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“Not yet. That’s why I’m here.” I study her, taking in her hair that is dyed black, her dark makeup, and her baggy clothes that make her look bigger than she is.
In photos that Kristen’s mom has of her daughter around the house, she used to have a Southern Belle appearance—blonde hair, tan, and always smiling. Then at some point she adapted the same gothic style as Carrie, dyed her hair a dark-blue, and started wearing too much makeup.
“I know you mentioned the last time you saw Kristen was the day before she went missing.”
“It was.” She twists her fingers around the bottom edge of her oversized shirt. “She came by my house to pick up a book, but I only saw her for like a couple of minutes.”
“She came to pick up a book,” I repeat, because she never mentioned that before when we’ve spoken to her.
“We had a test for science the next day, and she forgot her science book at school.”
“So, she came to borrow yours?”
She nods.
“Did she tell you where she was going when she left your house?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “She…. I don’t know. She had been weird for like a week, and when I would ask her what was going on, she wouldn’t tell me.”
“Do you know if she was seeing anyone, or was there anyone she liked?”
“No, I already told you that. She always had guys who liked her, but she… she never liked any of them.”
“Were any of the guys who liked her aggressive when they told her or showed her that they liked her?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. We never hung out with guys when we were together. M-My dad is kind of strict about that kind of stuff.”
“All right,” I say gently when I see she’s beginning to get agitated. “Do you know any of the guys’ names who liked her?”
“No.”
“Carrie, I know this is difficult, but it would really help me out if you could give me some names.”
“I don’t know anyone.”
“All right,” I give in and take my wallet out of my back pocket. “I’m gonna go, but if you can think of anyone, I want you to call me.” I pass her over my card, and she takes it before rushing off toward the alcove where her apartment door is. I watch until she’s safely inside.
As Kristen’s best friend, Carrie likely would have known all Kristen’s darkest secrets, and at their age, both girls would have likely been boy-crazy, even if they weren’t supposed to be. I know from previous conversations with Barbara, Kristen’s mom, that Carrie’s dad works nights at one of the local factories, which leaves her at home alone a lot. And without supervision, it’s anyone’s guess what she and Kristen would do when they were together.
“Kingston, stop!” Miranda’s fear-filled shout rips through the air, and I take off in a jog toward the playground where I saw her last. When I hit the parking lot, I catch a glimpse of Miranda in her pink sweatshirt, running after her son, who is seriously quick on his feet for a kid his size.
I see the red taillights of a car that’s about to back out of its spot at the same moment Miranda does, and she screams as I make it to him, lifting him off the ground and slamming my hand into the trunk of the car before they can hit me. The driver slams hard on the brakes, probably scared to death, and Miranda makes it to us.
“Oh my God!” she cries, taking her son from me with her shaking hands. “I … He just bolted as soon as the gate was open. I couldn’t catch him.” Tears stream from her eyes as she hugs him to her chest.
“He’s okay.” I catch the eye of the driver in the side mirror and lift my hand before escorting Miranda and Kingston to the sidewalk.
“Thank you,” she whimpers, her whole body shaking, and Kingston starts to cry, probably confused about what just happened and why his mom has him in a vice grip.
“Where’s your place?”
“Just over there.” She looks up at me and whispers, “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me.” I place my hand against her lower back and walk her across the lot to the other sidewalk.
“I do. He could have …” She shakes her head. “He could have been run over.”
“He wasn’t.” I realize she’s leading us to the apartment across from the one Carrie now lives in. When she takes out her key and attempts and fails to get it in the lock, I take it from her and open the door, then follow her inside. With the two of them crying and Miranda almost hyperventilating, I squat down next to her as she sits on the couch with him on her lap. “You need to breathe and calm down. He’s okay, but you’re scaring him,” I say gently, and her red-rimmed eyes meet mine over the top of his head.
