questions about his missing mother-questions that might be answered now, by the discovery of human bones in a clearing in the woods.
Henry reached for the phone to call Maggie. But he couldn’t bring himself to dial her number. Maybe he should talk to Jones, tell him what he hadn’t told them years ago. But how could he say it now? That he was there that night, holding Marla Holt? How could he explain keeping that secret all these years, revealing it only now, when her bones turned up? How could he expose his terrible cowardice? He’d always wondered why Michael Holt had never mentioned that he was there, had never told the police or his father. Then he’d heard that Michael had no memory of the night and what had happened to his mother.
When the boy started high school, Henry feared that Michael would recognize him, that it would jog his memory. But the boy had never even seemed to notice him. He’d never had Michael in his AP history class. When they passed in the hall, the boy only glanced at him in blank unrecognition, even though they had lived in the same neighborhood for years.
But this was all so long ago. A lifetime, it seemed. Until that afternoon in the woods with Jones, it had been years since he’d thought about Marla. She was just another woman he’d wanted who remained out of reach.
His intercom buzzed.
“Mr. Ivy, Bethany Graves on line one.” He almost told his assistant, Bella, to take a message. But he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.
“Thanks, Bella.”
He took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “Ms. Graves? What can I do for you?”
She giggled a little, and he felt a warmth rise inside him.
“You sound so… like a principal,” she said.
He glanced over at the door. Bella was on the phone, probably talking to her boyfriend, who was a rookie cop with the Hollows PD. Bella was the one with the inside information about the bones found at the Chapel. And the girl, sweet and efficient as she was, never stopped talking.
“Sorry,” he said. He allowed himself a smile. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”
“Me, too,” she said. “I was just wondering about allergies. Or if there’s anything you
“Nope,” he said. “I’m wide open.”
He wasn’t going to tell her that he was nearly a vegetarian, eating meat less than once a month. He didn’t love spicy foods; they made him sweat unattractively and go red in the face. He tried to avoid dairy. Certain wines gave him heartburn. Women didn’t like it when you were fussy about food.
“Good,” she said. “Food is life.”
“So true,” he said. He liked that; he did think it was true.
“I had another reason for calling.” Her tone dropped, went more serious. He prepared himself for whatever disappointment was coming.
“Oh?”
“Do you know Cole Carr well?” she asked. “The boy from the woods the other afternoon?”
“He’s new to the school,” Henry said. “But he does fine. All of his teachers seem to think he’s a good kid, if a little reticent and withdrawn. Why?”
“Well, he stood Willow up last night. He was supposed to come by and never did. She’s crushed.”
Henry glanced at the boy’s name on the screen, the two red absence marks by his name. “I was just about to call his family. He’s been out of school for the last couple of days. Maybe he’s sick. Or there’s some family emergency. The parents haven’t called.”
There was a pause on the line.
“Willow said she saw him yesterday. That’s when they made plans.”
He heard worry and disappointment in her voice. And even though he knew that it didn’t have anything to do with him, he felt responsible.
“He might have been here but not attending class,” he said. “He has a car.”
“I’m sure he was,” said Bethany. She didn’t sound sure at all. “I really don’t think she was lying.”
Henry knew all about Willow’s issues with the truth. Lots of teenage girls lied; it was a self-esteem thing. They generally grew out of it.
“I’ll be reaching out to the family in a while,” he said. He wanted to make her feel better somehow. “I’ll let you know what I learn.”
“Okay.”
“Try not to worry, Beth.” He liked the way her name sounded on the air. There was a beat where he wondered if he had been too familiar. When she spoke again, he heard that warmth in her voice.
“You’re a good man, Mr. Ivy,” she said. Somehow when she said it, it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut.
The Regal Motel wasn’t the worst place Jones had ever seen. Some motels like this-a depressing concrete U of shabbily appointed rooms-were nests of illegal activities, drugs in one room, prostitution in another. Recently a place like this closer to The Hollows had burned to the ground after the explosion of a small methamphetamine lab.
But the Regal was at least clean on the outside, with a fresh coat of paint. There was a decently maintained pool area, chairs and pool covered for the winter. The shrubbery along the sidewalk was trimmed. Someone was taking the time to keep the place in order, which meant management was also keeping an eye on the guests. The sign could use a little work. The
A little bell announced his entry into an orderly, quiet office. It was cool, the heat not yet on. A large woman with a head of tight gray curls tapped on a keyboard behind a desk. She didn’t look up to acknowledge him right away. So Jones glanced around the room. Fake plant. A dingy love seat and coffee table. A magazine rack with overused, outdated women’s magazines. The dark, wood-paneled walls were inexpertly studded with photographs of children in various poses of play, certificates from various agencies announcing compliance or excellence. There were some amateur line drawings of area sights. The carpet was stained, and a path was worn thin from the door to the desk.
“Help you, sir?”
She still hadn’t looked up from her computer.
“I’m looking for a friend. I heard she was staying here. Robin O’Conner.”
She lifted her eyes from the screen then, pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, and gave him a cool once-over.
“Cop?” she said. She had the aura of proprietorship; she was not an underling or a worker. She had authority here, wouldn’t be worried about her job. This could be a good thing or a bad thing.
“No,” said Jones.
“Retired,” she said. She wasn’t asking.
Jones offered a slow shrug. With a woman like that, it was better to stick to the truth. “I’m doing a favor for a friend. Robin’s got a boy who’s missing her.”
“You can leave a message. I’ll see that she gets it.” She turned back to the screen. He could see blue and white reflected in the lenses. She was on that social network. It was weird how into that everyone appeared to be. More into it than the real world, it seemed.
Jones waited. He walked over to the wall, peered more closely at the certificates. When he was a cop, he’d do things like that to unsettle. If the documents were fake or out of date, people would get nervous, start chattering.
“I run a clean place here,” she said. When he looked back at her, she was staring at him hard. He was annoying her. She wanted him to leave. Good.
“I can see that, ma’am,” he said politely. A little too politely, almost but not quite mockingly so.
“What time is it?” she asked.
Jones glanced at his watch, an old Timex he’d had since college. “Just before noon.”
She gazed toward the window. Jones looked to see a small diner across the road. “She’ll be headed over there soon, if she’s not there already. She works the lunch shift.”
Robin O’Conner must have been working off the books, or it would have popped on her credit report. The woman hefted herself from the chair, and it hissed with relief. She had a slight limp as she moved through a door
