Chapter Four
When I got home, my mom was standing in front of the stove with a huge kettle of marinara sauce. It smelled delicious, but I didn’t have an appetite. When she saw my red, swollen eyes, she cocked her head to the side and frowned.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Something really weird is going on.” I swallowed. There was a bitter, metallic taste in my throat that had been there ever since I’d seen Monica’s empty bedroom.
“What? Something at school?”
“It’s Monica,” I said. “She’s gone.”
“Oh, sweetie. Did her parents decide to take one of those long vacations again?” Mom rolled her eyes.
“No. Jamie and Brian are there. But Monica’s not.”
My mom frowned. She reached for a plastic spatula and stirred the sauce, leaning over the pot and closing her eyes as she inhaled.
“What do you mean, honey?”
I sighed and crossed my arms. “She’s just…gone. Like, she vanished or something.”
Mom glanced up with wide eyes. “Honey, did the two of you have a fight?”
I shook my head. “No!” Running my hands through my hair, I sat down heavily in a kitchen chair. “I don’t know. Her parents are acting like this is totally normal, like she does this all the time.”
“That doesn’t sound like Monica.”
“That’s what I said!”
“Well, honey, maybe there’s some kind of family drama going on.” Mom glanced around – presumably making sure Aidan was nowhere in earshot – and lowered her voice. “You know, honey, your dad and I have always thought that family was a little odd. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Elizabeth.”
I sighed. “She wouldn’t just leave, Mom. She wouldn’t do that, not without talking to me first.”
“Do you think her parents called the police?”
“No,” I said flatly. “I don’t even think they care. When I kept asking Mr. Boer questions, he exploded and told me to leave.”
“I should call downtown,” Mom said. She picked the wireless phone off the hook. “When did you last hear from her?”
My stomach knotted and twisted into a tight bundle of nerves.
“Elizabeth?”
“On Saturday morning.” I looked down at my hands clutched tightly in my lap. “I texted her a couple of times when I got home, but she never replied. And then she wasn’t in school Monday or today.”
My mom’s frown deepened. “And her parents really don’t think anything is wrong?”
“No. It was so weird. It was like they forgot they had a daughter or something.”
Mom nodded. She consulted a list of local numbers by the phone and held the receiver up to her ear.
“Hello, this is Agnes Hartsell,” Mom said briskly. “Can you please send an officer to the house? It’s twenty-two Colonial Avenue.”
I shivered. Part of me was glad that my mother was doing this, but another part of me, a smaller part, was scared. I didn’t like confrontation, and I didn’t like cops. I had no idea what I’d do if they asked why I hadn’t come forward sooner.
When Mom hung up, she looked at me and narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t a game or anything, is it Elizabeth?”
“Oh, my god, no,” I said quickly. “No, Mom. It’s not anything like that. I swear.”
My mom nodded. “That poor girl,” she said softly. She looked at me. “You’re okay, right?”
“What?”
“I mean…” Mom trailed off. “You’re getting older, Elizabeth. Fifteen is around the age when kids start acting out. You’re not doing anything wrong, are you?”
I thought of Steven kissing me in Monica’s backyard and I blushed.
“No,” I said after a long pause. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
I went upstairs and stared down at my math textbook until there was a sharp knock on the door. My heart lurched in my chest as my mom opened the door. I heard a flurry of muffled conversation, then Mom yelled for me to come down.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and went downstairs, trying to look as casual and nonchalant as possible. Mom was standing in the kitchen with two uniformed officers that included Mr. D’Amico, Steven and Andrea’s dad. When he saw me, he nodded.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” Mr. D’Amico said. “How are you feeling?”
I sat down in a chair and drummed my fingers nervously on the table. I shrugged.
“Elizabeth, we’ve met before. This is my colleague, Tony.” Mr. D’Amico gestured toward the other cop. “Can you tell us about Monica?”
“Like, what? She’s blonde with brown eyes,” I said. “But you knew that. You have a picture.”
