Page 21 of If Something Happens to Me

“Hello,” a gravelly female voice answers.

“Hi, this is Deputy Sheriff McGee with the sheriff’s office. I’m trying to reach Ruby Quinn.…”

There’s a tiny pulse of silence. That’s normal when you get a cold call from a cop. “You just missed her. This is her mother. Can I take a message?” Ruby’s mom’s voice sounds like an ashtray.

“I can call back,” Poppy says, surprised Ruby still lives at home. But who’s Poppy to judge, given that she woke up this morning to Beyoncé staring down at her?

“This is in regards to…?” Curiosity, or perhaps concern, fills the woman’s voice now.

“I’m calling about the Alison Lane case.”

There’s a loud breath into the receiver. “Ruby thought you might be calling, what with them finding the car. What is that about? Do you all think MRK had accomplices?”

It’s a reasonable question. Ruby’s mother has kept up on the case, which isn’t surprising. Poppy remembers the fear that hung over the community like a fog after Alison’s abduction. It had to be even more acute for Alison’s friends. But by Poppy’s own senior year in high school, Alison Lane was largely forgotten. Two years is an eternity to teenagers.

“If you can have Ruby call me when she gets home, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh sure. She and Juliette and Chrissy just went to some yoga class.”

Of course they did.

“Her friends are all in town for their reunion. I’m watching the baby while Ruby’s at the class.”

Now that’s unexpected. A baby. Dash mentioned the five-year get-together last night. The reunion could prove extremely helpful: more classmates for Poppy to interview. Poppy wonders for a moment about the timing. Them finding the car the same week Alison’s graduating class is getting together.

“Do you know the name of the yoga studio? Maybe I can stop in and talk to Ruby and her friends.”

“Hmm, I don’t remember it. But they said the class is outside. At the park.”

“Landing Park?”

“Uh-huh. It’s ninety degrees out. I said they were crazy.”

Poppy checks the clock in her office. Maybe she can make it before the class ends. She thanks Ruby’s mother and rushes out.

Fifteen minutes later, Poppy’s at Landing Park. She knows the place well. Her dad used to take Poppy and Dash there on weekends to give her mom a break. And in high school it was a popular place to party. Kids would hop the fence that lines the Missouri River and drink cheap beer on the riverbank. The water’s an ugly shade of green today. Trees that have seen better days punctuate the grassland near the bank.

Poppy spies a group in the center of the park doing yoga poses. The class must be advanced, because the students move fluidly. As she walks closer, though, she notices one woman who stands out. When the class warrior-poses to the left, she goes right. When they do upward-facing dog, she’s still in downward-facing dog.

Poppy took a class once herself and was almost equally uncoordinated—almost—so she holds back a smile. But it is kind of comical.

She waits on the fringes for the class to end. At last, the instructor appears to call it a day, demonstrates final stretches. The uncoordinated woman—she’s the only one not dressed to the nines in Lululemon—is drenched in sweat. It’s then that Poppy gets a closer look at her face. It’s Ruby Quinn. Ruby’s heavier than she remembers.

Poppy retrieves her badge from her handbag. She still hasn’t gotten used to the monstrous thing, which looks like something a pro wrestler would hold over his head.

“Ms. Quinn,” Poppy says approaching the woman as the class disperses.

Ruby gives Poppy a confused look, like she might have misheard. As Poppy gets closer two women from the class walk over to Ruby. Unlike new-mother Ruby, Juliette and Chrissy haven’t changed much since high school—still long necked, high cheek-boned, and glistening, even after yoga in the hot sun.

The three eye Poppy, who feels sweat slide down her side. She hopes it doesn’t bleed through her ugly uniform. As they stare, it’s like they simultaneously understand why a deputy sheriff is showing up to speak to them.

“Can I help you?” Ruby Quinn asks. Her oversized T-shirt is discolored by a ring of perspiration at the neck.

“I’m Deputy Sheriff McGee. I wondered if you—all of you—have a moment to talk about the Alison Lane case?”

“Sure.”

Before Poppy says anything, Juliette says, “McGee… You’re not Dash’s little sister, are you?”

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