woman of twenty-eight or twenty-nine.
She smiled as I approached, but it wasn’t a kind smile.
“That’s what took you so long. There’s nothing wrong with the elevator, you know.”
“I know,” I said, stopping that line of conversation before it went any further. “Thank you for meeting with me. I will only take a few minutes of your time.”
“Of course.” She stepped back to allow me to enter. I walked inside and marveled at how beautiful her apartment was. It was tastefully decorated, and everything seemed tailor-made for the space. No item was out of place, almost like no one lived in the apartment.
I was always impressed by people who were able to keep apartments like that, free of clutter, mail, or dishes. As if their homes came out of a home-and-garden magazine. I wondered if they actually kept their homes that way or if they pushed all of their junk in a closet whenever they were having a visitor.
“No problem,” she said, looking at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. “I remembered your name when I got your message. I met you in the office on Sunday, though I think you used a different name.”
It was a simple statement, not a request for a response, and I nodded. Before I could come up with an explanation, she continued speaking.
“I’m not sure what exactly I can help you with. You seemed so urgent in your messages that I made this time for you, but I really don’t have long. So, I would offer you coffee, but I’m sure you understand…”
“No, thank you,” I said.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Scroll?”
“I am looking into the Matthew Farr case.”
She nodded. “Yes, I figured as much. It’s all we can talk about or think about. It’s so sad. Though, again, I’m not sure I can tell you much. And we’ve been urged not to talk to the press.”
“I’m here unrelated to my work at the News,” I said.
“I see. Still, you’d do better speaking with his teachers. They know him a lot better than I do.”
“Well, if you don’t mind me getting right to the point—”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“—that’s not what I’ve heard from some of the teachers.”
It was as if I’d slapped her. Her eyes widened briefly, and she leaned back against the counter. “Wow. So I guess when you said get straight to the point, you decided there was no need at all for any type of pleasantries, huh?”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t apologize. Look, I don’t know Matthew Farr very well at all,” she said, “contrary to what you may have heard from someone else. I tend to know the troublemakers around school, and Matt was far from that.”
“Matt?”
She frowned. “Yes, it’s a common nickname for Matthew, Mr. Scroll. Just what are you here for? Since we’re not beating around the bush anymore.”
“I’ve been told by some of the teachers, and I won’t name them—”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“—that there have been some concerns in the past about your interactions with some of the students, and that Matthew Farr’s name has come up.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “I can’t believe you would come into my home and speak to me like that with a straight face. It’s appalling, really.”
There was something in her expression, something I couldn’t quite read, but it was almost…
Amusement?
“I don’t mean to offend,” I said, watching her carefully. “I only intend to get some more information from you about these accusations so I can put this to rest and move on to the next lead. Is that fair?”
“Absolutely not. But I will answer any questions you want before asking you to kindly leave my apartment and never come back.”
“Can you explain your relationship with Matthew Farr?”
“I told you. I’m the principal at his school, and he is a student there. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I’m told he worked with you on some of the school programs.”
“A lot of students have. I’m sorry to say that I don’t get to work closely with all of the students who sign up for projects, but I’m grateful to every single one of them, and I let them and their parents know that.”
“Would it be fair to say that you spent more time with him than you have with some of the other students?”
“Sure. More than some, less than others,” she said.
“How about Todd King?”
Her eyes narrowed, and her cool demeanor faltered for a minute. “That’s an incident I don’t wish to—nor do I have to—discuss with you. It’s been put to rest, and everyone involved knows I did nothing wrong. I care about my students, Todd included, but I won’t let you or anyone else make it out to be something vile.”
She tapped her foot quickly, and I could tell that mentioning the boy’s name had made her uncomfortable.
“Can you tell me where you were last Wednesday between three and four o’clock p.m.?”
She paused, and I could see that for the first time in the conversation, I’d said something to truly throw her off. She’d expected the questions about her relationship with Matthew, and maybe even Todd, even though she’d pretended to be appalled.
But this had surprised her.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You came here because you think I had something to do with Matthew’s disappearance? I swear, those teachers can gossip, but this is beneath them. For your information, I was working on a fund-raiser. At my church.”
“You were there the whole day?”
She bristled. “From nine o’clock a.m. until about seven o’clock p.m. It’s our largest fund-raiser, so it takes a lot of my time. That day, and today, are the only two days I’ve taken off all year. It’s actually where I’m going after this.”
“And there is someone who can vouch that you were there?”
“I cannot believe you’re asking me these questions. Like I’m some sort of punk and this is an episode of Law & Order. That child is nine years old, and what you’re insinuating is not only inappropriate, it’s disgusting. But yes, there are about thirty ‘someones’ who will tell you I was at the church.”
“Okay,” I said.
She gave me the name of the church, and I thanked her for her time.
As I turned to leave, she stopped me. “You don’t think there was another way you could have gone about getting the information you wanted without coming here to accuse me of something so horrible and embarrassing me this way?”
It was a fair question, and I couldn’t help but think back to my conversations with Kira Jones.
Twice in two days I had been accused of being a jerk.
“All that matters to me is finding the kid,” I said.
“Yes, I see,” she said. “Well, I can tell you this. I will find out what teachers are responsible for this little visit. And it won’t be a great day for them when I do. So it’s nice that you have a singular focus on finding Matthew Farr,” she said, “but don’t make the mistake of thinking you can do or say anything you want while you’re playing detective, Mr. Scroll. Everything has consequences.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I drove away from Principa
l Murray’s apartment, replaying our conversation over in my head. She was hiding something, that was for sure, but I didn’t think she had anything to do with Matthew Farr’s disappearance.
And where the hell did she get off judging me?
I was just trying to do the right thing.
Right?
I checked my watch and headed toward Lady Beth’s to meet Detective Younger. I pulled up outside and parked the car, just a couple of minutes before eleven.
I walked into the restaurant, scanning the room for any sign of Younger. I had a picture in my mind of what he looked like, but of course, he could have changed a lot in the past twenty years.
“Sit anywhere you like,” the host said with a huge smile on his face, and I nodded. I looked at the faces of the other diners, but no one stood out, and more importantly, no one looked up as I made my way through the tables. I chose a booth by the window and sat down.
“Can I get you something while you wait?” a woman said, approaching with a menu.
“Just a coffee.”
She nodded and walked away.
I didn’t have to wait long. About a minute or two later, the door to the restaurant opened, and a man walked in. Immediately, I knew it was him. It wasn’t just because he looked the same—stern features, intense gaze, and lanky stride—but there was something in his expression that took me straight back to that night twenty-three years ago when he practically dragged me out of my parents’ bathroom. We stared at each other, and he nodded slightly before making his way to my table.
“Francis,” he said, shaking my hand before sliding into the booth. His handshake was assertive and firm. “Long time.” He was wearing a long wool coat, much like the one I remembered him in, and a tan scarf.
“Yes, it has been,” I said. “Thanks for coming to meet me.”
“No problem,” he said, looking up as the waitress approached with my coffee. “I’ll have one of those too,” he said, then he turned back to me. “So, where do we start?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I really just wanted to meet with you because I think you may be one of the few people who still keeps in touch with my father. I’m hoping that means you have some sort of clue about where he might be.”