“Does she have any identifying details?”
“Like tattoos?” It was hard not to laugh. “Monica would never get a tattoo.”
“What about birth marks?”
I shrugged. “I think she has a mole, like here,” I pointed to my shoulder. “But I can’t remember which side it’s on.”
Mr. D’Amico wrote something on the notepad. “Anything else? Does she wear glasses, contacts? Has she ever broken a bone?”
“No, I…” A thought wormed its way into my head and I shuddered.
“What, Elizabeth? What did you think of?”
“She only has four toes on her left foot,” I said slowly. “She got in some kind of accident when she was a little kid and had to have the pinky toe amputated.”
“That’s very helpful. Thank you,” Mr. D’Amico said.
I shuddered. I knew why it was useful: it was something they could use to identify her body.
“Tell me about the last time you saw her.”
I nodded, glancing nervously at my mother. “I spent Friday night with her.”
“I see.” Mr. D’Amico scribbled something on a pad. “Just the two of you?”
I shook my head. “Um, no. She had a party…well, not really a party. Just some kids came over for a few hours. They were all gone by nine-thirty.”
“I see. And were Mr. and Mrs. Boer home?”
I blushed before quickly shaking my head. “No. They were gone for the weekend.”
“Elizabeth,” Mom chastised. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Mr. D’Amico said. “Just trying to get all the facts. Can you detail the events of the party?”
My heart thumped nervously in my chest. “Um, sure. I came home first because Monica said she was going to call David–”
“Who?” Mr. D’Amico squinted. “Who’s David?”
“Her boyfriend,” I explained. “He lives in Vermont. They met at camp over the summer.”
“I see. Can you tell me about him?”
“Well, he didn’t even come to the party–”
“Please, Elizabeth,” Mr. D’Amico said, interrupting me for the second time. “Just tell me everything you know about him.”
“His last name is Spring,” I said, biting my lip. “I’ve only met him once. He, uh, he came up for dinner with Monica and her parents, and she invited me over.”
“And what was he like? What was his relationship like with Monica?”
I shrugged. “He’s okay,” I said. I felt guilty. I didn’t like David, but I had a feeling that no matter what I said, Mr. D’Amico would start investigating. “He’s kind of arrogant. He’s older. He’s seventeen, and he didn’t come to the party because he was going to another party at some college closer to him.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “Have David and Monica quarreled often in the past?”
“Not that I know of,” I said suspiciously. “They haven’t really known each other long – maybe, like, four months.”
Mr. D’Amico frowned. He scribbled something on his pad and nodded. “Okay, Elizabeth. Tell me about the party.”
I cringed. ‘Shit,’ I thought. ‘I can’t tell him the truth! I can’t tell him that his son showed up with a case of beer and some liquor!’
“Elizabeth, what’s the matter?”
I shook my head quickly. “Nothing, nothing. Just, um, thinking.”
Mr. D’Amico sighed. “Elizabeth, this is serious,” he said gruffly.
“I know,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry.” I glanced at my mom. “It’s just hard.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I went to Monica’s around seven,” I said. “She hadn’t called David yet. She told me she’d fallen asleep. She called him, and she got a little upset when he said he couldn’t make it, but she didn’t seem too worried. She was a little freaked about all of the stuff going on around Jaffrey, though.”
“Like what?”
“Like…the guy who lives next door to Monica, all of his cows were slaughtered one night. Monica thought it had something to do with those weird break-ins all over town.”
Mr. D’Amico chuckled. “Paranoid little thing, isn’t she?” He glanced at his partner, Tony. “Tony thinks the break-ins are drug related. Probably just people looking for money.”
“That’s what I said to Monica,” I said. “But she was still freaked out. She said she didn’t want to be alone.”
“Who all came to the party?”
“Um, Steven,” I said. “You know, your son. And some of his friends from school. Mostly football players, I think. Juniors and seniors. Not really anyone I’m friends with.” I held my breath, almost certain that Mr. D’Amico would ask me about alcohol.
