She returned the phone to the side of her head. “What else could there be?” she asked.
“Ludlow’s story about finding the earring keeps changing. He’s told a couple of versions.” She paused. “I’m not sure what it means, but we’re still looking into all of it.”
“Is he in jail?” Jenna asked.
“We can’t just hold him forever. He has a couple of outstanding misdemeanor charges we can use to make his life unpleasant. But he’ll be out soon. Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You said he’s a vagrant. He could leave town.”
“He won’t.”
“What about Holly Crenshaw? Maybe Benny is behind it all. Maybe we’re safe with him behind bars, and you’ll make the case.”
“We’ll consider everything,” Naomi said. “Believe me.”
“People are scared, Naomi. I’m scared.”
“I know. The police are well aware of that.”
Naomi sounded understanding, but her tone didn’t comfort Jenna at all. She wanted something to end, something to conclude. And nothing seemed to be. Doors kept opening, leading to more long hallways and doors. She didn’t know where she was in all of it.
“Thanks, then,” Jenna said.
“We’ll talk soon.”
? ? ?
Jenna had things to do online. She paid a few bills. She responded to a few e-mails. Later in the month, she was scheduled to volunteer at a community health day in Hawks Mill, an event where local doctors and nurses provided free blood pressure and cholesterol screenings to people without health insurance. Jenna checked the Web site, making sure to mark the correct time and date in her calendar.
She didn’t walk away. She tried another search for Tabitha’s name. She used a variety of search engines and people finders. No results came back. Nothing on social media—no Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram accounts. None that she could find. But Jenna knew people sometimes used different names and odd handles on social media. And it was possible Tabitha was one of the few teenagers in the country without those accounts.
The girl looked a little economically disadvantaged. And intense. With a strict father and an absent mother. Maybe she was the smart one. Maybe the girl just put her head down and worked, hoping to finish high school and go to college and have a better life than her parents.
But Tabitha clearly believed in having some fun. She’d come back to the house with Jared and climbed on top of him. Jenna wondered if they were having sex already. She’d had the “talk” when he was twelve, offering him plenty of words of wisdom from a woman’s perspective, including lots of information about birth control. He squirmed through the conversation, admitting to his mother that he’d heard most of it already from his friends. Did Jared need to hear it from a man? Jenna’s dad was dead. She didn’t have brothers. Who the hell served as a masculine role model in his life?
She almost felt a measure of relief that Tabitha was out of the picture. Maybe she was too fast for Jared. Jenna always swore she’d never be one of those overprotective mothers, the ones who guarded their sons, believing that no girl who came along would ever be good enough for their little boy. But she felt a twinge, something between jealousy and fear, when she thought about Jared and Tabitha spending time together. He’d started dating. He had just over two years of high school left, and very soon he’d be driving.
It was all going by so fast, like a film stuck in fast-forward.
So why would she spend time online looking at that nonsense?
Because she couldn’t look away once she came near it.
She took a quick glance at the Dealey Society page. She avoided all mention of Celia. She could guess what they would be talking about on the new threads, the ones that rose to the top of the page with a flaming icon next to them indicating they were the most popular discussions of the day. They’d be talking about the affairs. They’d be talking about her.
She skipped past them and went to the index, the listing of the names and details of thousands of missing persons cases going back to the turn of the twentieth century. Jenna scanned through them. So many were familiar to her after so much time looking, but she scrolled past the faces anyway.
They progressed from black and white to color, from slicked-back pompadours to hippie curls to mullets. Some of the faces looked happy and optimistic in their photos, just people smiling for the camera before some unimaginable tragedy befell them. Others looked haunted and scared, as though they could already see some doom rushing toward them, and they merely hoped to stay out of its way as long as possible.