All the Little Liars (14 page)

And he left.

“Huh,” I said. “Okay. Let's see what happens.”

“Hmmm,” Robin said. We sat in silence for a long moment, which turned out to be a good thing, because here came the Mercedes again, and down we ducked, which was a lot harder for Robin than it was for me.

Dan's headlights swept over the car and vanished. We stayed down this time, but after five long minutes he hadn't returned.

“That was totally unexpected. So was that a real ransom drop?” I asked Robin. “Why'd he come back? Did he suspect we were watching?”

“Maybe he noticed our car and thought he'd catch whoever was in it while they were picking up the money,” Robin said. “And when the car hadn't moved, he figured it was empty. If you look around this area, what do you notice besides the silence?”

I looked around, and then I looked up. “I don't see any security cameras,” I said.

“Exactly,” Robin said. “So this place was well chosen by the kidnapper.”

I yawned, jaw-crackingly. “We might have a long wait for the money to be retrieved.”

“I think we should go home,” Robin said. “I don't have a good feeling about this. We're sure the ransom was delivered. If we stay, we might spook the kidnappers. That would be awful. Maybe now Clayton will be released tomorrow, and the other kids with him. Let's retrace his steps before we go.” We drove around the block, turning in to the parking lot of the next store. Parking in a shadow, he got out the binoculars, which we'd brought but never used. He adjusted them for a long moment. I realized he could see in the little space between the heating and cooling unit and the store wall.

When he lowered the binoculars, I couldn't read his expression.

“What's up?” I said. In an eyeblink, I was terrified we'd somehow ruined everything in our attempt to verify the Harrisons' story.

But Robin shook his head. After a moment, he said, “It's not there.”

“What? The bag?” I gaped at him.

“Yes. It's not there.”

 

Chapter Ten

The landline rang in the morning just after I'd finished talking to my boss at the library, on my cell phone. Sam had been more compassionate than he usually was (not at all). He'd told me he'd call in one of the substitutes until I felt I could come back to work.

“I'm so glad you hired Lizanne,” I remembered to say.

“Yes,” he said, with immense relief. “She seemed like she could handle the job.”

“She handled all the irate customers at the utility company. She should be able to handle this job with one hand tied behind her back.” (And Liz was calm and beautiful. That never hurt.)

“She'll be full-time right after Christmas,” Sam said happily.

I was glad to talk to someone who was pleased with the way things were going. Frankly, it was reassuring to know the library was running along as usual, waiting for me to come back and do my work there. That was something I understood. I didn't understand what had happened last night. Someone had grabbed the bag, quick as a wink, or it had vanished into another dimension. Would we hear about Clayton's release today? The suspense was exhausting.

My father got up late. I had some cinnamon rolls on the table—just Pillsbury. I wasn't up to baking from scratch. He was glad to eat two.

“I have to go to the store,” I said, to change the subject. “Do you need anything in the way of groceries? A favorite cereal or something?”

“Anything you get is fine,” he said, more graciously than I'd expected. He must have done a little reflection, alone in the guest room. “Last night I realized that I haven't said anything since I got here. But thanks for keeping Phillip these past few weeks, and helping with the school transfer, and buying him clothes, and everything else.”

There had been quite a lot else, but I had been glad to do it.

“Okay,” I said. Frankly, I was surprised that Dad had thought of thanking me. “By the way, Robin's at work, so please don't go back there.” I nodded toward the hall that led to the back of the house and Robin's office.

“I don't know how he can do it,” Dad said. I didn't know if he meant actually write a book or work while things were so fraught.

“He's on deadline. And work is his escape. There's nothing else for him to do, really.” I got my keys off the counter where Dad had left them, bundled up, and went to the grocery. I passed up Piggly Wiggly in favor of the new Walmart superstore, not because I liked it better—I didn't—but I thought I would see fewer people I knew.

Not so.

Since it was the Christmas season, the store was packed with shoppers buying all sorts of last-minute items. Since all the kids were out of school, most of them were there with their mothers, full of excitement and therefore acting out. Or crying. There was a lot of crying. Especially from the little ones in the shopping carts.

