I&#39ll Be There (15 page)

It was on the other side of the tree and it had been smashed to splinters.

After finding the cell phone, Emily convinced her mother to drive her to the bus stop. But of course they were long gone. She then talked her mother into driving out to River
Road. But of course that was equally worthless.

They’d always dropped Sam and Riddle on the same corner and, now, looking down the dark side streets, she realised they could live in dozens of places. She had no idea.

When they finally got back home, Jared was still awake. He was now obsessed with bad guys and had unconsciously put on his old Spider-Man pyjamas, which he never wore any more, but which somehow
still had the power to make him feel protected.

Tim Bell had kept himself busy changing the flat tyre with the spare. He’d used duct tape on the upholstery so that the seat didn’t look like such a victim. But he, too, was
agitated.

It was late, but Debbie pulled out the custard she and Riddle had made for dessert. She dished it into red-glass goblets, but no one had an appetite.

Debbie and Tim assured Emily that leaving the cell phone didn’t mean much and that Sam would call or come back tomorrow to explain. No one said anything about a connection between the
vandalised car and Sam and Riddle. But no one had to say anything. It was on all their minds.

When the family finally went up to bed, Felix was made to stay downstairs in his old wicker basket, which was placed by the front door.

And even Felix had a fitful night’s sleep.

The kids weren’t going to talk, and he didn’t want to listen even if they did, so Clarence reached into the plastic bag of crap he’d scooped up from Tim
Bell’s car and popped in one of the CDs. It was some kind of crazy tribal music. So that’s what fancy people listen to? Clarence hit eject and tossed the CD out the window onto the
highway.

Clarence drove all night, and they were in a different state five hours later. He was heading east. He’d decided that Utah would be their first real stop.

Riddle fell asleep not long after they got into the truck, but Sam, wide-eyed, sat in the passenger’s seat staring straight ahead.

His mind was flooded.

He’d seen pictures of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, and that’s how he felt. His life was now underwater and, even if the tide somehow receded, everything that he had was now
damaged beyond repair.

Looking over at his father, he considered grabbing the steering wheel and turning hard, sending the truck right off the road.

Clarence, who never wore a seatbelt, would hopefully, upon impact with whatever they first hit, be catapulted straight through the windshield.

Sam blinked his eyes and could see the accident. Shattered glass, twisted pieces of metal, even an explosion when the full gas cans Clarence insisted on keeping inside the truck blew up.

But then, somewhere in the equation, Sam saw Riddle. He, too, didn’t have on a seatbelt. And he, too, would catapult forward.

Sam knew that, if it weren’t for his little brother, he’d have been even more damaged, even more messed up, than he already was. Riddle had given his life purpose. And Sam would
always, no matter what happened, not just protect his little brother but try to think of him first.

And so Sam kept his hands to himself, off the steering wheel and off his father’s neck.

Emily refused to go to school the next day. Debbie took one look at the circles under her daughter’s puffy eyes and let her stay home. Emily spent the day in her room,
waiting for the phone or the doorbell to ring, even though she was certain neither would.

The next day, she was forced to go back to Churchill High. Debbie Bell knew about trauma, and contrary to what people thought, routine was a friend, not an enemy. People didn’t need to be
comforted as much as shown a line to stand in, a door that they had to walk through, and a task they needed to complete.

Emily believed that Sam and Riddle were in some kind of terrible trouble. But her parents weren’t prepared to accept that.

They did deeply regret that they never had an address or a home phone number from the two boys. They did regret that they hadn’t insisted Sam introduce them to his father.

Bobby Ellis could tell that something was wrong with Emily, but that didn’t mean he was perceptive, because he wasn’t. It meant that anyone could see that she was
absent, upset, somewhere else.

He’d tried to find a chance to talk to her, but she wasn’t in any of her usual spots, and she was keeping her distance from her friends. Bobby knew that Emily had last period free,
and that’s when she went to the library and did her math homework.

