drawer, and started pulling out information.
“What about after-school activities?” D.D. asked.
“They had an after-school art program. Every Monday. Sophie loved that.”
“Parents volunteer as part of that?” Bobby probed.
D.D. nodded, following his train of thought. Parents who they could grind through more background checks.
Mrs. Ennis returned to them, holding several pieces of paper—a school calendar, contact information for administrative personnel, a phone tree of other parents to notify in the event of snow days.
“Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Sophie?” D.D. asked as gently as she could.
Mrs. Ennis shook her head, her face still stricken.
“If she ran away, can you think of where she’d hide?”
“In the tree,” Mrs. Ennis said immediately. “When she wanted time alone, she always climbed the big oak in the backyard. Tessa said she used to do the same thing as a child.”
Bobby and D.D. nodded. They had both studied the bare limbed tree. Six-year-old Sophie had not been perched among the branches.
“How do you get to the house?” D.D. thought to ask, as she and Bobby rose out of their chairs.
“The bus.”
“Has Sophie ever ridden it with you? Does she understand mass transit?”
“We have been on the bus. I don’t think she would know how.…” Mrs. Ennis paused, her dark eyes brightening. “But she does know her coins. The last few times we rode, she counted out the money. And she’s very adventurous. If she thought she needed to get on the bus for some reason, I could see her trying it alone.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ennis. If you think of anything else …” D.D. handed the woman her card.
Bobby had opened the door. At the last moment, just as D.D. was exiting into the hall, Bobby turned back.
“You said another officer introduced Tessa and Brian. Do you remember who that was?”
“Oh, it was at a cookout.…” Mrs. Ennis paused, searched her memory banks. “Shane. That’s what Tessa called him. She’d gone to Shane’s house.”
Bobby thanked the woman, then followed D.D. down the stairs.
“Who’s Shane?” D.D. asked, the moment they were outside, puffing out frosty breaths of air and tugging on their gloves.
“I’m guessing Trooper Shane Lyons, out of the Framingham barracks.”
“The union rep!” D.D. stated.
“Yep. As well as the officer who made the initial call.”
“Then that’s who we’ll be interviewing next.” D.D. glanced at the distant horizon, noticed for the first time the rapidly fading daylight, and felt her heart sink. “Oh no. Bobby … It’s nearly dark!”
“Then we’d better work faster.”
Bobby turned down the walk. D.D. followed quickly behind him.
10
I was dreaming. In a hazy sort of way, I understood that, but didn’t jolt myself awake. I recognized the fall afternoon, the golden wisps of memory, and I didn’t want to leave it. I was with my husband and daughter. We were together, and we were happy.
In my dream/memory, Sophie is five years old, her dark hair pulled into a stubby ponytail beneath her helmet as she rides her pink bike with big white training wheels through the neighborhood park. Brian and I trail behind her, holding hands. Brian’s face is relaxed, his shoulders down. It’s a beautiful fall day in Boston, the sun is out, the leaves are bright copper, and life is good.
Sophie comes to the top of a hill. She waits for us to catch up, wanting an audience. Then, with a squeal, she kicks off against the pavement and sails her bike down the small incline, pedaling madly for maximum speed.
I shake my head at my daughter’s madcap ways. Never mind that my stomach clenched the moment she took off. I know better than to let anything show on my face. My nervousness only encourages her, “scaring Mommy” a favorite game both she and Brian like to play.
“I want to go faster!” Sophie announces at the bottom.
“Find a bigger hill,” Brian says.
I roll my eyes at both of
“What about after-school activities?” D.D. asked.
“They had an after-school art program. Every Monday. Sophie loved that.”
“Parents volunteer as part of that?” Bobby probed.
D.D. nodded, following his train of thought. Parents who they could grind through more background checks.
Mrs. Ennis returned to them, holding several pieces of paper—a school calendar, contact information for administrative personnel, a phone tree of other parents to notify in the event of snow days.
“Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Sophie?” D.D. asked as gently as she could.
Mrs. Ennis shook her head, her face still stricken.
“If she ran away, can you think of where she’d hide?”
“In the tree,” Mrs. Ennis said immediately. “When she wanted time alone, she always climbed the big oak in the backyard. Tessa said she used to do the same thing as a child.”
Bobby and D.D. nodded. They had both studied the bare limbed tree. Six-year-old Sophie had not been perched among the branches.
“How do you get to the house?” D.D. thought to ask, as she and Bobby rose out of their chairs.
“The bus.”
“Has Sophie ever ridden it with you? Does she understand mass transit?”
“We have been on the bus. I don’t think she would know how.…” Mrs. Ennis paused, her dark eyes brightening. “But she does know her coins. The last few times we rode, she counted out the money. And she’s very adventurous. If she thought she needed to get on the bus for some reason, I could see her trying it alone.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ennis. If you think of anything else …” D.D. handed the woman her card.
Bobby had opened the door. At the last moment, just as D.D. was exiting into the hall, Bobby turned back.
“You said another officer introduced Tessa and Brian. Do you remember who that was?”
“Oh, it was at a cookout.…” Mrs. Ennis paused, searched her memory banks. “Shane. That’s what Tessa called him. She’d gone to Shane’s house.”
Bobby thanked the woman, then followed D.D. down the stairs.
“Who’s Shane?” D.D. asked, the moment they were outside, puffing out frosty breaths of air and tugging on their gloves.
“I’m guessing Trooper Shane Lyons, out of the Framingham barracks.”
“The union rep!” D.D. stated.
“Yep. As well as the officer who made the initial call.”
“Then that’s who we’ll be interviewing next.” D.D. glanced at the distant horizon, noticed for the first time the rapidly fading daylight, and felt her heart sink. “Oh no. Bobby … It’s nearly dark!”
“Then we’d better work faster.”
Bobby turned down the walk. D.D. followed quickly behind him.
10
I was dreaming. In a hazy sort of way, I understood that, but didn’t jolt myself awake. I recognized the fall afternoon, the golden wisps of memory, and I didn’t want to leave it. I was with my husband and daughter. We were together, and we were happy.
In my dream/memory, Sophie is five years old, her dark hair pulled into a stubby ponytail beneath her helmet as she rides her pink bike with big white training wheels through the neighborhood park. Brian and I trail behind her, holding hands. Brian’s face is relaxed, his shoulders down. It’s a beautiful fall day in Boston, the sun is out, the leaves are bright copper, and life is good.
Sophie comes to the top of a hill. She waits for us to catch up, wanting an audience. Then, with a squeal, she kicks off against the pavement and sails her bike down the small incline, pedaling madly for maximum speed.
I shake my head at my daughter’s madcap ways. Never mind that my stomach clenched the moment she took off. I know better than to let anything show on my face. My nervousness only encourages her, “scaring Mommy” a favorite game both she and Brian like to play.
“I want to go faster!” Sophie announces at the bottom.
“Find a bigger hill,” Brian says.
I roll my eyes at both of
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