Page 6 of Ten Years Later
“A lot of people have birthmarks.”
“In the exact location and the exact color?”
Detective Sparks let out a long breath. “Tell you what. . . Give me the name of the school and the girl’s description. If something pans out, I’ll let you know.”
Back in the truck, Keaton played Zane’s message.
“What in the hell, Keaton? I cannot believe you didn’t show. They wanted to meet both of us, seeing as howyouare going to paint the mural in their primary suite. In case you forgot, I’m not the artist, you are. I’m the one who paints the boring one-color walls. I am so pissed at you. Oh, in case you can’t tell from the tone of my voice, WE DIDN’T GET THE JOB.”
Keaton deleted the message. Next, he played the one from his mom.
“The funeral is tomorrow. It’s not often I put my foot down with you, but you need to go. Despite everything, Cora’s mom did love you.”
He deleted that message, too, and drove home.
In the living room, Keaton opened his ancient laptop. It took several long minutes to boot. While he waited, he grabbed a Coke and an energy bar. He stood eating the vanilla meal replacement and staring at a photo stuck to the refrigerator. Taken one month before Vivian disappeared, it showed the two of them, their cheeks pressed tight, grinning for the camera as they made pancakes.
Cora took that picture here in this kitchen.
Keaton noted his closely cropped hair and clean-shaven face. It’d been a long time since he’d seen that man.
Back in the living room, the laptop stirred to life. He searched “Campbell School, Ponte Vedra.” He browsed every tab, finding no pictures of the girl with dark hair.
He clicked on the Community Involvement tab. As he drank several swallows of his coke, he browsed the paragraphs and listings. In bold he read,Volunteers needed in every department. Underneath that was a list:
Mathematics
English
History
Art
Keaton narrowed in on that last one, his thoughts churning.
In the bathroom, he found scissors, clippers, and razors. For the first time in years, he gave himself a proper haircut and a shave. He didn’t even nick himself once. In the medicine cabinet he located a bottle of old cologne. He sprayed it, surprised it still smelled decent.
Then he dressed in nice slacks, a shirt and tie, found his portfolio under the bed covered in dust, and drove to Campbell School.
This time Keaton parked in a visitor’s spot. Being close to four in the afternoon, he assumed school got out soon.
Nerves clenched his stomach as he walked across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a marching band played.
