Thomas finally fastened the last Velcro strip of his shoes, and she scooped him up, though he was getting too heavy to carry this way, and clumped down the stairs as quickly as she could with a child under each arm. She set Maddie up with a bottle, Thomas with a popsicle, and debated whether the kids should have light coats. The temperature was hovering under seventy, chillier in the breeze, and they’d been sick …
Forget it. There was no time. She flew to the front closet, set the children on the bottom step of the staircase behind her, clumsily yanked the double stroller out, and with a flick of her wrist shoved the front door open with her shoulder—only to come face-to-face with Detective Bryant.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, unsmiling. He held up a copy of The ColorBlind Gazette, and Clara stopped where she stood.
“I did not editorially advise that,” she blurted out. “In fact, I told Hallie that she should not, could not print it.”
“How did she get it?”
Clara looked past him, in the direction of Paul’s house. Through the sprawling branches of the trees, she could tell his car was still in the driveway, but there was no sign of anyone.
“Please.” She hated that her voice was such a desperate plea. “I can explain, but I was about to go try to—” How to phrase this in a way that didn’t sound unlawful? “Gather them up.”
“We have someone on that. Let’s talk inside, shall we?”
She wheeled the massive stroller backward, and the detective filled the doorway. He caught sight of the children sitting on the step and eyed them uneasily. She half expected Thomas to jump up and ask about the woowoo again, but he was curled into a sleepy ball, his head resting on the step above him, staring forlornly at them.
“They’ve been sick,” Clara told him. “I can’t unload them on anyone right now.”
“Why don’t you give me the short version.”
So she told him, right there in the entryway, while Maddie sucked her bottle and Thomas licked his popsicle and she tried to behave as if a talk with a detective was nothing to be alarmed about in the middle of an ordinary day in her ordinary life. She told him about Hallie having the idea for the paper before she’d even known Kristin was missing, and how she’d forgotten about it until the girl showed up with “breaking news.” About how she’d stressed to her the importance of going no farther with what she’d heard. About how she’d had every intention of telling the girl’s parents, until she’d walked into the Folgers commercial reunion and felt heartless bringing it up just then. About how they were going out of town, and she’d made the judgment call that filling them in could wait until today. Which was obviously, in hindsight, not the right call.
When she was finished, Detective Bryant sighed heavily.
“Look. I’m a cop, but I’m a human being too. I can understand how what you went through in Cincinnati might have made you hypervigilant—”
“I am not a vigilante.”
He stared at her.
“I’m not. Detective, this is my neighborhood! I can’t believe she put my name on this. Given what I was thrust into the middle of against my will once before, I don’t want anything other than to mind my own business in this case. Or any case. Believe me.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed again. “And at no point did it occur to you to let us know about this little development?”
“Report a twelve-year-old to the police for eavesdropping?”
She could tell he was debating saying more but decided to let it go. “Any clue whether Hallie’s mother has seen this yet?”
“Natalie was going to be my next stop.”
“Well. We better get to it.”
*
Clara maneuvered the stroller up Natalie’s lone front step and stood awkwardly to the side while Detective Bryant knocked. In unspoken agreement, they’d taken the long way around the block so as not to walk past Paul’s house. Clara wondered exactly how Paul himself factored in to the detective’s containment plan. She was still clinging to some small hope that he might never learn of the paper, however unlikely.
It took a moment for Natalie to come to the door, and when she finally opened it, Clara’s heart sank. Her eyes were puffy from crying. She wore a huge sweatshirt that had to belong to her husband, and half her hair had come loose from its ponytail. She looked from Clara to the detective and back again.
“Oh, God,” she said. “What? Have you found Kristin?”
Clara shook her head, and Detective Bryant cleared his throat and held up the flyer. “Have you seen this?” he asked simply.
Natalie shook her head. “I haven’t gotten the mail. I’m having kind of a hard day. This isn’t the best time—”
“Clara told me about your husband coming home and leaving again. I’m sorry to barge in at a time like this. But it’s important.”
Natalie hesitated, then stepped aside and held the door open wide. Clara lifted Maddie and took Thomas by the hand, and followed Detective Bryant into the living room. She’d been inside Natalie’s house only once before, and she took in its coziness and the obvious signs of sadness—the rumpled blanket on the L-shaped sectional, the family photo album open on the coffee table, the ball of soggy tissues.
“You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” Natalie said quietly, coming up behind her. “But nothing can ever soften the fact that you might not see someone you love again.” She clapped her hands together decisively. “How about a cartoon?” she asked the kids, her voice bright.
Clara had always admired those moms who could slip into take-charge mode at a moment’s notice. In a flurry, Natalie had a pile of picture books on the floor in front of Maddie, Nickelodeon on the TV for Thomas, and the table in the adjoining dining room set with three mugs of steaming coffee, one of which Detective Bryant gladly accepted. Clara kept her eyes on her children, feeling chagrined that on neither of the detective’s visits had she offered him a thing. She’d merely blinked at him like a deer on a nighttime highway and complied with his requests. Clearly she’d overestimated her ability to keep it together in times of stress and confusion.
Then again, she hadn’t anticipated quite so many such times. At least, not like this.
“Now, what’s this about?” Natalie asked, taking a seat across from them.
The detective slid the paper toward her, and Clara watched her flinch at the initial sight of Hallie’s name, and the widening of her eyes as she read.
“Oh, my God, I have no idea how she gets these things into her head,” Natalie said, groaning. “How many people got this little gazette, exactly?”
“We’re not sure yet. A lot.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I’m horrified. You have to understand, she has a vivid imagination. I didn’t even realize she’d been so affected by what’s been happening, by the news of Kristin and the twins gone. I’ve had other things on my mind…” Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her hands to the table. “Surely we can just explain to everyone that this is a fabrication, the product of a child’s imagination?”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Detective Bryant said. “For one thing, it’s true.”
“What? What do you mean, it’s true? How would she possibly know?”
Clara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Natalie’s eyes locked on hers as if only just registering her presence. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to Detective Bryant. “Why is Clara here?”
“Turn the page,” he said simply. Clara blanched. So he was going to leave the explaining to her. Fair enough.
Natalie took in the masthead. “I don’t understand,” she said, her eyes not leaving the paper.
Clara did her best to explain, from the beginning.
When she was finished, Natalie’s eyes blazed. “I don’t give a damn if it seemed like ‘a bad time’ to tell us on Thursday,” she snapped. “It didn’t occur to you that it might actually have been a good time? For once, I had my husband here to help me parent the kid! And now I have to deal with this myself. Again.” She burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” Clara said, her own voice breaking, her own tears welling. “You have to believe me that I didn’t—”