Drowning Instinct

Drowning Instinct Page 42

―Oh. She doesn‘t live in Madison?‖

―She doesn‘t live anywhere,‖ Mrs. Anderson said. ―We‘re in Appleton, and Mitch doesn‘t have any brothers or sisters.‖

I kept waiting for her to say the rest: in Wisconsin. But she didn‘t. So I said, stupidly, ―So he doesn‘t have a sister . . . or a brother?‖

―No,‖ said Mrs. Anderson. ―Mitch is an only child.‖

48: a

I’m visiting my sister in Madison.

My head was whirling. I left my pancakes.

My sister always does Thanksgiving.

I drifted out of the cafeteria in a kind of daze, floating to the elevator, punching the up arrow, staring at the numbers ticking in a kind of countdown: 7-6-5-4....

Casey’s in Afghanistan.

I stumbled into the elevator and stared dumbly at the panel. A hospital tech reached past me. ―What floor?‖ he asked.

―Burn Unit,‖ I mumbled. He stabbed the right button as I sagged against the back of the elevator and closed my eyes.

I have three sisters.

Girls always use more hot water than guys.

My brother’s in Special Forces.

Small world.

God, what world had I been in? Planet Mitch? He‘d lied. He was in Appleton with his wife. He had no brother, no three sisters who used all the hot water. He bought the Lasker book the day Dewerman gave me the assignment.

No, wait. Numb, I navigated my way down the hall from the elevator toward the Burn Unit. Mitch had done his undergraduate work at Stanford; he‘d studied marine mammology, he said, and as a grad student, he‘d already known about Alexis and he just thought he had Lasker‘s book. But why buy it? There was no reason he would need it—unless that reason was me.

No, he went to Stanford and then Madison, and there were sharks and diving and dolphins and—

And then I realized what else was missing from Mitch‘s library, what my dad had and Mitch didn‘t,

No pictures there, in that cabin. No diplomas either.

Stop, I had to stop. Not everyone advertised. There were plenty of people who didn‘t slap every credential on the wall for other people to admire, and the cabin was private space. Mitch wouldn‘t need a reminder. I had to slow down. There were things Mitch had told me that had to be true: he was rich; he was married; I‘d talked to his wife; I knew she was with her sick dad in Minneapolis.

Police. She‘d said police, and Mitch said that was a long story. And what else?

You poor kids.

Bad things come in threes.

I‘d assumed she‘d been talking about me, but—

―But she thought I was Danielle.‖

―What? I‘m sorry, did you say something, honey?‖

I looked up and saw a nurse, not Laurie, in my mother‘s doorway. All the nurses were different. Change of shift. The nurse said, ―Are you Jenna?‖ When I nodded, she dug into her pocket. I heard the tinkle of metal. ―Laurie wanted me to give you these. You were down in the cafeteria.‖

―Thanks.‖ I took my keys. Meryl had pinned a note to the ring: Family Parking, Level 2, Row 3.

―I heard about your mom‘s bookstore on the news this morning,‖ the nurse said.

―I‘m real sorry.‖

Mrs. Anderson had seen the news, too. Bad things come in threes. ―Is there a TV

around?‖ I asked.

The nurse steered me to the family lounge, which was empty. I punched through stations with the remote until I found the local news, but it was nearly 8 a.m. and the only story featured was something about a dancing penguin who wrote opera. (Okay, it wasn‘t; I made that up, but it was something equally stupid.) I waited impatiently, jiggling my foot, and then the lady announcer said, ―A deadly fire destroys a cherished downtown landmark.‖

―And authorities in Milwaukee investigate what they fear may be a suicide pact between a Turing High School athlete and her boyfriend,‖ her male partner added. ―All that, and the weather when we come back.‖

Danielle. And ... David?

My heart iced.

Mrs. Anderson thought I was Danielle—because she‘d been there when the police called Mitch.

49: a

I had to wait through the weather first, an obscenely cheerful guy named Brian jabbering about Arctic cold fronts and more snow by next week. The announcers got in on the act, posing inane questions to which they already knew the answers: ― Brian, I bet there are a lot of snowmobilers just chomping on the bit. What about those lakes and rivers? ‖

Setting up Brian so he could warn us all about appearances being deceiving and the dangers of thin ice, blah, blah, blah.

Mom‘s store was the lead story. There were aerial shots of the fire—a great roiling inferno—and then ground level, but either way you could see there was nothing left but a charred skeleton. The only thing saving the block had been the cold and snow melt that had wet neighboring buildings so they didn‘t burn.

Danielle and David were next. I listened hard, trying to still my mind. What I got was that David had picked up Danielle at her house on Wednesday and then they both disappeared. Just . . . vanished. The newspeople were getting the suicide thing from one of Danielle‘s friends—I recognized her from school—who said that Danielle had talked about maybe not coming back after Thanksgiving.

