Jake’s phone vibrated in his pocket, a text. He checked its screen. From MP, it said. Missing Persons. “GOT ID 4 BOBBY LAND. ACTUAL L-N RIAZ. COLLEGE STUDENT. CALL HQ.”
Before he could respond, he saw Tenley twist away from her mother.
“Not Lanna, Mom. Give me a break. It was just-someone I thought I knew,” the girl said. “No biggie.”
Jake could tell she, too, was choosing her words carefully. Whatever agenda these two had, they were not doing a very good job of hiding their distress. Were they in it together, whatever it was?
“Miss Siskel? Someone you ‘thought you knew’? Thought you knew? Whoever got into that car might be headed for trouble,” Jake said. He wasn’t sure if that were true. They didn’t even know if the young woman had gotten in the car, but why was the daughter being so hesitant? What was so difficult about saying, Yeah, it’s my pal Sally Shmoe, she knows I’m in here, and always looks up? Instead, this girl was covering up.
Her mother was, too.
Jake’s radio crackled. “Door still closed,” DeLuca reported. “Ignition on. Stand by.” On the surveillance monitor, the taillights of the Isuzu flickered red, then white. A group of pedestrians sauntered by, briefly blocking Jake’s view. The car didn’t move. Was the girl inside? D hadn’t said.
“Miss Siskel?” Jake said again. “Who did you see?”
Tenley’s mind raced ahead. If she told this detective who had walked up to the car, she’d also have to say how she knew her. What if her mother started digging? Like she always did? What if she found out Tenley’d bolted last night?
On the other hand, what if Brileen was in trouble? Even in danger? If Tenley just let her be driven off by who knows who, then she’d be doing exactly the same thing she’d done with Lanna. She’d kept a secret, and as a result, her sister got killed. That’s how she saw it, at least.
How many times had she beaten herself up over that, given herself do-overs in her head, making a different decision? How often had she imagined the outcome totally different, with Lanna still alive and gorgeous and happy and their family all together?
Now the universe offered her exactly the same decision. Whether to keep another secret, or tell the truth to the police about what she saw and what she knew. How could she possibly consider making the same mistake again?
“Her name is Brileen Finnerty,” Tenley said. “I met her yesterday afternoon, lunchtime. Down in Curley Park. After all that was-going on, you know? I don’t really know her, but she goes to my same school. I mean, she’s older, in grad school. I think.”
She heard a little noise from beside her. Her mother had moved closer to the computer monitor. Peered at the square box of video on the screen.
“Brileen-how do you spell that?” The detective pulled out a little notebook.
“I-” Tenley frowned. “I don’t exactly know,” she said. “We just met yester-”
“Finnerty?” the detective said. “Have you ever seen that black Isuzu before?”
“Finnerty.” Her mother said the name, then spelled it. She reached out, touched the image of the black car with one finger. Took her hand away.
How would Mom know how to spell it? Maybe she was guessing. But her mother had a weird look on her face.
“Brileen. Finnerty.” Her mother dropped each word like it was heavy. Like she was tired of holding it.
“Yeah,” Tenley said. That was strange. “How do-”
“Do you have her contact information? Address? Cell phone?” The detective kept talking, seemed really concerned about this. Maybe Bri was in danger? So good thing she told. He watched the screen the whole time.
“You met yesterday, down there in Curley Park? Like I said, have you seen that car before?”
“How did you two meet?” Her mother asked. “You and Brileen?”
“Ms. Siskel? Mind if I ask the questions here? Tenley? The car?”
“I’m not good at cars,” Tenley said.
She heard a noise, a knocking, and they all looked toward the front of the office. Nancie Alvarez opened the door, leaning in, only her head and shoulders crossing the threshold. The hall was empty. Everyone must have scattered. The luckies.
“Is it okay if we-” Nancie began.
“Not yet!” her mother called out. The door closed again with a metallic click. “When did you really meet, Tenner? How long have you really known this girl?”
Tenley felt her stomach curl and her brain start to fry. She remembered how she felt when the police had questioned her about Lanna. Her skin had gone all cold, and her insides no longer fit into her body. It was that way now.
At least the detective wasn’t asking about her father. She had no idea what she would say then.
Why did everything always seem to depend on what she knew? Or did? Or saw?
46
Gracie’s white sling-back flats clacked across the dark marble floor. She carried a strappy white patent backpack over one shoulder. Tanned and coltishly lanky, bare arms and legs, she had the awkward gait of a preteen girl in shoes that didn’t quite fit. Jane stood, but didn’t rush toward her, waiting to see what would happen. Where was Lewis? Hadn’t the plan been for him to deliver Gracie to her?
The girl strolled across the lobby, dipped her fingers in the fountain, moved on. She didn’t appear to be looking for anyone. If she’d been instructed-Find Jane Ryland, she’s a woman, younger than your mom, brown hair, and she’ll be waiting for you-wouldn’t she be scanning the room? But Gracie seemed headed for the snack bar. Or the front door.
Should Jane go get her? Stop her? At least ask? No one else in the lobby seemed to pay much attention to the girl in yellow. The concierge lifted his head as she walked by his broad wooden desk, gave her a fleeting vacant smile. The valet guy hung another jangling ring of keys in his storage cabinet and ambled outside. A pack of rollerbag-toting tourists heading for the waist-high registration desk partly blocked Jane’s view of Gracie for a few seconds, only her curls and ruffles peeking between the adult bodies and black wheeled suitcases.
Gracie’s eyes were on the front door. Was she going to leave?
Jane took a step in her direction. She didn’t want to scare the girl, and if this was not the moment Lewis was-handing her off? Giving her up? Making the exchange? Whatever it was, Jane didn’t want to ruin it.
Maybe Gracie hadn’t seen her. Or recognized her. Jane hadn’t bothered to refresh her makeup and her hair was not very carefully pulled back, so if Gracie was looking for someone all TV glam and polished, Jane was pretty much incognito. Gracie might be too young to remember Jane from Channel 11, her last on-air story more than a year ago. But her stepfather, or someone, would have described her, and pointed the girl in the right direction. If that’s what the plan was.
Gracie stopped at a grouping of massive terra-cotta-potted fake palm trees near a rack of flapped-over newspapers. She plopped her white backpack onto the floor, then perched on the curved edge of one of the pots, legs sticking out in front of her. She seemed to be staring at her white-patent toes, moving her feet side to side, back and forth, moving her head in unison. Certainly not looking for anyone. But waiting? For what?
Maybe Gracie had misunderstood her stepfather’s instructions, thinking Jane would come find her. Jane twisted the cell phone in her hand, flipping it over and over, considering. That actually made more sense. Gracie would be told that Jane would find her, right? Jane was the adult.
She spooled out a breath, trying to decide what to do. Keeping one eye on the girl, she checked her cell, on the unlikely chance someone had texted or called, explaining exactly what the plan was. They hadn’t. Imagine that.