I maneuvered my own cart with grim resolution. Despite the generosity of the cooks of Lawrenceton, I had to pick up basic supplies. I needed toilet paper and paper towels, dishwasher detergent, Bounce sheets. I turned in to the appropriate aisle and came face-to-face with Connie Bell's mother, Katy.

Katy Bell looked like walking death.

After she tossed a package of facial tissues into the cart, she looked up and her eyes met mine. She turned white as a sheet. I thought she was going to faint. This was a very extreme reaction.

“How are you, Aurora?” she said, when she could manage to speak. Miraculously, we were the only people in this aisle at the moment. I stopped right beside her.

“Not good. You don't look so well, either.”

“Well, it's been…” Her eyes couldn't meet mine. Her voice trailed off, and she started to push her cart by mine.

“Katy, was Connie with Clayton the afternoon he vanished? Did she see the other kids right before they went missing?” I felt cruel, but I had to ask.

Her face hardened. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not. Clayton dropped Connie off at our house right after school. And she
never heard from him again
. She's been really upset because she hasn't heard from him.” I could tell this was her bottom line, and she would not budge.

I couldn't tackle her and bring her down to the floor. I couldn't put her in a hard chair and shine a light in her face. But this woman knew something, and it was eating away at her. In one of the most frustrating moments of my life, I had to let Katy Bell walk away, because I was a civilized woman. I regretted that. To her back, I said, “I know you're going to be sorry you didn't tell someone what she saw. Please tell me what you know.” For a second, she hesitated. I felt a surge of hope. But then Katy's back stiffened, and she was gone. I watched her until she turned a corner and was out of sight.

I didn't think Katy's behavior was simply that of a mother defending her daughter. I saw it as a clear admission of guilt. But what kind? Survivor guilt?
Your brother was abducted, but my child wasn't?

I didn't even entertain the idea that the Bells had taken my brother. But Connie Bell knew something, something crucial. In the middle of the busy store, I stood stock-still, my hands on the push bar of my cart, and
thought.
A harassed mother with two toddlers was kind enough to ask me if I was all right, and I produced a smile and began moving forward. But I wasn't seeing the goods on the shelves, or the holiday decorations, or the crowd around me. I was trying to break down the events of the past few days. There were so many component parts.

I must have paid for my groceries and wheeled them to my car, because the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the driver's seat, and the car was running. But I didn't pull out of the parking slot.

There was so much I didn't know. But I did know a list of facts: Liza Scott had been bullied. Three older girls were hounding her at school. She was miserable. One of her tormentors was the little sister of Clayton Harrison.

Liza had a crush on Phillip.

Phillip was a nice kid who would not take advantage of her feelings.

Dan Harrison had dropped off ransom money the night before. And then, apparently, he'd picked it up again. Or had we missed something crucial while we were ducked down in the front seat?

My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but I answered it.

“Mrs. Crusoe? Hi, it's Sarah. Sarah Washington?”

The girl who'd come to the house and been so kind. The girl Phillip liked.

“It's Roe Teagarden,” I said. “I kept my last name. What can I do for you, Sarah?”

“I just wanted you to know, today I told the police I'd seen Clayton's car,” she said. “They wrote that down, but I don't know if they really believed me. If I'd been able to give them something really definite, maybe…”

“Joss mentioned him when she was talking to Jessamyn, too,” I reassured Sarah. “So it's not just you, bringing up the subject of Clayton.” Though Jessamyn had probably not told the police, since Karina had pled to keep Clayton's predicament a secret. “Have you seen Connie Bell since all this happened?”

“Ms. Aurora, Connie and I aren't friends. She's always with Clayton. They're joined at the hip. It's weird, she made a point of saying on Twitter that she hadn't been with Clayton that afternoon.”

I could see Katy Bell's hand at work.

“And all Marlea's posts have been taken down.” Sarah said. “That's a relief.”

