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FIFTEEN
SATURDAY, JUNE 10TH 1:00 PM
As I head back down the pier toward the main area of the wharf, paranoia spikes my pulse. I don’t know if I’m taking steps away from or closer to whoever is deranged enough to be watching me while sending me text messages. My imagination is getting the best of me as I convince myself people are glancing at me as I walk by them. I whip my head over my shoulder every few seconds, sensing someone walking in my footsteps. The wharf is a popular location and it’s a beautiful day. It’s normal for there to be so many people here.
The news crew at the edge of the wharf is packing up as I come closer to where they were filming.
My phone buzzes again and this time it feels like an electric zapper clenched in my hand. I squeeze my fingers tighter around the edges of the phone, wishing I was strong enough to crush the device.
Another buzz.
Another change of heart. I need to do something. I can’t just run from whatever might or might not be following me.
“Excuse me!” I call out toward the news crew. I’m just close enough that they’d hear me, so I hold my hand up, drawing more attention to myself than I wanted.
A camera-ready woman with long black hair, fire-engine red lips and lashes that curl up toward her eyebrows, pivots on her four-inch stilettos, her skintight pencil dress making her look robotic as she twists toward me.
I slap my hand against my chest, trying to catch the breath I shouldn’t have lost from walking at a normal pace. “I know something about the missing baby,” I say, trying to keep my voice low but loud enough for her to hear from the car length’s difference between us.
“The missing baby,” she says, her brows furrowing, stress lines that no viewer is intended to see tug along the sides of her eyes.
“Yes,” I say, peering to each side, wondering who’s watching and listening. Also wondering why she’s repeating my words as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“The Smith baby?” She takes a few steps closer to me, her mic still clenched in her fist.
I tug on my necklace and twist the chain around my finger. “Yes. I was the person watching the two other children last night and the one the Smith family accused when they never mentioned a single word about the baby.”
“Will you answer some additional questions?” the woman asks me, waving her hand around behind her to get the attention of her crew. “And what’s your name?”
“Haley Vaughn, and yes, I will.” If I had a lawyer, they might advise against this decision, but I don’t and I need the public to see whatever it is Liam claims to see in me—innocence.
As the reporter is gearing up, my phone buzzes several more times. Each time the vibration sounds louder than the last.
“Ready?” she asks, repositioning herself to stand by my side. From the corner of my eye, I see her nod her head as a gesture to the cameraman.
“Three, two—” he points his finger toward us.
“This is Annalise Baratto, reporting live for Channel 4 at Bowen’s Wharf. We’ve just had a breaking discovery regarding the case of missing baby girl, Fallon Smith. The fifteen-month-old was abducted by an unknown source yesterday and this young woman beside me, Haley Vaughn, was the hired nanny initially accused of kidnapping the Smiths’ youngest child while watching over the other two Smith children. Haley was detained as a suspect shortly after Mr. and Mrs. Smith returned home to find one of their three daughters missing. Haley Vaughn claims to have no knowledge of Fallon Smith’s existence.” Annalise Baratto holds the microphone up in front of my chin. “Haley, in your words can you describe the situation from where you found yourself caring for two young girls to then being accused of abducting a third child you knew nothing about?”
I can’t stop myself from staring into the camera as words purge on their own. “I was hired to watch twin girls last night. The Smiths never mentioned their third child to me, but now she’s missing, and they blamed me when they got home. I was in as much shock as they were, and very confused about their accusation. I don’t know anything about this child, and I had nothing to do with her disappearance.”
“Wow,” Annalise says. “How did you meet the Smith family?”
“I was looking for a summer job and posted my caregiving experience in a classified ad. They called me.”
They called me. Why? Why me, of all people?
As if my phone is trying to answer my silent questions, it buzzes again.
“I can’t imagine what you must be going through, blamed for such a heinous crime.”
“They keep calling me, and I think one of them might be following me too.” I imagine the unknown number must be Corbin, following up on Lara’s calls, but I don’t really know.
“Cut,” Annalise says, allowing the microphone to dangle from her hand. “Are you being serious?”
“Yeah.” Sound barely forms as I try to answer.
“Okay, I think we’re going to wrap up here. Thank you for answering those questions.”
