Stride slid a notebook from his back pocket and uncapped a pen. Immediately on his left was a rolltop desk. He pulled a swivel chair out from behind the desk and sat down.
"When did you see Rachel last?" Stride asked.
"Friday morning before she went to school," Graeme said.
"Did she take her car then?"
"Yes. It was gone when I arrived home Friday night."
"But you didn't hear her return overnight?"
"No. I was in bed by ten. I'm a sound sleeper. I never heard a thing."
"What did you do on Saturday?"
"I was in the office most of the day. That's typical."
"Mrs. Stoner, were you at home during this time?"
Emily, who had been staring into the fire, looked back, startled. She took a long swallow of brandy, and Stride wondered how much she had already had to drink. "No. I only got back early this afternoon."
"And where were you?"
She took a moment to focus. "I was driving back from St. Louis. My sister moved down there several years ago. I started home Saturday morning, but I was too tired by evening to go the rest of the way. I stayed overnight in Minneapolis and got into town around noon."
"Did you talk to Rachel while you were gone?"
Emily shook her head.
"Did you call home at all?"
She hesitated. "No."
"When did you start getting worried?"
"After Emily got home," Graeme answered. "We still hadn't heard from Rachel, so we started calling her friends. No one had seen her."
"Who did you call?"
Graeme rattled off several names, and Stride jotted them down in his notebook. "We also called people from the school," Graeme added. "And several of the clubs and restaurants her friends mentioned. No one had seen her."
"Does she have a boyfriend?" Stride asked.
Emily looked up. She pushed a lock of hair from her face. Her voice was weary. "Rachel goes through lots of boyfriends. They don't last."
"Is she sexually active?"
"At least since she was thirteen," Emily said. "I walked in on her once with a boy."
"But no one special?"
Emily shook her head.
"Have you checked with relatives? People she might go to?"
"We don't have any relatives here. Both my parents are dead, and Graeme is from out of town. There's no one but us."
Stride wrote: How did these two hook up?
"Mrs. Stoner, what kind of relationship do you have with your daughter?"
Emily paused. "We've never been very close. When she was little, she was her daddy's girl. I was the wicked witch."
Dayton Tenby frowned. "That's not fair, Emily."
"Well, that's what it felt like," Emily snapped. She spilled a little of the brandy and dabbed at her sweater with her fingers. "When her father died, Rachel drifted even further away. I hoped when I married Graeme, we might start becoming a family again. But as she's gotten older, it's only gotten worse."
"What about you, Mr. Stoner?" Stride asked. "How is your relationship with Rachel?"
Graeme shrugged. "We were relatively close right after Emily and I got married five years ago, but as Emily said, she's grown more distant as she's gotten older. Today it's the same. Cold."
"We tried to reach her," Emily said. "Graeme bought her that car last year. I guess it seemed to her like we were trying to buy her love, and I suppose we were. But it didn't help."
"Has she ever talked about running away?"
"Not in a long time," Emily said. "I suppose it sounds crazy, but I always thought she felt she could cause more trouble for us by staying around and making us miserable. It gave her a cruel sense of satisfaction."
"Was she suicidal?" Stride asked.
"Never. Rachel would never have killed herself."
"Why are you so sure?" Stride asked.
"Rachel liked herself too much. She was always cocky and confident. It was us she despised. Or me." Emily shook her head.
"Mr. Stoner, did anything happen while your wife was gone? An argument, a fight, anything like that?"
"No, nothing. She ignored me. That was routine."
"Did she mention meeting anyone new?"
"No, but I don't suppose she would have told me even if she had."
"Did you notice unusual cars in the driveway or on the street? Or see her with anyone you didn't recognize?"
Graeme shook his head.
"What about your personal situation, Mr. Stoner? You work for the Range Bank, is that correct?"
Graeme nodded. "I'm the executive vice president for the bank's operations in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, and the Dakotas."
"Have you received any threats at home or at work? Strange phone calls?"
"Not that I recall."
"You've never felt in danger?"
"No, not at all."
"Is your income at the bank widely known?"
Graeme frowned. "Well, I suppose it's not a secret. I have to file as an officer with the SEC, so it's a matter of public record. But it's not the kind of thing that makes the papers."
"And you've received no contact of any kind that would lead you to believe Rachel has been kidnapped."
"No, nothing," Graeme told him.
Stride flipped his notebook shut. "I think that's everything for the moment. I'll need to talk with you further, of course, as the investigation continues. And I'll be in touch with Mr. Gale."
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it. She obviously wanted to interrupt.
"What is it?" Stride asked.
"It's just that-well, it's one reason we were so concerned. The reason I insisted Graeme call Kyle."
"Kerry McGrath," Tenby murmured.
"She lived so close," Emily exclaimed. "She went to the same school."
Stride waited until Emily looked back at him, and he held her stare, putting as much compassion as he could in his eyes. "I won't lie to you. We'll be looking for connections to Kerry's disappearance. We would be remiss if we didn't. But just because there are surface similarities doesn't mean that Rachel being missing has anything to do with Kerry."
Emily sniffled loudly. She nodded her head, but her eyes shone with tears.
"If I can answer any questions for you, please call me," Stride said, extracting a card from his coat and placing it on the rolltop desk.
Dayton Tenby rose from his place near the fire and smiled at Stride. "Let me show you out."
The minister guided Stride back through the house. Tenby was a nervous, effeminate man, who seemed intimidated by the upscale trappings of the Stoner house. He walked gingerly, as if his aging brown wingtips were leaving dirty footprints. He was small, around five-foot-eight, with a narrow chin, tiny brown eyes set closely together, and a pinched nose. Stride sized him up as a holdover from Emily's past life. BG-Before Graeme.
Stroking his chin, Tenby glanced curiously outside at the lights and crowds gathered there. "They're like vultures, aren't they?" he observed.
"Sometimes. But they can be useful."
"Yes, I suppose. I appreciate your coming here, Lieutenant. Rachel is a difficult young girl, and I would hate to see any harm come to her."
"How long have you known her?" Stride asked.
"Since she was a child."
Stride nodded. BG, he thought. "When did she begin to have troubles?"
Tenby sighed. "As Emily mentioned, it was after her father's death. Rachel was utterly devoted to Tommy. She couldn't bear the loss, and I think she turned all her anger and grief against her mother."
"How long ago was that?"
Dayton pursed his lips and stared at the vaulted ceiling as he thought back. "Rachel was eight when he died, I believe, so it was about nine years ago."
"Tell me, Reverend, what do you think happened here? Could Rachel have left on her own? A runaway?"
Dayton Tenby seemed divinely sure of himself. "Maybe it's wishful thinking, but that's what I believe. I really think you'll find, when all is said and done, that she's out there somewhere, laughing at us."