So Karina had followed through. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“You're welcome. Call me if you need anything. Or, you know, if you hear anything about Phillip. I'm going to Tammy's visitation tonight.”

I'd seen that in the paper, but I'd almost forgotten, I thought as I hung up. I should go.

So Connie was very publicly denying she'd been with Clayton. However, she was staying in seclusion, and her mother looked like hell warmed over. The police might not even have talked to Connie. After all, they didn't officially know that Clayton was missing. And that was wrong.

“I just don't believe her,” I said. Out loud.

There were too many questions. I had no answers.

Was it remotely possible that
all
these kids were in on some scheme?

I couldn't imagine that, either. (But then, I didn't want to.)

I drove to the hair salon again and parked at the rear. The whole strip of shops backed onto it. Each area behind a shop had parking spaces, garbage bins, wooden pallets. Employee cars. Large trash bins. Piles of cardboard boxes broken down for recycling. The usual things that might be behind any business. Nothing spoke to me. I got no psychic emanations. I felt no enlightenment, no “eureka” moment. To my left was the back of an apartment building. Parking must be provided in the front, because there wasn't enough space back here. There was a wooden fence, and beyond it I could see a toolshed (for the super, presumably) and trash bins there, too. I was sure the police had thoroughly searched them, and I wasn't about to duplicate effort. I was equally sure the apartment renters had been questioned. But at four thirty in the afternoon most of them would not have been at home when the event took place. Whatever it had been.

I found myself reluctant to leave the last place Phillip had been; but I had groceries to unload and people to feed. There was no point whatsoever in breaking down. I had to believe that soon this mystery would be solved and my brother returned. I couldn't do otherwise. I put the car back into drive and went home.

Robin had finished working by the time I got there, and he helped me with the bags. My father was not there, to my relief. I realized that if Dad hadn't had been poormouthing since he landed, I would have suggested that he go to a motel. Though Dad had told me he had a decent job selling advertising for a real-estate magazine in California, he didn't look prosperous. And he was constantly fidgeting. Since his son had vanished, I could excuse that; but the fact of the matter was, he made me more anxious than I could stand.

Robin and I put away the food and paper supplies in a companionable silence. “How did your work go today?” I asked. I'd left out the ground beef to make hamburgers. Robin chopped some bell pepper and onion to fold into the meat.

“Not bad,” he said, in a subdued voice.

“What's up?” I didn't sound very happy. Robin had something unpleasant to tell me. We'd been married just long enough for me to recognize subtext. He paused, holding the knife in his hands. I enjoyed looking at him. The beaky nose, the crinkly mouth … I loved him. But at the moment, my love object was having difficulty phrasing what he wanted to tell me, and from a man who lived with words every day, that wasn't a good sign.

“I'd rather talk about anything else, too,” he said. “But I was thinking today … what if none of this is linked?”

“What do you mean?” This might be a long discussion, so I pulled the kitchen stool out from under its place at the counter and sat.

“At first, I thought this had something to do with the girls bullying Aubrey's daughter,” he said. “By the way, I hope a lawyer finds a way to prosecute them. I came in for more than my share of mockery when I was a kid. I was imaginative, and I was smart, and I read all the time, and I had a big nose and a weird name. The other kids made sure I realized how different I was.”

“I didn't know that.” It made me angry. “But you had the last laugh,” I said. “You're a best-selling writer. That's a great achievement. Plus, you have the Hollywood fairy dust thrown on you.” A movie had been made about a series of killings here in Lawrenceton, based on Robin's nonfiction book. I hadn't liked the end product, but Robin's sales had soared and remained even higher than before.

“I wish I had known that was in my future at the time,” Robin said, with a rueful smile. “It was really awful. Bullying is recognized as evil, now, but it wasn't then. My parents were at a loss as to how to handle it. Mom was afraid if she went to the school to complain, the kids would say I was hiding behind my mama, and it would get even worse. My father wanted to beat up everyone involved. While I appreciated the sentiment, that wouldn't have done me any good in the long run.”