The bed held her like a coffin. Despite all that had gone on in Cherrystone, Emily slept more soundly that night than she had in a week. She'd laid her head on the pillow and the next moment the alarm clock beeped to wake her. The merlot, she thought. Better than knockout drops. She put on the thinning white terry robe she'd taken home from the hotel in Cabo San Lucas where she and David had honeymooned. They'd been so happy. It hadn't all been fury and vitriol. The man that made her angrier than any other had also been the love of her life. She couldn't bear to toss the robe, even though it was frayed at the cuffs. Her wedding ring was buried deep in her jewelry box, never to be worn again, but not the robe.
She padded down the hall toward the kitchen. Passing her daughter's room, she knocked once. 'Jenna, get up! Kiplinger's on TV in ten minutes or so. I'll make coffee'
The kitchen was still a mess, but Emily could deal with that. She turned on the burr grinder and it made its interminable racket. Fresh ground coffee never smelled so good. She imagined Kiplinger getting his big handsome face powdered by some assistant provided by the Spokane ABC affiliate, where he was going to appear via satellite.
'Jenna!' She called once more, as she filled the filter with the dark roast that smelled heavenly at that hour. Always did. She poured distilled water in the reservoir and flipped the switch. The machine rumbled.
Diane Sawyer, all sunny and blond, was on the tube, talking about Cherrystone and the twister that miraculously had killed no one, but now the town was the scene of a murder investigation.
The show broke for the local Spokane weather.
Good, it was just a tease, telling the audience what was coming after the next commercial break. She hadn't missed the sheriff.
Emily hurried down the hall and pushed open the door. Jenna's room was empty. The bed made. She looked at her watch. It was almost seven. Shali must have come to get her early. It passed through her mind that earlier this week Jenna had mentioned something about posters and banners needing to be put up at school.
'First a devastating tornado and now a small town in Washington State is reeling with a mysterious homicide.'
It was Diane Sawyer talking.
Emily, her robe flapping as she ran to the living room, fixed her eyes on the TV screen.
Brian Kiplinger stared into the camera. Or stared at something. Emily couldn't be sure what he was looking at. His eyes looked around nervously. He nodded like a doll with a spring neck as Diane coolly asked what was known about the Martin family.
'This is a good family. The kid was troubled. We're not sure what happened, but we think the answers will be uncovered once we find him. I have my best detective on the case'
Nice, Emily thought, a shout out from the sheriff. Of course, I'm the only detective so that makes me the best by default.
'What theories do you have about what might have happened?' Sawyer asked.
'We don't know. We don't speculate. But we do want to find Nicholas Martin.' His eyes darted in search of a place to focus, and the camera mercifully cut to a high school yearbook picture of Nicholas. Unsmiling, with his dark locks and spooky blue eyes, Nichols did look troubled. 'He's not a suspect, but he is a person of interest.' Kiplinger's face came back into view. Sawyer thanked him and as the camera cut away, he continued to talk, thanking her for the opportunity to be on her show, but the sound was cut off.
Emily made a mental note to tell him he did a great joband that he could have the next biggie when it came to interviews. She didn't need the grief.
Emily poured her coffee and given the state of the world, the effects of the wine from the night before, and what was facing her that day with the Martin investigation, she used the steaming brew to swallow three aspirins. No cream in the coffee that morning. She still needed the buzz.
A familiar horn beeped from the driveway. It was Shalimar Patterson's VW bug. The girls must have forgotten some thing. Emily wished they'd come back ten minutes sooner; they'd have seen Kiplinger's media debut.
The horn honked again and Emily went to the door. Not wanting the neighbors seeing her in her bathrobe, she stuck her head out.
'Hey Mrs. Kenyon,' Shali called from the open driver's window, 'tell your daughter to get her butt out here'
'What? Jenna's not home. I thought she was with you'
'Here I am. And she's not here?' She turned off the ignition and the VW coughed until the engine stopped. 'Where is the weirdo?'
Emily ignored Shali and hurried down the hall. The bed was made. The desk light was on. Jenna wasn't in her bathroom. Everything there was in its place. She looked in the shower stall and it was dry. She touched a towel. Dry.
'Where is she?' It was Shali Patterson, who must have let herself inside.
Emily tried to stay calm.
'Did she say anything to you? Did she have a meeting at school this morning? Early?'
Shali Patterson stood frozen, searching her memory for something that she had probably screwed up. She never paid attention to anything.
'I don't know,' she finally said. Shali slumped down into the cushioned desk chair in front of the pink computer. Its dark empty screen stared at her like an enormous blank eye.
'Think. Think, Shali. This isn't like her. You know it.' Could Shali see panic starting to emerge on her face?
'I don't have a clue. She's Jenna. She probably went jogging or something.' Now Shali was looking panicky.
'That's an idea,' Emily said, realizing now that she was scaring the girl.
Right now, she was scared witless. It was one thing to have some kid missing from the mall, but with the Polly Klaas case had come an indelible marker in the annals of crime. Parents across America had learned that brazen lowlife creeps driven by the need to fulfill their twisted needs will go right into a little girl's bedroom to get what they want. No fear. No worries. Just a way to get what they want.
Emily was jumping to conclusions and she knew better. Facts first, feeling second. The room was in perfect order. The window was shut and latched. She looked around. Jenna's pink Juicy sweats were hung on a peg. She hadn't gone for an early morning jog. And even though all of that was apparent, she didn't let on that her heart was pounding with fear.
'This is crazy,' she muttered. 'This is Jenna. There must be an explanation.'
Suddenly, Shali started to cry. 'Right. Yes. There is. Maybe I was supposed to meet her at school.' The teenager buried her face in her hands. As she did so, her elbows nudged the computer mouse. The screen sprang to life. Emily put her arms around Shali's shoulders and tried to comfort her.
'It's fine. There's nothing to worry about. We'll find her,' said Emily.
'Jenna has been a little off lately.'
'What do you mean?' Emily was startled.
Shali didn't answer. Her eyes were riveted to the computer screen, its ghastly blue glow casting a pall over her tear-streaked face.
'Mrs. Kenyon,' she said, her voice full of fear. She pointed to the screen.
Emily's eyes followed Shali's finger. A chat window had been left open. She bent closer and read each line
Batboy88: Don't give up on me.
Jengrrl: Never.
Batboy88: I messed up.
Jengrrl: We all do sometimes.
Batboy88: Yeah. But this is big.
Jengrrl: Where RU?
Batboy88: I'll meet U.
Jengrrl: Same place?
Batboy88: Y.
Jengrrl: When can you be there?