“Right. So, what did you kids do?”
“Steven and I talked in the backyard for a few minutes.” Behind Mr. D’Amico, my mom’s eyes bulged, and I cringed internally. “And then Monica came out and asked us to come back inside.”
“That was it?”
“No,” I said quickly. “There was some really loud sound from the woods – almost like a scream. And then a helicopter flew over Monica’s house.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “Was there alcohol at this party?”
After a second, I nodded.
“Who supplied that?”
“Um,” I bit my lip. “One of Steven’s friends, I think. They all showed up together.”
Mr. D’Amico frowned. He wrote something on his pad. “And what happened the rest of the night?”
“Not much. Someone started playing music, and Monica made everyone leave. She said she was sick of having people over. This was…I don’t know, around nine or nine-thirty.”
“Did you stay?”
I nodded. “We stayed up in the living room and watched movies,” I said. “I think Monica was upset about David.”
“And what happened the next morning?”
“We went for a walk in the woods.” I bit my lip, wondering whether or not I should say something about the trees.
“And?”
I sighed. “And we weren’t gone very long. Monica found some trees that had been cut down, with scratches all over the trunks. We found a knife by the tree line. It was big,” I added, gesturing with my hands to show the length of the blade. “Monica kept it. She told me that she had to write a paper, so I went home.”
“And have you heard from her since?”
I pulled out my phone. “No.” I handed it over to Mr. D’Amico. “I texted her a few times; you can see here. But she never replied. And she hasn’t been in school.”
Mr. D’Amico nodded. “I haven’t heard from her parents.”
“I went over there today, and they both think she’s fine,” I said softly. “They think she might have gone to visit David or something.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know!” My voice came out as a loud whine, but suddenly, I no longer cared. This whole thing – treating Monica’s disappearance like it wasn’t a big deal – seemed incredibly stupid to me. I wanted to grab Mr. D’Amico by the shoulders and shake him. I wanted to tell him to wake up, that something horrible was going on.
“Calm down,” Mom said. She looked at me nervously. “Elizabeth, maybe you should go upstairs.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Mr. D’Amico said. “Is that alright?”
My mom nodded hesitantly.
“Elizabeth, do you have any idea of where Monica could be?”
I shook my head. Tears filled my eyes and I looked up at the ceiling, willing them away.
“No,” I said softly. “I don’t. I don’t think she would run away.” I bit my lip. “When I went to her house, her mom, Jamie, was drunk. I snuck upstairs and looked in Monica’s room. She left almost everything. She didn’t even take her cell phone charger!”
Mr. D’Amico and Tony exchanged a dark look.
“Okay, Elizabeth. Thanks. You’ve been really helpful,” Mr. D’Amico said. He stood up and grunted, rubbing his hands on his shiny, red face. “Thanks again.”
I nodded slowly. “You’re welcome.” I blinked, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. “I’m just…I’m really scared. I don’t know why her parents aren’t taking this seriously.”
“God damn hippies,” Mr. D’Amico muttered under his breath. He shoved his notepad back in his pocket. “Come on,” he said to Tony, jerking his head to the door. “We gotta take this downtown.”
They both said goodbye to my mother, and then left. The front door banged closed behind them, and I looked at my mom.
“Elizabeth, honey, it’s going to be okay.” But I could tell from the creases and lines of worry on Mom’s forehead that she was just lying to make me feel better. I walked over to her and hugged her tightly – something I hadn’t done in years.
Mom squeezed me back until I could barely breathe. When we pulled away, her dark eyes were narrowed with concern.
“I’m worried about you,” Mom said. “Is there anything I can do?”
I sniffled and shook my head. “No,” I said softly. “I just wish she was okay.”
“I know,” Mom said. The unspoken hesitation in her voice was as easy to read as giant block print: ‘I’m just glad it’s not you.’