So on Friday, after days of trying to find a way to just casually get her attention, he took the initiative and cut class. He could go into the office computer later and delete the absence.

He found her in the back sitting on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf. And she looked very sad. That much he could figure out. Nora had told Rory, and Rory had told Bobby, that there was a
problem with the guy Emily liked.

So Bobby made a calculation. This might be the time to tell her about the crappy house where her supposed boyfriend lived. This might be the time to show her the photo of the creepy guy who was
probably the boyfriend’s father. And this might just be the time to bring up the stolen license plates.

Bobby edged closer. Even though it was a library, people didn’t do more than slightly lower their voices when they spoke. He cleared his throat and felt it tighten as he managed to get
out, ‘Hey, Emily . . .’

When she looked up, her face seemed to be saying,
Go away. Leave me alone.

At least that’s what he thought it was saying. But whatever it was that her silent face was expressing completely unnerved him. So while he had a whole plan, a whole way in which he was
going to reveal his information, instead he blurted out, ‘I saw that guy you liked over on River Road a few days ago, and I followed him home and took a picture of a guy who I think was his
dad – and I have to say, Emily, it was all pretty damn weird.’

He was not prepared for the fact that she would get tears in her eyes. He had no way of knowing that she would be grateful and vulnerable and completely indebted. And so he was shocked when she
jumped up and wrapped her arms around him and held him close once he showed her the photos on his phone.

And it was totally awesome.

Bobby hoped that people were watching as they headed across the high school parking lot to his SUV. He always parked next to the exit. His parents did that, so he did it, too.
Detectives need to make quick getaways, even if it sometimes took a while to walk to your car.

Emily climbed eagerly into Bobby’s shiny SUV, and he was still in amazement that some kind of switch had been flipped. He’d gone from deeply bugging her to being The Man. And being
The Man was just so much better in so many ways that he couldn’t believe it.

Emily held his phone while they drove, staring at the picture of Clarence, analyzing every detail of the shot. The intense man did look like Sam. She could see the resemblance.
And maybe a little bit of Riddle but not much. The man in this picture was lean and sharp on the edges. And he looked angry.

After memorising the photo, she forwarded it on to her own email. She would need to show the picture to her parents and to anyone else who could help her.

It was so unlikely that Bobby Ellis would be the person to bring her the only real news about Sam that she’d had since they left. Maybe she’d misjudged Bobby. He seemed so caring now
as he drove. And so focused.

Emily looked up from the phone. He was a deliberate person. She could see that. He even changed lanes with a kind of authority that kids her age didn’t have. She didn’t know what his
attitude meant, or where it came from, but for the moment, she was simply grateful.

She realised that the silence in the car was suddenly awkward, maybe even unkind. And so she cleared her throat and asked, ‘Now tell me why you were out there again?’

Fortunately, Bobby thought, he could answer that. ‘Like I said, my mom gets the police report every week. And there’s been an increase in crime in the last three
months. A lot of the incidents – the burglaries – a lot of them were theft, you know, crimes of opportunity. Like say you leave your garage open with your expensive golf clubs right out
in the open . . .’

Emily didn’t have expensive golf clubs, but she nodded anyway.

‘Well, a lot of these incidents were in the River Road area. Now here’s something people don’t really know, but criminals usually do most of their offences close to where they
live. They don’t drive in their cars across town . . . I mean, of course sometimes they do, but that’s more for really targeted activity.’ He could see that Emily’s brow
furrowed. And he wondered if he sounded like a real tool. It felt like he was sounding like a real tool. And now her brow was furrowing. Why was that? She seemed to have some kind of lie detector
planted in her forehead. He continued spewing what was sounding to him like nonsense. ‘So if you look at areas where there’s a lot of this smalltime crime, then the thieves probably
live around there.’

Bobby took a breath. Should he have made that plural? He felt like he was coming off the rails.

‘My mom had asked me to drive to River Road and look for anything unusual . . .’