―Police have interviewed teachers and students at Turing High for any information that might lead to the discovery of the missing teens. While it is too early to speculate on their whereabouts, unnamed sources tell Channel 4 that Miss Connolly placed a call to Child Protective Services as recently as two weeks ago. Miss Connolly reportedly declined to make a specific complaint.‖

Cut to Mr. Connolly, standing on his doorstep: ―All we have to say to Danielle is, honey, we love you, come home, we can work it out.‖ Shouts from assembled reporters; I caught allegations of abuse. Mr. Connolly, his face lawyerly and glacial: ―No comment.‖

Cut to the announcer: ―CPS could not be reached for comment. Police are investigating. And in other news . . . ‖

Another bright, freezing, cruelly beautiful morning.

There was virtually no traffic heading up the interstate, and I made good time.

Within fifty minutes, I was only four exits away from Mitch‘s house. When I‘d retrieved my knapsack from the Burn Unit, I saw that Mitch had called five times. On the way up, he‘d called twice more, but I hadn‘t picked up. I wanted to time this just right. I wasn‘t avoiding him necessarily, but I didn‘t want him getting there ahead of me. Appleton was only forty minutes from his place. Twenty, if he floored it. I thought he‘d do that.

My cell buzzed again: a text message this time. My eyes flicked down: PICK UP.

Five seconds later, my cell chirped. I flipped it open. ―What?‖

―Where are you?‖ Mitch‘s voice was controlled, but I heard the urgency.

―I‘m at the hospital.‖

―No, you‘re not. They said you left almost an hour ago.‖

I said nothing.

―Where are you?‖

―In my car.‖

―Are you going home?‖

I took a deep breath. ―No.‖ I waited a beat to let him answer, but all I got was silence. I said, ―How many other lies have you told me? You don‘t have a brother. You don‘t have a sister, much less three. You‘re in Appleton.‖

―Because Kathy called and wanted to meet. She came down from Minneapolis and I came up.‖

―Were you ever in Madison?‖

Silence.

―Mitch?‖

―Jenna.‖ Frustration. ―Honey, you don‘t understand. I can explain.‖

―I‘m listening.‖

―No. In person. I need to see you.‖

―Why?‖ I said. ―So you can kill me the way you did Danielle?‖

c

A long, long silence.

Then: ―What?‖ His shock seemed genuine. ― What? What are you talking about?

Jenna, what are you saying?‖

―You were angry enough to kill her. That‘s what you said.‖

―That was a figure of spee—‖

―She was in your house! She answered the phone! She was at our cabin!‖ I shouted.

―I saw her! But she won‘t be there now, will she? She‘ll be gone because she was waiting for you; she knew where it was, and the only way she could know that is if you‘d taken her there!‖

―Oh my God. You think that—‖ He sucked in a breath. ―Jenna, honey, Jenna, no, it‘s not like that. You don‘t understand.‖

―Stop saying that! I understand fine and when I find the proof, when I find it . . . !‖ I think I heard him shout my name, but I thumbed . My cell immediately started up again, but I ignored it.

By the time I pulled into Mitch‘s driveway, my cell hadn‘t rung for ten minutes. I was certain he was already in his car, heading home, but I had a head start. The last thing I did was punch up another cell, reading the numbers from a business card. The other line rang once, twice, and then: ―Detective Pendleton.‖

―This is Jenna Lord.‖ I gave the address and then said, ―Come quick.‖

Then I tossed the live cell onto the front seat. I heard you squawking, Bobby-o, but I had no more time to give you. But I‘d seen enough CSI and NCIS to know: you‘d find me soon enough.

50: a

The snow was packed solid. There‘d been plenty of traffic to and from the cabin since I‘d last been there what seemed a century ago, but was only two days. A good thing, too, because I didn‘t have my snowshoes.

The first thing I noticed when I rounded the bend and saw the cabin: no smoke. The windows were dark, and the cabin felt as still and deserted as Mitch‘s house. What did that mean? Had Danielle and maybe David stayed there on Wednesday then left Thursday or Friday? Or had Danielle come to see Mitch and then Mitch had . . . Or maybe it had been a homeless person.... No, no, that I knew wasn‘t true because Mitch hadn‘t denied that Danielle had been at the cabin. Had he?

Had I given him time?

The key was in the jug. I fished it out, fitted it to the lock, and turned. The cabin smelled like tomato soup and peaches. There were dry dishes on the drain board: two bowls, two spoons, two mugs, a saucepan. Danielle and David? Danielle and Mitch? Mitch and . . . ?

The bed was made, but sloppily—not the way Mitch and I always left it. In the upstairs bathroom, two bath towels were draped over the shower stall and there was a discarded travel bottle of Herbal Essences Peach Shampoo and a wad of blonde hair in the trash, probably teased from a brush. Danielle was a blonde. I used toilet paper to pluck the hair out of the trash and then thought I should put it into something where the hair wouldn‘t be damaged. Envelope, I thought, and headed back downstairs.