Addy
Sunday, July 5
The Bayview Police are nothing if not consistent. No matter what kind of crisis they’re faced with, they’ll focus on the wrong problem one hundred percent of the time.
“So, there was underage drinking at this party?” Officer Budapest asks, dropping Phoebe’s phone into a plastic bag and zipping the top.
We called Melissa Lawton as soon as we found Phoebe’s cell. She immediately got into her car and headed for Nate’s house, calling the police along the way. Now she’s here with Owen in tow, clutching him to her side as we all stand in a semicircle around Officer Hank Budapest. The fact that he was the officer who first questioned us about Simon’s death isn’t lost on anyone—including him, I’m sure. He didn’t exactly cover himself with glory during that investigation.
“Yeah,” Nate says, his jaw clenched.
“Who procured the alcohol?” Officer Budapest asks.
“Officer, my daughter is missing,” Ms. Lawton interrupts, her face tight with worry. “Can we focus on that, please, and worry about the party later?”
“From what you’ve told me, Phoebe lied to you about where she was spending the night,” Officer Budapest says. “Isn’t it more likely that she’s simply gone somewhere that she didn’t want you to know about? It’s been, what?” He makes a show of glancing at his watch. “Less than twelve hours since people saw her last?”
“Fourteen,” Maeve says, folding her arms tightly across her chest. She looks like she’s about to say more—bring up the revenge forum, maybe—but before she can, Ms. Lawton lets out a strangled sound of frustration and clutches Owen tighter.
“Phoebe wouldn’t intentionally go anywhere without her phone,” she says. “And have you forgotten that she was stalked three months ago, by a disturbed young man with a lot of online followers? All of whom spend their days fantasizing about revenge? You should be talking with Jared Jackson right now about whom he might have incited to go after Phoebe.”
Maeve nods emphatically. Owen flushes and stares at the ground, and my heart squeezes in sympathy. From what I’ve seen at Café Contigo, he and Phoebe haven’t been getting along well lately, so he probably feels the same aching sense of regret that I do now that she’s missing.
Missing. The word sends a stab of panic through me as Officer Budapest clears his throat. “Naturally, we’ll be speaking to Mr. Jackson,” he says, although I’d bet my life he hadn’t even considered it until Ms. Lawton brought it up. “If you’d like to come with me to the station, we can put those wheels in motion.” He runs his eyes over the rest of us, adding, “It might help to have one of you along as well. Maybe…”
Bronwyn steps forward before he has time to call her name, which he obviously was going to. No matter the situation, she’s always the logical representative. “I’d be happy to.”
“Me too,” Knox says quickly. “I think I talked to her last.”
“All right. That should do for now,” Officer Budapest says, tucking the baggie holding Phoebe’s phone beneath his arm. “As for the rest of you, we’ll be in touch as needed—and keep spreading the word among Phoebe’s friends and classmates that you’re looking for her, all right? Chances are good that she’s with someone you know.”
He and the Lawtons head for their cars, and Bronwyn gives Nate a quick peck on the cheek before she and Knox follow them. Maeve glares daggers at Officer Budapest’s back as he makes his way across Nate’s lawn. “Well, he’s as useful as ever, isn’t he?” she says. “Acting like Phoebe’s some flighty girl who lies to her mom for fun. And oh, by the way, why should we even be worried when she’s only been missing for fourteen hours?”
“The biggest unsolved mystery in Bayview is why that guy still has a job,” Luis mutters, putting an arm around Maeve’s shoulders.
“He’s not even the worst one. If you look up incompetent in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure it’s just a picture of the Bayview Police,” Maeve says, aiming one last dirty look in Officer Budapest’s direction before tilting her head to look up at Luis. “Can you drive me home? I need to get cracking even harder on that revenge forum. If they had anything to do with Phoebe’s disappearance, there’s bound to be chatter somewhere.”
“Your wish is my command,” Luis says. “You coming, Addy?”
I hesitate. If I go with him and Maeve, I know I’ll distract her from what she needs to do. I can’t go home, because Mom’s there and she’ll only make me more stressed. And if I go to Ashton’s apartment, I’ll make her stressed, which is the last thing she needs, so…
“Hang out here for a while,” Nate says, sensing my dilemma. “I don’t have to be at the country club for another hour, and I can drop you wherever you want to go on my way there. Sana should be back from work soon, and we can ask her if she saw anything last night. She was sober the whole time.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say gratefully.
“Can you believe we were watching Cooper’s commercial less than an hour ago?” Luis asks as we make our way to the front of the house.
“No,” Maeve and I say in unison. “That already seems like it happened last week,” I add.