Lie.

He was heading into the big-lie stuff now. He had to get this out without revealing that he was obsessed with her.

Then Emily said, ‘But your mom doesn’t work for the police.’

Bobby shook his head. ‘No. Private detective. But she has businesses on retainer, and when crime goes up, it’s her job to spot trends and, you know, look for reasons. That’s
when she brings me in to help.’

Was she buying it? Maybe. He exhaled; he’d been holding his breath. That was not good. People who are at ease just let air flow in and out. In and out. He tried doing that a few times and
then got back on track. ‘So my mom had given me the crime map.’

Lie.

‘And she wanted me to recon the area.’

Lie.

‘And then I saw your friend . . .’

Emily was really paying attention now. ‘And this was on Thursday?’

‘Right.’

‘And so you followed him and his little brother?’

Bobby nodded and realised that he was now speeding. He put his foot on the brake. When he lied, it seemed to cause him to drive faster. Interesting. It was like he was literally fleeing
himself.

‘I recognised them. From the night at IHOP.’

Not a lie. But the next part was.

‘They turned off River Road, and I was turning that way, too. I pulled over to check the map, and when I looked up, they were at the end of the street. I went down to do a U-turn there.
That’s when I saw the guy and took the photo.’

Emily was nodding again. But then she asked, ‘And why did you take his picture?’

Bobby could feel sweat run from his right armpit down his right side. Like a drop of water would. And now his left armpit was also dripping. But he kept his voice steady. ‘The man appeared
to me, from my past experience doing visual interrogation . . .’

He stopped for a moment. Visual interrogation? Where was this stuff coming from? He plowed ahead.

‘He appeared to be suspicious. And, well . . .’

Okay, here was his bombshell. Here was the part that could tip the scales into stalker land. He just went for it.

‘I ran the license plate on the truck in their driveway with the DMV that afternoon, and it didn’t match the vehicle. It was stolen.’

Riddle rolled up his sweater into a ball to use as a pillow. It smelled like her. It smelled like her kitchen.

He’d worn it the last night he saw her, when he measured the vanilla to put in the custard and he was sort of clumsy because that’s just the way he was and some of what was in the
spoon dribbled on the sweater. But she said it was okay because spilling was part of cooking just like tasting was part of cooking and touching food was part of cooking.

But he’d never cooked anything before he went into her kitchen.

I miss cooking now.

Before, I didn’t miss cooking, because I didn’t know cooking.

And I miss her. Sweet-cake lady.

Her name is Debbie Bell.

And I miss Felix the dog. And I miss the way he smells, which is like wet sweaters. But clean wet sweaters. Not the kind in the back of the truck.

And I miss riding the bus to their house. And I miss their family, even if sometimes they all talk too loud and sometimes too fast and sometimes at the same time.

I’m missing . . .

It all now.

Will someone find me? I will be good, if they can find me. I will try to stop missing.

I will try to stop missing everything I have always missed. I will be good.

If you can find me . . .

You.

Find.

Me.

I am asking now.

I’m asking you in my inside voice.

And that’s the voice no one ever hears.

They spent a week in different places every night, and now they were in Cedar City. It was a town of twenty-seven thousand and that meant it was the kind of place that
they’d be in and out of in a real hurry.

Cedar City was built around mining in a different century. Today it had a small branch of a state college, an annual Shakespeare festival, and a group of trusting people who left stuff out at
night on their lawns.

The trouble was that stealing things was easy, but unloading them was impossible. So Clarence could have had a warehouse of mountain bikes the first day that he arrived, but what good would it
have done? After a few hours of trying to sell them, he’d have had the cops on his tail.

A place like Cedar City meant you had to have focus. There was a run-down motel when you first drove into town from the west, and Clarence took a room at their weekly rate. Two beds. The boys
could sleep together, or one of them could sleep on the mildewed couch. He didn’t care. He was sick of sleeping in the truck.