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“So we’re going to have a weird couple of days. And if you have any questions, you can ask your dad and me, but your job is to just get on with everything you usually do, and not to think too much about it.”
I made her breakfast. She ate a few bites and left the room, claiming that she was going to shower, but I think really she wanted privacy. Maybe to think. Maybe to call a friend. Andy drove her to school a little early. I thought she would fight it, but she seemed relieved to be going. I wanted her there. I wanted her safely in class and nowhere near a screen when Andy and I were interviewed. Though she’d almost certainly see it as soon as school let out. She’d go online and search for it.
I shook off the thought and started knocking on bedroom doors in the inn, to tell our guests that there would be no breakfast that morning and that we needed them to vacate. I told everyone a short version of the truth. Our daughter was missing, there was a police investigation ongoing, and we needed our space and privacy at this difficult time. I got almost exactly the response I expected to get. Most people were at least outwardly polite and understanding, though a few made a very limited effort to hide their disappointment and frustration. One man tried to convince me that he and his wife would be no trouble to us, that we’d barely know they were there. It was their anniversary, he told me, and it was really important for their marriage that they stay. I cut him off and moved on. I cut every conversation short because I didn’t care about any of them. Only one woman seemed to actually take in what I was saying. An older woman, in her sixties, staying alone in the green suite. She reached out and took my hand and held it in hers.
“Is there anything at all we can do?” She had an accent. Scottish, I thought, though it might have been Irish. I’m not great with accents. I shook my head.
“I’m not a believer. If I was, I’d offer prayers. But I’ll be thinking of you and your daughter. And hoping.” She gave me a card. “Call me, anytime. Day or night.” The card told me that she was a florist in Boston. An image flashed into my mind—white lilies draped over a mahogany coffin. I went straight to the kitchen and threw the card in the garbage. I felt like I was going to vomit, so I went and leaned over the toilet in the small bathroom for a couple of minutes, but nothing came up. I sat at the kitchen table, opened my laptop, and went online and canceled all my bookings for the next two weeks. The explanation I gave was short and to the point.
The proprietors of the Black Friar Inn are dealing with a family emergency and as a result will not be able to honor your booking. They sincerely regret any inconvenience and will refund your booking deposit immediately.
The message wouldn’t save me. There would be a flurry of one-star reviews for the inn on all the booking websites. My ranking would plummet. Bookings would go down. It would take months of work to undo the damage, if the damage could be undone. I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was torpedoing a reputation that had taken me twenty years to build and I felt nothing at all. I started the process of refunding the deposits, but it was too involved, and I couldn’t focus. So I closed my laptop and left the house, taking Rufus with me. We left through the back gate and went for a walk through the woods. By the time I came back, the parking lot at the front of the inn was empty.
CHAPTER NINE
Matthew
Matthew Wright and Sarah Jane Reid were driving on I-89, on their way to Burlington. Matthew had picked Sarah Jane up at the station. The press conference was scheduled for 11:00 A.M., which didn’t give them a lot of time, but Matthew was determined to get as much done as possible before he saw the Frasers again.
“Who are we interviewing?” Sarah Jane asked.
“Olivia Darlington. The friend that Simon Jordan said Nina might have been planning on visiting in Boston. I called her mother last night. She said Olivia’s gone back to school. I thought we could meet her there.”
“You think it’s important to talk to her in person?”
Matthew inclined his head. “I do. And I want to speak to someone who saw Nina and Simon together recently.”
Sarah Jane nodded. After that, conversation between them was limited. She asked questions about the case and he answered them, but they didn’t know each other well, and at this early stage in the investigation, there wasn’t much to discuss. If she’d been a man, it would have been easier. He could have talked sports. Was it sexist of him to assume that she wouldn’t be interested?
“Do you follow hockey at all? You catch the game last night?”
She looked at him blankly.
“Not a sports fan?”
Sarah Jane smiled a little. “Not really.” She opened her hands. Her palms and fingers had thick calluses.
“A rower?” asked Matthew, hazarding a guess.
“That’s right,” she said. “Used to be pretty good. These days I just row for fun.”
Matthew gave her a sidelong look. He didn’t know much about rowing, but what little he did know made him think that it wasn’t something people did for fun. It was a sport for masochists. Sarah Jane pulled out her phone and started to scroll, and Matthew abandoned his attempts at conversation.
They pulled into the parking lot outside a student residence hall. They got out of the car, took their jackets out of the back seat, and put them on. It was still early, and cold enough that they needed them.
“Is she expecting us?” Sarah Jane asked.
“Her phone was turned off when I called her last night. Maybe she was still flying in. But I’m guessing her mother’s called her by now.”
THEY HAD TO BUZZ the door at the dorm entrance three times before a sleepy student answered and listened to Matthew’s brief explanation before buzzing them in without further question or comment. They climbed the stairs to the third floor.
“Her mother told me she’s in 303,” Matthew said. They found the right room and Matthew knocked on the door.
“Hold on. I’m coming.” The door was opened by a young woman. She was wearing sweats and a T-shirt, and her wet hair was wrapped in a towel. She was about five foot seven, Matthew figured, a little taller than Sarah Jane. Her hair, where it could be seen around the edges of the towel, was dark. She had big blue eyes and a nose that turned up a little at the end. “Sorry, I was in the shower.”
Matthew took out his ID and showed it to her. “Sergeant Matthew Wright. I’m a detective with the state police. And this is my colleague, Officer Reid.”
Olivia didn’t look at the ID. She put out her hand and shook theirs in an oddly formal gesture. “My mom said you’d be coming over. I guess I just didn’t expect you this early.”