“Nothing gets me fired up like fitness,” Luis says morosely as he opens the car door for Maeve. It should be funny, but at the moment, it’s just—not.
“Me either,” Maeve says with equal melancholy. She slips into the car, buckles her seat belt, and closes the door before leaning out the open window. “I’ll text if I find anything,” she promises.
“Okay, thanks,” I say.
They drive off, and Nate and I stand in silence on the sidewalk. For a lot of the past year, ever since Bronwyn and Cooper went to college, it’s been Nate and me left behind in Bayview, trying to figure out a way forward without hyperinvolved parents, money, or lots of natural talent. I don’t begrudge Bronwyn and Cooper their gifts, not even a little. I feel lucky to know them. But there’s something comforting about a friend who doesn’t have everything figured out, and who knows how it feels to take one step forward and then get knocked back two or three. Nate and I, with our messy families, uncertain futures, and frequent bouts of self-doubt, understand one another in a fundamental way. When I’m feeling worried and guilty and generally helpless, he’s the ideal person to kill an hour with.
“You wanna help me feed Stan?” he asks. “It’s cricket day.”
“Ew, no.” I manage to huff out a near-laugh. “I’m fruit duty only, remember?”
“Suit yourself,” Nate says with a shrug. “Come on, let’s go in the back way so we don’t have to see Reggie.” He shades his eyes against the sun as he glances across the street and adds, “Looks like Phil bought another beater.”
Nate’s elderly neighbor likes to fix up old cars, but they usually have a lot more charm than the faded red convertible that’s idling in front of Phil’s split-level house. Not that I know much about cars, except…
“Wait a sec,” I say, stepping closer to the sidewalk. “Okay, this is kind of random, but…that looks a lot like a car that was hanging around Eli’s office when I picked up my restraining order.” I scan the tan, ill-fitting convertible top carefully—it looks as though it was made for a completely different car. “Cooper noticed it and was keeping an eye on it from the window. He joked it couldn’t possibly be Jake staking us out, because the car is such a piece of crap.”
“Well, I guess it was Phil. Or someone else who doesn’t mind cars with more rust than paint,” Nate says.
“And ultratinted windows,” I say. They’re so dark that whoever’s sitting in the driver’s seat is barely visible. “Doesn’t Phil usually work on his cars in the driveway?”
“Yeah. Maybe he’s going somewhere.”
Just then Phil’s front door opens with a loud creak, and Phil himself steps outside in a blue-and-green-striped bathrobe. He bends to pick up his newspaper, then straightens and catches sight of the idling car, Nate, and me. “Nate!” he hollers, pointing the newspaper at the red car. “Do me a favor and remind your friends that you have a driveway.”
“They’re not—” Nate breaks off, a frown creasing his forehead, then stalks purposefully toward the car. Before he can reach it, though, the engine roars and the car peels away. Within seconds it’s gone, leaving a trail of exhaust in its wake. “That wasn’t a friend of mine,” Nate calls to his neighbor. “Not one of yours either?”
“Nope. Damn kids,” Phil says, before shuffling back inside.
Nate returns to the sidewalk, still frowning. “The license plate is caked with mud,” he says. “I couldn’t read any of it.”
My stomach flutters with unease. “There’s no way that was Jake, right?” I ask. “Because he can’t…” He can’t be here, I was going to say, but actually, he can. Nate’s house isn’t part of the safe zone.
“Beats me, but I don’t like how whoever’s driving took off as soon as I headed their way,” Nate says. “Especially after a day like this one.”
“Do you think the car has something to do with what happened to Phoebe?”
Nate exhales a noisy sigh. “Hell if I know, Addy.”
His phone starts ringing then, playing a cheery musical tone that couldn’t be less Nate-like if it tried. Nate blinks, looking as confused as I feel, and then a deeply annoyed expression crosses his face as he pulls the blaring phone from his pocket.
“Is that…is that ‘MMMBop’?” I ask. Despite the tension of the day, the last word comes out as an incredulous laugh.
“Maeve thinks she’s funny,” Nate says sourly.
“MMMBop, boppaly roomba,” I sing, earning a glare from Nate as the music ends and he holds the phone to his ear. “What? Sorry I don’t know the words. You should teach me.”
“What’s up, Dad?” Nate asks, a little too loudly. After a beat of silence, his frown deepens. “What kind of problem?” Another beat. “I’m gonna need more than that. Seriously? You can’t…okay, fine. Relax. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“What’s going on?” I ask once he’s hung up.
“I don’t know, but my dad’s freaking out about something,” Nate says, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “How would you feel about a quick trip to Bayview High?”
