Page 54 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

Michael raises a brow. “But whydidhe have Emma’s belongings in his house?”

I scan the report in front of me. “He had toys and outerwear that belonged to a number of children in the neighborhood. Things they left behind while playing at the park. The police failed to disclose that in their report.”

“And when was he arrested?” Michael asks.

I flip back to the beginning of the arrest report. “November 1, 1999.”

“But those shoe prints in his yard wouldn’t have still been there,” Michael says.

“According to the case file, those shoe prints were discovered in the days after Emma went missing. Charles was asked about it and denied even seeing her that day and said it wasn’t uncommon for kids to walk through his yard. The police concluded he wasn’t a likely suspect, that is until an anonymous tip came in over four months later from someone claiming they saw Charles interact with Emma the day she vanished. After that, the police zeroed in on him,” I explain.

“Let me get this straight, Charles was arrested for Emma’s disappearance on November 1, and Christie went missing October 26.” He looks to me not for confirmation on the date, but to confirm I’m listening to him. “So, he was out when she disappeared?”

I slowly nod.

“The timing is suspicious,” Michael says.

“Not really.” Beth shakes her head. “We know he didn’t have anything to do with Emma.”

“We don’t know that,” he says with a shrug.

Michael’s face is concrete and stoic like he’s trying to be a shield for our parents’ memory, one that separates the now from the past. Beth has a look of determination mixed with indifference as though she wants to know the truth but also knows she can’t handle it.

“And what about the break-in?” Beth asks.

I give Michael a strained look, hoping he’ll keep his promise and won’t tell her that it was a drug dealer I owed money to who broke into this house. If she knew, I’m not sure what she would do.

“What about it?” Michael says, almost flippantly. I know then he’s going to keep his word.

“It couldn’t have been random,” she says.

“It could have been. Word had already gotten around that Mom had passed. Maybe someone saw it as an opportunity to burglarize the place. You can’t really steal from the dead.” He tilts his head, holding eye contact.

Beth twists up her lips and studies his face like she’s deciding whether or not his explanation makes sense. I’m about to chime in, but Michael beats me to it.

“And what ever happened to Charles?” he asks, officially changing the subject.

I breathe a sigh of relief and flip through several more pages in the report. I remember something about the case falling apart, but I can’t recall.

Before I find the answer in the file, Beth speaks first. “The case against him was dropped.”

“How is that possible?” Michael squints.

“Yeah,” I add. “Especially given his confession and the police finding Emma’s belongings in his house and her shoe prints tracked through his yard.”

Michael’s eyes swing to the tape set on the VCR. “Plus, no one but us has ever seen that tape.”

“Unless someone else saw it,” Beth says.

I glance at the faded newspaper clippings that detail Christie Roberts’s disappearance. The edges are straight and even. Mom cut each one out with precision like she planned on saving them for a lifetime. Or maybe she saved them for us.

TWENTY-NINE

LAURA

DECEMBER 2, 1999

The snow falls like it has no place to go, drifting aimlessly as though it’s trying to float for as long as it possibly can. But it will eventually touch the ground. We all do.

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