we’ll get it all sorted out,” Emily said. She shifted her attention back to the principal, who by then was done reading the paperwork.
“I’ll get you the files myself,” he said. With an irritated look on his face, Randazzo vanished around the corner to the file room. He returned with a green folder. A very thin green folder.
“Is that it?” Emily asked.
He shrugged, and she opened it. There were no more than ten sheets inside. One was a permission slip from Peg Martin for her son’s participation in a field trip to a dairy outside of the county. A few pages indicated some visits to the nurse. Finally, the basics of his life-his gender was male, he was born in Seattle, his parents’ names and occupations.
Nothing more. Nothing at all.
What did I expect? Emily asked herself. He was a kid. He didn’t have a life yet.
“This is it?” she repeated.
`.. Fraid so,” Randazzo said, impatiently. “We don’t carry a lot of paper on our kids. I’m surprised that the permission slip for the trip to Clover Dale Farms is in there. That should have been purged long ago”
Emily looked up from the minidossier on a troubled high school kid. She held her tongue. The pretty blonde looked over. A beat of silence. It wasn’t Randazzo’s fault that he was complete nincompoop. He probably was born that way.
“Judge says I can take these” She turned for the door. In doing so she caught the eyes of the girls working at the attendance office one last time and smiled in their direction. It was an invitation for them to come speak to her if they wanted, but they just went back to their work.
Emily felt the buzz in her purse, and then came the muffled, but familiar ring. She had begun to hate the Elvis Costello ringtone Jenna had downloaded as a surprise. What had once seemed so silly that it made them laugh until their sides ached now seemed derisive and a sad reminder.
“Hey Emily, can you come back to the office?” It was Kiplinger. His normally gregarious nature was masked by concern. “Marina Wilbur is here to see you”
Emily searched her memory, but nothing came up. She didn’t know anyone by that name. Before she said so, Kip offered up more information.
“She’s Peg Martin’s sister. From back east. She’s here to make arrangements”
“I’ll be right there” Emily flipped her phone shut and sat in her car. The seat belt warning pinged, but she paid it no mind. She turned the ignition and looked in the rearview mirror, catching her own reflection for the first time. Her eyes were underscored with dark circles. This is what a mother looks like who has lost her daughter. The face is mine.
Emily engaged the seat belt, which stopped the pinging. She wanted to cry.
Wednesday, 4:45 P.M.
Kiplinger was as grim-faced as Emily had ever seen him and they’d been through some pretty bad cases, though nothing of the magnitude of the Martin murders. He met her in the parking lot in front of the Public Safety building in downtown Cherrystone. His anxious countenance disturbed Emily to such a degree, she didn’t turn off the ignition. The Accord idled. She pushed the button and the window slid down.
“I wanted to catch you before you came inside. Didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone,” he said. “Can I get in?”
Emily indicated all right with a quick dip of her head.
“What is it, Kip?” She called him by his nickname, rather than the more formal “Sheriff” that she used around the office. This felt exceedingly personal. “Have you heard something about Jenna?”
He shut the door and struggled to adjust the front seat to accommodate his six-foot, 200-plus-pound frame.
“No. Let’s drive away from here”
Without speaking, she put the car in gear and it rolled from the lot to the main street.
“Let’s go to the park and talk. And no, I haven’t heard anything about Jenna. But that’s what I want to talk about”
“You’re scaring me,” she said, her eyes switching
“I’ll get you the files myself,” he said. With an irritated look on his face, Randazzo vanished around the corner to the file room. He returned with a green folder. A very thin green folder.
“Is that it?” Emily asked.
He shrugged, and she opened it. There were no more than ten sheets inside. One was a permission slip from Peg Martin for her son’s participation in a field trip to a dairy outside of the county. A few pages indicated some visits to the nurse. Finally, the basics of his life-his gender was male, he was born in Seattle, his parents’ names and occupations.
Nothing more. Nothing at all.
What did I expect? Emily asked herself. He was a kid. He didn’t have a life yet.
“This is it?” she repeated.
`.. Fraid so,” Randazzo said, impatiently. “We don’t carry a lot of paper on our kids. I’m surprised that the permission slip for the trip to Clover Dale Farms is in there. That should have been purged long ago”
Emily looked up from the minidossier on a troubled high school kid. She held her tongue. The pretty blonde looked over. A beat of silence. It wasn’t Randazzo’s fault that he was complete nincompoop. He probably was born that way.
“Judge says I can take these” She turned for the door. In doing so she caught the eyes of the girls working at the attendance office one last time and smiled in their direction. It was an invitation for them to come speak to her if they wanted, but they just went back to their work.
Emily felt the buzz in her purse, and then came the muffled, but familiar ring. She had begun to hate the Elvis Costello ringtone Jenna had downloaded as a surprise. What had once seemed so silly that it made them laugh until their sides ached now seemed derisive and a sad reminder.
“Hey Emily, can you come back to the office?” It was Kiplinger. His normally gregarious nature was masked by concern. “Marina Wilbur is here to see you”
Emily searched her memory, but nothing came up. She didn’t know anyone by that name. Before she said so, Kip offered up more information.
“She’s Peg Martin’s sister. From back east. She’s here to make arrangements”
“I’ll be right there” Emily flipped her phone shut and sat in her car. The seat belt warning pinged, but she paid it no mind. She turned the ignition and looked in the rearview mirror, catching her own reflection for the first time. Her eyes were underscored with dark circles. This is what a mother looks like who has lost her daughter. The face is mine.
Emily engaged the seat belt, which stopped the pinging. She wanted to cry.
Wednesday, 4:45 P.M.
Kiplinger was as grim-faced as Emily had ever seen him and they’d been through some pretty bad cases, though nothing of the magnitude of the Martin murders. He met her in the parking lot in front of the Public Safety building in downtown Cherrystone. His anxious countenance disturbed Emily to such a degree, she didn’t turn off the ignition. The Accord idled. She pushed the button and the window slid down.
“I wanted to catch you before you came inside. Didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone,” he said. “Can I get in?”
Emily indicated all right with a quick dip of her head.
“What is it, Kip?” She called him by his nickname, rather than the more formal “Sheriff” that she used around the office. This felt exceedingly personal. “Have you heard something about Jenna?”
He shut the door and struggled to adjust the front seat to accommodate his six-foot, 200-plus-pound frame.
“No. Let’s drive away from here”
Without speaking, she put the car in gear and it rolled from the lot to the main street.
“Let’s go to the park and talk. And no, I haven’t heard anything about Jenna. But that’s what I want to talk about”
“You’re scaring me,” she said, her eyes switching
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