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“You don’t look like a detective,” Mr. Flannagan commented, giving Elliot a curious look, head to toe. His bloodshot eyes lingered on his hat, then studied his belt buckle for a moment, then stared at his Roper boots.
“I’ve been told,” Elliot replied calmly.
Mrs. Flannagan showed the way into a living room furnished with aged leather sofas and armchairs. Elliot took a seat across from them, in an armchair that squeaked under his weight.
“Please walk me through yesterday afternoon, moment by moment, until you noticed Kendra was missing,” he asked.
Mr. Flannagan uncorked a bottle of wine and filled three glasses. He set them on the coffee table, sat by his wife with his glass in hand, then raised it to his lips and gulped a thirsty swig. “She went out yesterday, after school,” he said. He wiped the wine droplets on his lips with his sleeve, then looked at his wife as if asking for help.
“She went out with friends after school,” Mrs. Flannagan said, “but she was back by eight, when we sat down for dinner.” Her eyes darted around the room as if looking for something that wasn’t there. “We always sit down for dinner at eight, then Vern comes back to the tasting room and spends time with the regulars. We close at ten.”
The two huddled closer together, holding hands and looking at Elliot as if he held all the answers. Mrs. Flannagan’s eyes were brimming with tears, but she was fighting them bravely.
Elliot opened his notebook. “Do you know who she went out with, and where they went? Any detail could prove significant.”
Mrs. Flannagan’s eyes veered toward her husband for a moment. “Kendra hangs out with a bunch of seniors. Vern isn’t too happy about it, but if she’s—I mean, if they accept her, why not, right?”
“Do you have some names?” Elliot pressed on.
“Um, yes, sorry. There are two girls she’s close with, Mackenzie Trenton and Alana, um, I forgot her name.”
Them again. Seemed that Kendra and Jenna had the same friends.
“Keaney,” Mr. Flannagan said, without looking up from the glass abandoned on the table. The burgundy fluid left barely covered the base of the glass.
“Yes, that’s it, Keaney,” Mrs. Flannagan said. “There are a few boys in the group—”
“Of course, there are,” Mr. Flannagan said, his voice dipped in sarcasm. “Where there’s honey—”
“Oh, shut up,” Mrs. Flannagan replied, withdrawing her hands from her husband’s grasp. “She’s a beautiful girl, Vern, what do you expect? It’s normal. She’s sixteen.” She stared her husband down until he leaned back against the couch with a resigned sigh. “Couple of those boys are the girls’ boyfriends. Nick, I believe is his name, goes out with Alana, right?” Vern mumbled something in agreement. “Then there’s a Tim Carter, and a Richard, um, I don’t know his last name.”
This time, Vern didn’t have anything to add.
“Are all these kids seniors?” asked Elliot.
“Yes,” Mrs. Flannagan replied quickly. “I’m quite sure they are.”
“Do you know where they went?”
The parents exchanged a glance. “I’m not sure where they went last night, but they usually go to the coffee shop or to the Winter Lodge. Not that many places to go around here.”
“And Kendra came back home last night, on time for dinner?” Elliot asked, his pen stuck in midair, inches above the notebook.
Both parents nodded. Mr. Flannagan still stared at the almost-empty glass, but his eyes weren’t focused; he was spaced out, falling apart faster than a deflated tire. Mrs. Flannagan looked at Elliot with a silent plea in her insisting gaze.
“Did she seem all right to you? Her usual self?”
The two glanced quickly at each other. “Yes,” Mrs. Flannagan replied. “After dinner, she said she still had some homework to do. We kissed her good night, and she went to her room.”
“You didn’t check on her until this morning?”
“Y—yes,” Mrs. Flannagan stammered. She clasped her hands together nervously, wringing them as if they were made of clay, not flesh and bone. “I handle the winery’s accounting, and it’s a lot of work. Vern was with the guests until almost midnight. I was in the winery until eleven, closing the books.”
Elliot frowned. “I thought you said the tasting room closes at ten.”
She gave her husband a long, disapproving look. “Officially, we do. But some of the late-evening guests are regulars, and we don’t exactly kick them out. Vern shows them a good time. They buy a few cases of wine before leaving, and a week later, they’re back for more. It’s good for business, as long as Vern’s liver can take it.” She pressed her lips together and lowered her head. A tear fell on her clasped hands. “The light was off in Kendra’s room; I just thought she was asleep, and didn’t want to wake her.” She took her hand to her mouth to stifle a bitter sob. “Oh, God… my poor baby.”
Vern wrapped his arm around his wife and held her tight at his chest as she sobbed, all the time staring at Elliot intently. “Please find our little girl. She’s all we have.”
