Ellie Knepper folds her hands together and rests her chin on them. “If we sent someone out for every teenager who didn’t come home on time, we’d have no one for real emergencies. Ninety percent of the time, kids come home in twelve hours.”
“She obviously didn’t go off on her own, because she would have this with her.” I point to Bailey’s phone.
A curious look crosses Ellie Knepper’s face. “Where’d you say you found that again?”
“Cliff Grosso’s house,” Jade says.
“Oh,” Ellie says. “That’s the boy who rear-ended me.”
Jade and I share a look. Of course Ellie is the deputy that Cliff hit. You can count the number of law enforcement officers in this town on one hand.
Broken Falls doesn’t need much more than that. The only reason anyone here calls 911 is because they hit a deer. The last person who went missing here was probably Josephine Leeds.
The thought makes a chill skate up my spine.
“So you know who Bailey is,” Jade pleads. “She wouldn’t just run off on her own. You have to send someone up there to look for her.”
“Hon, I don’t have anyone to send up there,” Ellie says. “It’s a Sunday afternoon and we’ve got people keeling over from heart attacks left and right on their driveways. There’s already been a pileup on Main Street because of the storm. You need to get home before it gets worse.”
“Are you seriously not hearing us?” Jade looks at me for affirmation. “Our friend has been missing all day.”
Ellie sighs. “As soon as I have someone free, I’ll send them up to the Grosso house, okay? But you two need to get home.”
“What about her phone?” I say. “Someone deleted everything off it.”
Ellie Knepper gives me another curious look. My deep mistrust of cops kicks in.
“I’ll check it out,” she says. “You girls be careful, okay?”
Jade is rooted to her spot. I’ve never seen her cry, but the expression on her face scares the shit out of me. Says that tears are imminent—that what’s going on is very, very bad.
“Trust me,” Ellie says. “The only thing you can do for her right now is go home.”
—
The sheets of snow falling outside the sheriff’s station are picking up speed. I’ve seen storms like this before; within the hour, the roads will be in whiteout condition. The fear of getting trapped, freezing to death in this truck needles my brain.
“We really should go home,” I say. “If we get stuck in this—”
“I’m not going home.” Jade stares straight ahead. “I have to go back to Bay’s and talk to her mom. I’ll take you home if you want, but I’m not listening to that woman inside. She didn’t even take us seriously.”
I gnaw the inside of my cheek. “Maybe she was just overworked.”
“Call me crazy, but I think a missing person is more important than a couple dumbasses skidding off the road.”
Missing person. “Jade,” I say, trying to sound calm. “It’s only been a few hours. Maybe she’ll come home.”
Maybe saying it out loud will make it happen. Maybe she left her phone at the party and someone stole it, wiped everything off it with the plan to pawn it off. They could have changed their mind, panicked, and dumped it.
My stupid theory collapses like a Jenga tower when Jade speaks: “She never lets that phone out of her sight.” She’s right: Bailey’s phone is always within a few inches of her. Her pocket, the cup holder in her car. Under her pillow when she goes to sleep.
“What about her phone bill?” I ask. “Can’t her mom go online and see who she talked to last night?”
“That was the first idea I had when she called me. She tried that but doesn’t have the password to Bailey’s plan, and the phone company wouldn’t give it to her. Said they had to prove it was part of a police investigation, and obviously there is none.”
Bailey’s parents are old-fashioned; their cells are still bulky flip phones. After years of battling with them over the necessity of a phone with Internet access and unlimited texting, Bailey finally got permission to get her own plan once she could pay for it. And she did.
Jade’s hands are shaking as she coughs into them. “The phone thing is really freaking me out. How it was wiped or something.”
I hold my fingertips in front of the heating vents. The word pings in my head. Wiped.
Like someone was trying to erase every trace of Bailey.
—
Lauren must have heard Jade’s truck pull up to the house; she’s waiting for me in the foyer when I get home, her fleece blanket draped over her shoulders.
“Did you find Bailey?” Lauren asks.
I feel my brow furrowing. “How did you find out that’s where I was?”
“You just disappeared without saying anything.” Lauren frowns. “I heard you talking to Jade before you left. What’s going on?”
I strip off my hat and scarf; my neck and ears ache from the cold. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”
Lauren shrinks away, hurt by my dismissal.
“Just let me check something out first,” I say. “Then we’ll have hot chocolate.”
I kick my boots off and bypass Lauren, heading straight for my room and my laptop. I pull up the local news’s website, but there’s nothing about Bailey. Just a thick red banner at the top splaying STORM TRACKER!
Moments later, there’s a knock. Andrew opens my door and leans against the frame, frowning at me.
I swallow. “Did you hear what’s happening?”
Andrew nods. “Were you at the party?”
“No. They were supposed to pick me up and take me, but they never texted.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this part. I don’t know if it’s important.
“Were you at the party?” I ask.
Andrew’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me? Seriously?”
“I saw the tire tracks. You went somewhere.”
“Yeah. To pick up my prescription this morning.” He’s watching me now, his eyelids heavy. “Where did you guys go Friday night?”
I crack a knuckle. “How did you know I went somewhere?”
I wait for him to correct me, say that he knows Lauren went, too, but he doesn’t. “I heard a car door slam outside.”
“It was nothing,” I say. “We just drove around.”
I can’t tell if he believes me. But when he turns to leave my room, I think I see something like disappointment cross his face.
—
Ashley has already heard about Bailey by the time she gets home. Apparently it’s all anyone at the café could talk about; Paula Schulz, the stripy-haired gossip Ashley hired this summer, heard from her kids.
Paula’s oldest son, Axel, is Cliff Grosso’s best friend. Such a shame, Paula tutted to me when the Grosso family came up in her daily gossip. One mistake ruined that poor boy’s future.
I could hear it in her voice, what she was too cowardly to say: That Bailey Hammond ruined that poor boy’s future.
I stay in my room until it gets dark, looking out the window into the storm. I think of Jim Grosso, shooting that boy in the ass just for stepping onto his property.