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“Stop talking.”
“But—”
Daisy whopped him in the back of the head. “Mort Elzik, don’t you even think of disobeying Ellie. Your mother would turn in her grave at the very thought. And Lord knows I’ll call your daddy.”
“Don’t break that story, Mort.” Ellie added, “Please,” because they both knew he could do what he wanted. But they had decades of history between them. At times like this they were more high school newspaper geek and Homecoming Queen than reporter and police chief. In small towns, the social dynamic was like concrete; it set early and hard.
“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out into a whine.
Ellie smiled. “Good.”
Daisy said, “What do we do with the supplies, Chief?”
“Thank you, Daisy. Why don’t you put everything in my carport? Be sure and get every donor’s name. I’ll want to tell them thanks.”
Marigold patted her vinyl notebook. “Already done.”
Ellie nodded. “Good. I knew I could count on you all. Now, I’d best get to work. We’ve got an identity to track down. Thanks for all your help. That kid was lucky to stumble into our town.”
“We’ll take care of her,” someone said.
Ellie headed across the parking lot. She could hear the buzz of gossip behind her; it grew softer with each step. Tonight, at both the Bigfoot and The Pour House, speculation would be served more often than pitchers of Olympia beer. The subjects would be Julia and the wolf girl in equal proportions. She should have seen it coming.
Julia had always been different in a town that prized sameness. A quiet, gawky girl who’d somehow been born into the wrong family, and then—unimaginably—proven that she was practically a genius. The townspeople hadn’t known what to make of her when she belonged here; God knew they wouldn’t know what to say to her now.
Ellie climbed up into her mom’s old Suburban—“Madge” to those in the know—and drove back to the station house. All the way there she added things to her mental to-do list. Today was the day she’d find the girl’s identity. It had to be. Either someone would read a newspaper and come forward or (a
nd this was the best answer) she would find the answer in the cold case files and become a hero.
Ellie parked in her spot and went into the station.
Viggo Mortensen stood in her office. Not in the flesh, of course. A cardboard cutout of him in full Lord of the Rings regalia. A white construction-paper dialogue bubble had been taped next to his lips. It read: Forget Arwen. It’s you I want.
Ellie burst out laughing.
Peanut came around the corner and walked into the office, holding two cups of coffee.
“How did you know I’d need this today?” Ellie said.
Peanut handed her a cup of coffee. “A good guess.”
“And Aragorn? Where was he hiding?”
“In the projection booth at the Rose Theater. Ned loaned him to me.”
“So I have to return him?”
Peanut grinned. “Tomorrow. Maybe the next day. I told Ned it’d be a while, seeing how badly you need a man in your bedroom. Ned said cardboard was better than nothing.”
Ellie couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Peanut.” Then she thought of her to-do list and it was easy to let go of that smile. “Well, I guess we’d best get to work.”
Peanut reached down to her cluttered desk and pulled up a single sheet of paper from the mess. “Here’s where we are so far.” She put on her rhinestone-encrusted Costco reading glasses. “The Center for Lost and Missing Children is running a database search. Their first pass brought up over ten thousand potential matches. They’re trying to narrow it down. Her exact age would help.”
Ellie slowly sat down. Her dream of heroism fizzled like an old balloon. “Ten thousand missing girls. God help us, Peanut. It would take us decades to go through all the information.”
“Get this, El. There are eight hundred thousand missing children cases a year in this country. That’s almost two thousand a day. Statistically, fifty percent of them will be white girls, kidnapped by someone they know. Is she white for sure?”
“Yes.” Ellie felt overwhelmed suddenly. “Did the FBI get back to us?”
