Page 104 of What Happens at Nightfall

“He said he did,” said Mrs. Drummond huffily, but Adam could hear the rising fear in her voice. “He produced a note. Signed by you.”

“Not signed by me. When did he go?”

There was a rustle of papers. “Ben signed out . . . at two fifteen.”

“Two fifteen? That was over four hours ago! Why are you only just calling me now?”

“He had a note,” said Mrs. Drummond stiffly. “The signature was a match for the one we have on file. This call was merely a formality to alert you to the proper sign-out procedure.”

“You should add double-checking with parents to the proper sign-out procedure!”

“If people used School Dismissal Manger appropriately,” said Mrs. Drummond primly, “that wouldn’t be an issue. As I told you.”

“Kids can get into their parents’ phones and mess with School Dismissal Manager too. Did you ever think about that?” Adam took a deep breath. It wasn’t this woman’s fault—even if it sort of was. The important thing was finding Ben, and shouting at an administrator was both unkind and a waste of precious time. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. I need to go find my son now.”

He clicked the end call button before the woman could say anything else and he could tell her where to put her School Dismissal Manager.

“Nervous about your big date?” asked Melinda, wandering back down into the kitchen wearing a large blue sweatshirt with “Mathletes” across the front.

Date. Jess. He’d forgotten about Jess. Guilt and fear and irritation all mingled together. Was this Ben’s idea, to ruin his date with Jess by going missing? It didn’t need to be all about him, Adam reminded himself. Ben could have made plans with friends and not bothered to say.

Or he could have lied, snuck out of school, and deliberately sabotaged Nightfall.

“Did your brother say anything to you about his plans for this afternoon?”

“Does my brother ever say anything to me?”

“This is not the time,” said Adam sharply.

Melinda stuck her hands in the pouch of her sweatshirt. “No. No, he didn’t. Why?”

Adam felt like the hands of the clock were spinning round and round like Labyrinth. Four hours. Four hours since Ben had left the school.

Half an hour to Nightfall.

“Your brother’s gone missing,” said Adam.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“I was missing you,” said Jess’s mom, once hugs had been exchanged and Kimmy had tactfully removed herself with the excuse of preschool pickup.

“So you picked up and flew three thousand miles?” Her mother never went anywhere. Jess could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she remembered her mother going anyplace that wasn’t in driving distance of home.

“Well . . .” Her mother heaved the straw tote onto the couch. “You asked me to look through Pop’s stuff. You know how I am with technology. It was easier to bring it than to scan it.”

As Jess’s mom leaned over her bag, digging out a frayed, leather-bound album and an ancient cardboard box—those must have weighed a ton on the plane—a necklace swung forward, catching the light. It was a take on the classic millefiori, but instead of glass flowers, the pendant was filled with tiny dried flowers painstakingly arranged in a pattern.

Her mother looked different. Older. There was silver in the beach-blond hair and the skin was crinkly over her cheekbones.

How long had it been since Jess had been home? A while.

“You can take my bed. I’ll blow up the air mattress.” Jess tried to remember if she’d washed the spare sheets after having Ingrid over.

“I don’t want to disrupt your life,” said her mother, as if she hadn’t just shown up on Jess’s doorstep out of the blue. “But . . . I had a feeling you might need me. Not that you do need me, generally.”

There was a wistful note in her mother’s voice.

“I try not to bother you.” Jess had always assumed her mother had been relieved she was so self-sufficient. “I’ll go get the sheets.”