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Naomie glanced at the others, who shook their heads. “We don’t know. She didn’t like to talk about it, and we didn’t want to push.”
So much for the deeply close friendship. “So she was caring for her mother while also dealing with a pregnancy on her own. And she’s in school?”
“She takes evening classes.” Naomie’s hands resumed rubbing her cup. “And she’s a part-time receptionist at a chiropractic office.”
Jo jotted down the company name Naomie gave her. “That’s a lot for one person to handle, especially a twenty-year-old. Has she been depressed, anything like that?”
“She’s been late recently, and missed a class session,” Julia said.
“But she’s been in a good mood,” Chelsea said. “I don’t think she would hurt herself.”
“Do you know of anybody she was on bad terms with?” Jo asked.
“No, nobody,” the women chorused.
Jo switched gears. “Where does Madison normally walk?”
“Crone Ridge Woods. She lives right next to the back end of it,” Naomie said.
Jo nodded. “Who did you talk to at Phelpston PD?”
Naomie slid a card across the table. “Officer Garaffolo. He said we could reach him at this number.”
Jo snapped a picture of the card, asked for Madison’s home address, then closed the notebook and met each of the women’s eyes in turn. “Unfortunately, what Officer Garaffolo told you is correct. Without evidence of foul play, we can’t do much more than put her in the database and check to be sure nobody matching her description has shown up at any area hospitals or such.” No need to use the word ‘morgue’ if she could avoid it.
“Can’t you send out a search party into Crone Ridge Woods or something?” Chelsea asked.
“Not with what you’ve told me so far. Adults have the right to disappear if they choose. But I’ll talk to Officer Garaffolo and Madison’s mother and see if there are any leads we can pursue. With as much as Madison has on her plate, it’s very possible she just got overwhelmed and needed some time to herself.”
Chelsea’s face tightened. “Then I think the three of us should go look there ourselves. If she did fall asleep or something, she might still be there.”
“If you do, stay together and keep to populated areas,” Jo said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I talk to Phelpston PD and Madison’s mother.”
CHAPTERFIVE
Phelpston was the sort of small town that had ebbed and flowed over the years. In the early 1900s it housed the men who ran the nearby mills, giving them a place close enough to be hands-on with their businesses while being far enough away that they weren’t rubbing noses with the workers they employed. As time and technology forged forward, cars replaced carriages and the few miles’ distance became irrelevant; the wealthy escaped to farther enclaves, taking their money and leaving a gradual decline only briefly interrupted by a burst of post-war prosperity. Artists and entrepreneurs looking for cheap rents inadvertently brought the town a cultural, if not fiscal, renaissance during the seventies by attracting hippies, who, when it came time to rear their broods, departed for climes less bohemian and more yuppie-focused. By the turn of the new millennium, meth and oxy rooted themselves into the counterculture cracks, leaving abandoned psychedelic murals to peek through gang tags and section-eight housing havens dominating the original, ancient Victorians. Just a few months before, the roof of one decrepit apartment building collapsed, nearly killing several tenants.
Jo stared up at the gray-beige concrete monstrosity in front of her and wondered, based on the furiously peeling paint, how likelythisroof was to stay put.
She shook her head and pushed into the internal hallway, then found her way to apartment 1B. Madison’s mother took a long moment to answer the door; she clutched a cane and stooped under a gray, purse-like oxygen tank draped over her shoulder that trailed a tube up her chest, around her ears, and to her nose. Her face, an older version of Madison’s, was pinched and wide-eyed.
“Susan Coelho?” Jo asked.
“Yes. Are you with the police?”
Jo introduced herself and explained why she’d come. “You haven’t seen Madison since last night?”
“Please come in.” Susan stepped back and gestured to a couch swathed in an ill-fitting gray fabric cover, then lowered herself into a matching armchair. “Last night when I went to bed around midnight. She was already gone when I woke up. She walks Ginger every morning first thing.”
Jo took in the room as she sat. Sparse, except for two plastic-framed art prints that bookended a wall decal exhorting ‘Give thanks with a grateful heart’ in flowery script. “What time did you wake up?”
“Around eight, but I read in bed until ten. I just assumed she decided to study up at the ridge so the house would be quiet for me. But then her friend said Madison was supposed to meet them and she didn’t answer the phone when I called. She always answers when I call, even when I forget she’s in class, because of my condition. And she doesn’t have any Saturday classes this term anyway.”
“Saturday classes? Isn’t that unusual?”
Pink spots bloomed on Susan’s face, and she wrung her hands. “She goes to Phelpston Community College. They schedule classes for people with jobs. She’s working her way through school so she can be a veterinarian. She always loved animals since she was a little girl.”
Confused by Susan’s distress, Jo chose her next comment carefully. “She must be very smart.”
