THE NEWS OF Kelly Conroe’s disappearance spread through Granite Falls like a virus, leaping from one house to another, transmitted partly over the telephone wires, but also by people — adults and teenagers alike — who darted out of their houses to dash next door, or down the block, or even a street or two away to tell their friends what had happened. As with all stories that spread through small towns, the facts, what few there were, were soon tainted with speculation, rumor, and gossip. The simple truth — that Kelly Conroe was late coming home and that her parents had so far been unable to locate her — was far too prosaic to be passed along unadorned. So with each telling of the tale, each iteration of the facts as the teller had heard them, a detail was expanded upon, a speculation added, an interpretation mixed in.
“She just vanished, right after school!” Sarah Balfour’s mother hadn’t intentionally misinterpreted her daughter’s report that Kelly had ignored her invitation to go for a Coke after song-leading practice. It was simply that Sarah was involved with so many things that Elaine Balfour had long ago come to think of “after school” as beginning at four-thirty or five, rather than ten past three.
“She didn’t speak to anyone all day!” Marge Carson, who heard the story from Elaine Balfour, had no idea that it was only at song-leading practice that Kelly’s friends had noticed she’d appeared distracted. She had no idea that Kelly had gone to song-leading practice at all.
“Everyone says Matt Moore had something to do with it!” That had started with Heather Pullman, who overheard her father’s side of the conversation when Gerry Conroe finally made good on his threat to call the police chief. “Mr. Conroe thinks Matt must have done something to her,” she’d whispered to Tiffany Vail, a chill running through her as she imagined what “something” might be. She hung up when she felt her father’s eyes on her, but it was too late.
“You know you’re never to repeat anything you hear me talking about,” he told her as he unplugged her telephone.
Though it was well-intended, Dan Pullman’s suspension of his daughter’s telephone privileges accomplished nothing, for the speculation on Matt Moore’s role in Kelly’s disappearance had begun even before Tiffany Vail passed it on to Sarah Balfour and all the rest of the song-leaders.
Gossip and the grapevine acted as prosecutor and jury, and as the story spread, the assumption that Matt Moore was involved pervaded everything.
“Everyone knows she broke up with him.”
“Everyone knows he was trying to get her back.”
“Everyone knows he killed his stepfather.”
Everyone knows… everyone knows… everyone knows…
An hour after Nancy Conroe began looking for Kelly, the disease had infected nearly everyone in Granite Falls, and nearly everyone agreed on what had happened.
Kelly Conroe had tried to break up with Matt Moore, and Matt refused to accept it. So after school he followed her, and when she refused even to speak to him, he’d “done something” to her.
No one would say he “killed” her, rather than “done something” to Kelly, but it didn’t matter. Everybody knew exactly what everybody else meant.
“Well, I don’t believe it,” Becky Adams announced. She’d been surprised when Eric Holmes came to the back door ten minutes earlier. Even though the Holmes family had lived next door for most of her life, and she and Eric grew up together, they’d never been friends.
Not like Matt and Kelly were friends, anyway.
Becky’s mother constantly speculated on how wonderful it would be if she eventually married the boy next door, but Becky knew it was never going to happen; Eric had always been part of a group that barely acknowledged her existence. So when he knocked at the back door, she’d been immediately suspicious, and as she listened to his version of Kelly’s disappearance, her suspicion coagulated into anger. “I don’t care what anybody says. Matt wouldn’t hurt Kelly. He wouldn’t hurt anybody!”
Eric rolled his eyes scornfully. “I was there the day he killed his dad, Becky!”
“Nobody even knows if he killed Mr. Hapgood,” Becky flared. “They don’t even know if it was Matt’s gun.”
“I’m telling you, I know what happened!” Eric shot back. “And what about his grandma?”
Becky’s expression hardened. “Nobody knows what happened to Mrs. Moore, so why are you and your friends saying Matt had something to do with it?”
“If he didn’t have anything to do with anything, how come he’s acting so weird?”
Becky’s fury grew. “How would you be acting if all your friends were treating you the way you’re treating Matt? I thought you were supposed to be his best friend! I thought — ” Before she could finish, Pete Arenson pushed through the hedge that separated the Adams’ backyard from Eric’s. “What do
Pete barely even glanced at her. “You ready?” he asked Eric.
“Ready for what?” Becky asked.
“Pete and I are going to look for Kelly,” Eric told her.
Becky stared at the two boys she had known all her life and wondered why she’d ever wanted to be part of their crowd. But she knew why: because Matt was part of it. But not anymore. All the people Matt thought were his friends had turned their backs on him.
Suddenly Becky no longer wanted to be part of that group. “Jerks,” she said, not aware that she was speaking out loud.
“What?” Eric said. “What did you say?”
Becky flushed with embarrassment, but it quickly vanished. “I said you’re both jerks,” she repeated. “I thought you were Matt’s friends, but you’re not. If you were really his friends, you’d know he couldn’t have done any of the things you think he did. He couldn’t have hurt his dad or his grandmother, and there’s no way he could have done anything to Kelly!”
Eric Holmes stared balefully at Becky. “We may be jerks,” he said, “but at least we’re not stupid.” A moment later he and Pete Arneson were gone, disappearing into the night.
CHAPTER 19
“SO WHERE DO you think he took her?” Eric Holmes asked as Pete Arneson revved the engine of his BMW. Though the car had been new the year before Pete was born, he loved it as much as if it had come off the assembly line last week, and for a moment, listening to the purr of the motor, he ignored Eric’s question.
“Do you hear a valve clattering?” he asked, cocking his head as he concentrated on the car’s rumble.
“How would I know what a valve sounds like? I’m gonna be a lawyer, not a mechanic. And if we’re going to go look for Kelly, let’s do it, okay?” As Pete pulled away from the curb, Eric repeated the question he’d asked a moment ago. This time Pete grinned at him, the pale glow of the halogen street lamps making the twisting of his lips look almost cruel.
“Same place he took his grandmother.”
“They haven’t even found his grandmother,” Eric reminded his friend, but Pete shrugged the question off.
“They found her slippers, didn’t they? Just because they didn’t find her body doesn’t mean anything — all they did was look in the stream and under the falls. Matt could have buried her out there, and the grave would be so covered with leaves nobody’d ever notice it.”
Eric wasn’t so sure. “I heard they took dogs out there. If the dogs didn’t find anything, how come you’re so sure — ”
“Look, do you want to do this, or not? Because if you don’t, I can take you back to your house and go by myself.”
