“You wouldn’t mind if we swung by later to take a look around the patio? We don’t need to further infringe on your day. You won’t even know we’re there.”
Another wave of the anxiety she’d felt earlier this morning swept over her. Just how much scrutiny was she under? “Of course not.” Detective Marks granted her a smile, but it did nothing to set her at ease. She took a deep breath. “I’d feel a lot better if I could leave here with you assuring me that you have confidence that nothing dangerous is going on. Kristin and Abby and Aaron might be gone for the time being, but Paul Kirkland is right next door, and my concern about that doesn’t have anything to do with what else I may or may not have witnessed years ago. Any mother would feel the same. Any friend or neighbor would feel the same.”
“We always look at the husband—or ex-husband—regardless,” Detective Bryant said. “But we can’t get in there with a forensics team unless he lets us at this point.”
“He isn’t letting you?”
“Something we said rubbed him the wrong way.”
She’d been feeling increasingly unsettled. But now, for the first time, she allowed herself to consider the real possibility, however small, that she should be afraid for Kristin.
“Can you at least tell me if I should be worried?”
“I can,” he said. “You should not. That’s our job.”
9
In 1825, Yellow Springs was inhabited by a cooperative community called the Owenites, and in 1862, the town welcomed a group of free slaves led by the Reverend Moncure Daniel Conway. Yellow Springs became a place for new beginnings and rejuvenation, aided by the healing waters of the springs themselves, as health spas and resorts cropped up in the village.
—Yellow Springs Historical Walking Tour
“No-brainer idea for tomorrow’s discussion segment,” Sonny was saying. “Share your nastiest divorce stories. Should make for some great calls, lots of Facebook shares…” He’d crashed Izzy’s postshow planning period, taking a seat in her office without asking and then loudly calling Day in to join them, and Izzy was trying to swallow her irritation.
“Seems a bit tasteless, don’t you think?” she asked, cutting him off.
“Not at all,” Day piped up. “It’s a natural tie-in to the buzz out of Yellow Springs.”
Izzy had chosen not to share that the buzz out of Yellow Springs was happening on her street. And this was exactly why.
“What’s so bad about asking people to share their experiences of marriage ending in disaster? Everybody knows of one.” Sonny laced his fingers behind his head, a sure sign that he was not about to let this go until she gave in, and the back of Izzy’s neck began to tense, vertebra by vertebra. She didn’t want to be stuck here any later than necessary. She’d hit the motherlode yesterday on clearance at Greenleaf Gardens, where someone who seemed to know what he was talking about had advised her on fall plantings, and she planned to spend the afternoon converting her neglected little fenced backyard of weeds into the sanctuary she’d been dreaming of. The forecast called for flash storms, but she was undeterred. An impulse to sink her fingers into the soil, to plant something that could take root, had seized her with surprising ferocity. She wanted to hang on to this urge, to show herself and everyone else that she could do this—make a life on her own. Maybe later she’d throw her hat into the air like Mary Tyler Moore, for posterity.
Sonny snickered, oblivious. “I mean, I’m as happily betrothed as they come, but I’ve got a whopper about a friend whose crazy, and I do mean cuckoo crazy, wife actually—”
“That’s not the point,” Izzy said. “The point is that someone should be able to have a personal tragedy without us polling the audience about it.”
“Oh, please,” Day said. “CNN can’t even host a presidential debate without consulting we the people of Facebook. Why should local headlines be any different?”
Izzy was feeling disproportionately testy, she knew. She blamed the tension that had settled over her neighborhood—there was no escaping it. Another day had passed with no developments in the search for Kristin, and no further sign of Paul, who seemed to have gone into hiding since his plea on camera yesterday. With nothing new to report, the network vans had been gone by the time she headed in this morning, and it was an odd relief, though it hadn’t stopped the anchors from devoting their early broadcasts to speculating live from their studios.
Speculation irked Izzy. How much nicer the world could be if people who didn’t know what they were talking about would keep their mouths shut.
“While we’re at it, why don’t we recast Second Date Update as a breakup update?” she said. “We’ll give people a chance to call bullshit on the reasons they were given for the split. Now, there’s a shitstorm people would tune in for, am I right or am I right?”
Sonny cocked his head to the side. “I know you’re joking, but actually—”
Izzy let out a grunt of frustration so loud he jumped. “No ‘but actually’! Have we really sunk that low?”
Her cell phone buzzed, and she seized it from her desktop, grateful for the distraction. Penny’s picture toasted her from the screen, holding up a martini on a long-ago girls’ night, and she stifled a groan. Still, if she was going to acquiesce to a conversation she didn’t want to have, all the better if it got her out of another one.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” She didn’t give them a chance to protest, simply put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Izzy! Finally.”
She mouthed “tomorrow” at Sonny and Day, and they got to their feet, exchanging a glance that was the optic equivalent of a shrug. Each gave her a silent wave as she pushed the door shut behind them.
“Sorry. I’ve been meaning to call—”
“Gosh, I hope so. I’m starting to feel like a stalker!”
“I really—”
“And nobody wants to see a pregnant stalker!” Penny laughed loudly. “That’s just weird!”
Izzy held perfectly still. Maybe she’d misunderstood. “What?”
“That’s why I’ve been ringing you off the hook! Geez, I was starting to worry you were going to find out from someone else! I’ve been trying to keep the cat in the bag, but Mom and Dad know now, so not only is it out, but it’s running around terrorizing the neighborhood.”
Izzy felt faintly aware that she was supposed to summon something—words, a laugh, an exclamation of happiness—but the bottom was falling out of her heart. She allowed the silence to go on a beat too long, and knew she had to speak. She moved her lips, but nothing came out.
“Wow,” she said finally. “Gosh, Pen. I didn’t think … I mean, you used to say you didn’t even want kids.”
“Oh. I know.” Penny laughed as if this were the greatest lark of her life.
“Seriously, though. You used to say it a lot. Like every time you saw a kid.”
“I know! But that was before, obviously. I mean, I never could picture it, myself as a mom, but then I found Josh, and I realized I just could, you know?”
“And Josh, he’s excited? Because he also—”
“Okay, so the full story.” Penny’s voice was so breezy she might have been explaining why she’d decided to give country music a try after years of singular punk rock devotion. “We met this older couple on our honeymoon. Those all-inclusive places, you end up seeing the same people all week at meals and stuff, and … anyway, they were great. Pushing sixty, but they were there to party. They figured out we could order top-shelf margaritas even though they weren’t on the bar menu, and man, could they dance. People don’t dance like that anymore! It’s like in those old movies you love.”