“I mean take a vacation.”
She is quiet. In my mind, I run through all the reasons we cannot go. The kids would miss school. We don’t have extra money. She has several deals pending. I should not cancel on my clients again. The same reasons must be running through her mind.
“I’ll think about it,” she says. “Let’s see how things go.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
“The chicken pho was great,” I say.
“You’re silly.”
“Even if we don’t go on vacation now, we should when this is all over.”
“We will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise,” she says. “Now go to sleep.”
Fifty-four
The new detective is a woman. Her full name is Claire Wellington, a name that sounds like her family dates back to the Mayflower, but I bet it doesn’t. Not that it matters.
Claire is a severe-looking woman with short brown hair, pale skin, and brown lipstick. She wears no-nonsense pantsuits, all in dark colors, and never smiles. I know this because she is on TV all the time. Her idea of detective work is asking the public for help.
“I know someone in this community saw something, even if they don’t realize it. Maybe it was the night Naomi disappeared. Everyone was on guard that night, and everyone knew something was going to happen. Or maybe it was when Naomi George’s body was dumped behind the Lancaster Hotel. Please, think back to that night, think about what you were doing, who you were with, and what you saw. You may have seen something and not even realized it.”
A website has been set up for people to send in information. Or they can stay anonymous and call a special tip line for anything related to Lindsay and Naomi.
I do not like this development. All sorts of new information might be dredged up because of Claire’s public relations tour on TV. Josh is already reporting that the police have dozens of new leads.
“The police have also made use of an innovative computer program developed at UF Sarasota, where students have written an algorithm that can sort through the tips and match words used repeatedly. The tips are then ranked in order from the most useful to the least.”
This all happens within days of Claire’s arrival. It is bad enough that I have to see her on television. All. The. Time. Now I also have to listen about how innovative and effective she is. Even at home she is unavoidable. Millicent has been insisting that we don’t watch TV in the evenings, because Claire always pops up during the commercials. The local stations have started running public service announcements about the tip line.
Instead of TV, we play games together. Millicent digs up a deck of cards and a rack of plastic chips, and we teach the kids how to play poker, because this is preferable to watching Claire.
Rory already knows how to play. He has a poker app on his phone.
Jenna picks it up fast, because she picks up everything fast. She also has the best poker face. I think it’s even better than Millicent’s.
My poker face is terrible, and I lose every hand.
While we are playing, Rory mentions that there will be an assembly at school tomorrow. Millicent furrows her brow and then unfurrows it. She is trying to furrow less because of wrinkles.
“I didn’t get a notice about an assembly,” she says.
“That detective is coming to school,” Jenna says.
“The chick,” Rory says.
Millicent’s brow furrows again.
“Why is the female detective coming to your school?” I say.
Rory shrugs. “Probably to ask us if we saw anything. Same thing she’s been doing on TV. Daniel said she’s going to all the schools.”
Jenna nods as if she’d heard the same thing.
“She’s annoying,” Rory says. “But at least we get out of a class.”
Millicent gives him a look. He pretends not to see it and studies his cards.
“Well, I like her,” Jenna says.
“You like the detective?” I say.
She nods. “She seems tough. Like she’s really going to get him.”
“Oh, I’d agree with that,” Rory says. “It’s like she’s obsessed or something.”
It figures that the woman who might catch us also makes Jenna feel better. “Everyone has a lot of confidence in her,” I say.
“I hope I’ll get to talk to her,” Jenna says.
“I’m sure she is very busy.”
“Obviously. I’m just saying.”
Jenna and Rory’s school does not hold assemblies in the gymnasium. It has a special hall, and it is named after the donor who paid for it. When I arrive, the hall is packed with kids, faculty, and parents. With as much as Claire has been in the news, she is almost a celebrity.
She is taller than expected, and even in a crowded room she is intimidating. Claire does not want to talk about herself, her past, or her experience. She begins by telling the kids that they are all safe.
“Whoever killed these women is not looking for you. He is looking for women who are older than all of you. Chances are you will never cross paths with the person who killed Naomi and Lindsay.”
Jenna is sitting with her friends just to the right of the stage. Even from the back, I can see her leaning forward, trying to hear and see everything.
Rory is the middle, sitting with his girlfriend, and he may or may not be paying attention. Hard to tell.
“However,” Claire says, “if you have crossed paths with this killer, you may not even know it. You may have seen something that you don’t even know is important. Anything that you think is unusual, or that stands out, could be important.”
She says the same things she said on TV but with smaller words and shorter sentences. She ends by saying she will be available afterward if anyone wants to talk. This is why I am here. First, to make sure Jenna has a chance to meet Claire. Second, to meet her for myself.
Jenna’s friends are around, so she does not give me a hug. Together, we wait to speak to Claire. A jumbled line of people has formed in front of her, and when our turn comes I step up to Claire and introduce myself. She is tall enough that we stand eye to eye. On TV, her eyes look plain brown. Up close, I see flecks of gold.
“This is my daughter, Jenna,” I say.
Instead of asking Jenna how old she is or what grade she’s in, Claire asks her if she wants to be a detective.
“I would love it!” Jenna says.
“Then the first thing you need to know is that everything matters. Even the small things that seem like nothing.”
Jenna nods. Her eyes are so bright. “I can do that.”
“I’m sure you can.” Claire turns to me. “Your daughter is going to be a fine detective.”
“She already is, I think.”
We smile at each other.
She moves on to the next person, turning her back to us.
Jenna is bouncing up and down on her toes. “You think I can really be a detective?”
“You can be anything you want to be.”
She stops bouncing. “Dad, you sound like a commercial.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s true. And I think you’d be a great detective.”
She sighs and turns back to her friends, who are waving at her. She brushes me off when I try to give her a hug. “I gotta go.”
I watch her run over to her friends, who react to her news with more enthusiasm than I did.
Dad failure number 79,402, and she’s only thirteen.
I am grateful for Claire, who is so careful about making the kids feels safe. She has made Jenna happier than I have seen her in a while.
That still does not make me like Claire. In fact, now that I’ve met her, I hate her.
Fifty-five