Page 34 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

She lets out a howl of a cry. “Eddie and I can’t find her.”

I pull Susan in for a hug and hold her tightly. A missing child is every parent’s worst nightmare—and although it’s not happening to me, I’m terrified.

“What is it?” Brian’s voice calls out.

I glance over my shoulder to find him standing behind me with a look of bewilderment. “They can’t find Emma.” Suddenly, I’m crying too.

Brian shoves his feet into his work boots, forgoing lacing them up, and grabs the keys to his truck. “Did you call the police?”

Susan lets go of me and nods several times. “They’re on their way.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” he asks. His eyes are slits, focusing on Susan, waiting for her response.

“I don’t know.” Her voice is basically a whisper. “Sometime at the fundraiser, after the sack race but before the egg toss, I think. Her bike is missing too. She was there and then I assumed... I... I don’t know what I assumed. I was so preoccupied with everything. I should have been watching her. I should have never taken my eyes off of her. But Allen’s Grove is a small town and nothing bad happens here. It’s safe.” Susan cries harder.

Anything can happen anywhere at any time. That’s the thought that crosses my mind, but I don’t say it out loud.

“It’s not your fault,” I say instead, rubbing my hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her, but I know the only comfort will come from bringing Emma home. “We’re going to find her. She’s probably just out riding her bike.”

“What’s going on?” Beth asks, standing just behind her father. Her eyes are wide, darting between me and Susan. Nicole and Michael are positioned beside her, giving me the same look.

“When was the last time any of you saw Emma?” I ask.

Beth answers first, “At the fundraiser.”

“When she won the sack race,” Nicole adds.

Michael nods. “The water balloon toss,” he says. “Her team got second place.”

The image of Emma slapping her knee and giggling at her joke of being better than the boys comes to mind. The First Place blue ribbon pinned to her shirt. The orange mood ring adorning her small finger. And then her sprinting away to compete in another game, determined to win all the contests.

“Where’s Lucas?” Beth asks.

“He’s out looking for her.” Susan sniffles, trying to compose herself, but it’s no use. There is no composure in these situations.

Beth slips on her tennis shoes and asks, “Where?”

“He went to check the nature trail,” Susan says.

“Can I go?” Beth’s eyes dart to me. They’re almost pleading. I know she wants to comfort Lucas, to be there for him, to help him. They’re a package deal, have been for years.

“Take Nicole with you and stay together. I mean it.”

The two of them nod, and within thirty seconds, they’re bolting out the door with Nicole trailing behind.

“I’m going to drive around and see if I spot her,” Brian says, planting a quick kiss on the side of my head. He places his hand on Susan’s shoulder. “We’re going to find her.”

She nods but the tears still fall. Brian leaves quickly with Michael following him.

“Let’s go back to your house and wait for the police to arrive,” I say to Susan, steering her out the door. She nods again, but I don’t think she’s listening. I hope Emma is out just riding her bike, and that she’ll walk through their door with a smile on her face and some fun stories of her adventures. But something deep in my gut tells me otherwise.

TWENTY

BETH

Nicole hasn’t said a word to me the whole ride home. She’s mad that I thought she was trying to score drugs. Can she blame me? A memory from a year ago comes to mind: Nicole banging on my front door, demanding money. I stood still on the other side listening to her scream and cry and thrash. A car idled in my driveway. Someone, not a friend, maybe another junkie had driven her to my house. When I didn’t answer, she kicked the door repeatedly, calling me every name in the book, even threatening my life if I didn’t give in to her demands. I ignored her because it wasn’t her. It was her addiction. Then she picked up one of my flowerpots and threw it across the porch. She tossed another one into my front yard. She smashed the wooden rocking chair, a gift Mom had gotten me from a rummage sale, one of the last presents she ever gave me. The minutes stretched on until she finally tired herself out and left in the car she’d arrived in. I didn’t see her again until the day our mom died.

I blink several times, leaving the memory in the past, and look over at her. She stares out the passenger-side window. I would wonder what she’s thinking about, but I already know. The case file rests in her lap. I’m surprised she hasn’t started reading through it. I figured she’d be anxious to, but maybe she’s scared of what she’ll find.

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