“I am not!”
“You are.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t you need to be out canvassing the streets and flashing your badge at nefarious individuals?”
“Yeah.” His lips were twitching as he leaned down and laid a kiss on mine. It didn’t last very long, but I felt it in every corner of my body. When he was done, he pulled back a hairsbreadth — only far enough to whisper, “I’ll call you when I can.”
“Okay,” I whispered back. “Bring Rory home, honey.”
He didn’t say anything else.
But I could see from the flare of determination in his eyes that he was going to do everything in his power to do precisely that.
Chapter Sixteen
Instead of saying “God bless you!” when someone sneezes, try a nondenominational phrase. (Such as “Ew!” or “Gross!” or “Stop that!”)
- Imogen Warner, equally disgusted by everyone’s germs
Flo’s leg was jittering so hard, it was shaking the coffee table between us. Given that I’d consumed enough coffee in the past twenty-four hours to legally change my name to Arabica, I was feeling rather jittery myself. I was running on zero sleep — and even less hope.
It had been almost a full day since Rory went missing.
He wasstillmissing.
After we left the police station last night, Gigi and I had dropped Declan back at The Sea Witch to get some sleep under the watchful gaze of Rhonda, then headed straight back out. While Detective Aguilar had strongly suggested she leave the investigation up to the professionals, Georgia was incapable of sitting on her hands while her little boy was lost. She was determined to keep looking — and I wasn’t about to let her do it alone.
We’d spent the night searching what felt like every street in Salem. Sometimes in the hatchback, sometimes on foot. We checked all the spots we could think of — the playground behind his elementary school, his favorite bench on the Common, the skate park up at Gallows Hill. We even drove out to Salem Willows, the seasonal amusement park where Gigi took the kids for arcade games and ice cream in the summer months, and searched every empty gazebo along the beach.
No sign of him anywhere.
When the sun began to creep over the horizon, I’d finally convinced her to take a break. If not for her own sake then for poor Socks, who was likely wondering where his human had gone and why his morning kibble was so unfairly delayed. He’d attacked me with slobbery kisses the second we stepped through Cade’s front door. When he did the same to Georgia, I actually saw the specter of a smile on her face for the first time in hours.
She’d camped out at the kitchen island to call Detective Aguilar for an update while I saw to Socks’ needs — filling his breakfast bowl, then bringing him out into the backyard for a pee so long, I was positive it broke at least one Guinness World Record.
When I’d walked back into the room, Gigi was on the phone with Gwen. I wasn’t sure what that conversation entailed, but ten minutes later we were back in the hatchback, headed for The Gallows.
For the record, by “we” I was referring to myself, Gigi, and Socks. It hadn’t felt right to leave him all alone in his crate for the day. There was no telling when Cade would be free to check in on him and, besides, I didn’t have a car to come back if Gigi and I separated. I’d left a note on the counter that would (hopefully) absolve me of any dognapping charges, loaded him into the back seat, and cracked a window so he could drool into the wind.
When we’d arrived at The Gallows, the brick pedestrian mall was eerily quiet compared to the hullabaloo of the past few days. Probably due to the ungodly early hour. Most of the shops weren’t yet open. The only people out and about were street sweepers and delivery truck drivers, who parked in the shop alleys to unload their inventory, their hazard lights blinking in the dim dawn light.
Gwen had yanked open the door before we had a chance to reach for the knob. She’d pulled us both inside, then pulled Gigi into a fierce hug. Florence was there too, providing caffeinated beverages and pithy commentary as we all settled in around the coffee table by the front window. Our “war room” so to speak. From there, we’d set about organizing our search efforts.
It wasn’t that we didn’t trust Salem PD, Gravewatch, or the FBI. But we, like Gigi, felt far too useless simply sitting around doing nothing but wait for word. Besides, Rory’s disappearance was personal for Florence, as well. She was not only Georgia’s friend, she was Rory’s second grade teacher. She’d taught Declan, too, four years prior. She loved both boys like her own and was quick to declare her commitment to helping in any way she could.
For Gwen, the stakes may not have been quite so personal, but she still wanted to help. Because Gwendolyn Goode cared about people. She would’ve helped even if Rory was a stranger on the street. The more I got to know her, the more I saw how right Graham had been that first day, when he accused her of making everyone she met into her best friend. She had a habit of drawing people close, then keeping them there. It was a great quality — one I was not ashamed to admit I envied.
In another life, I would’ve liked to be a lot more like Gwendolyn Goode.
Upon our arrival, Gwen immediately tacked up a sign on the front door — “CLOSED TODAY FOR A FAMILY EMERGENCY” — which I thought was likely to start a riot amongst the latte-deprived hipsters. Even if they threatened to beat down the doors of The Gallows, we had far more important matters to contend with today. They’d just have to survive on Starbucks temporarily.
Oh, the horror!
At the detectives’ instruction, Gigi had made an exhaustive list of every person she’d ever met since moving to Massachusetts a decade and a half ago. (This amounted to approximately half the population of planet earth, by my estimate.) After divvying up the names, we set about calling all of them. One by one, we worked our way through the list, alerting acquaintances old and new to be on the lookout for Rory, providing the details for the search party we were organizing, and sharing the designated tip-line the police had set up for anyone with information. Even with four of us chattering into our cellphones simultaneously in different corners of The Gallows, it took all morning to reach the last name on the list.
From my spot by the window display, I watched the streets slowly fill with people. By noon, the crowds were nearly as thick as yesterday. They didn’t seem to care that the 31sthad come and gone, that Halloween was technically over. The costumed revelry continued regardless, a constant stream of people smiling and laughing and snapping photos.
It was an oddly festive backdrop to our frantic search efforts.