What We'll Burn Last, page 10
Leyna had watched enough such conferences to know how this would go: Gratitude for interagency support, appeals for information, the updates never enough to satisfy anyone in the room. She turned up the volume anyway.
As the Sacramento County sheriff stepped up to the podium, Leyna navigated to the message boards on the true-crime website she frequented. She split the screen between the press conference and the boards.
As usual, Boston Betty posted first: I hope they have good news.
A name Leyna didn’t recognize popped onto the screen. That tended to happen as cases drew more media attention; casual users joined the fray.
Hal Green: Thirty-six hours she’s been gone.
Though Hal Green didn’t say it, they all understood his meaning: The more time passed, the less likely the news would be good. Leyna wondered how many people on the boards used these final seconds of silence to study the sheriff’s face for a sign they’d found a body.
As the sheriff leaned toward the microphone, his bald head gleamed beneath the overhead lights. “I would like to begin by thanking you all for coming…”
He then recapped the investigation—finding the Honda at the campground, the search of the campground by law enforcement and volunteers, her texts to her friend Amaya, the fact she was spotted in Sierraville and Quincy hours before her disappearance. He shared a description of what she was wearing: brown tank top, high-rise khaki shorts, white hoodie, and white sneakers.
Hal Green: They don’t have anything.
Outside the Miller house, people were shouting, Leyna’s mom’s voice the loudest. Her mom’s voice was always the loudest. Though curious, Leyna tuned it out, a skill she’d spent years perfecting, and focused on the screen.
Ellie wasn’t her niece. She knew that. But still, she waited for her first glimpse of the parents.
Behind the sheriff, a couple moved into the frame. They leaned toward each other, separated by inches, the man tall and sandy-haired, the woman a brunette nearly the same height. Both wore their grief in downcast eyes and the grim lines of their mouths. Girding themselves for their turn at the microphone.
Neither of them Grace.
Despite what she’d told Dominic, Leyna had hoped to see her sister at that podium.
The sheriff continued his update, but Leyna remained focused on the couple, each of them alone in their grief. She would’ve expected more intimate gestures of comfort between them. Over the years, she’d cataloged the body language of too many grieving parents: Heads rested against shoulders. Hands clasped in unity. Bodies folded into each other in the battle to remain standing. Maybe it was just because the investigation hadn’t yet hit forty-eight hours, or maybe the Byrds disagreed on whether Ellie left voluntarily. Whatever the reason for their distance, if the search ended with a body, Leyna predicted their marriage wouldn’t survive it.
The sheriff wound down with the requisite pleas for information, ending with a stoic “Now we’re going to hear a statement from the family.” He stepped aside.
The woman reached toward her husband, her fingers grazing his hand before pulling away again. Only the man came forward.
“We miss our girl,” he said. “We just want her home, safe and well.”
The pronoun meant everything. Her, not you. Whatever Sarah Byrd believed, her husband wasn’t talking to a runaway. He was addressing the person who’d taken his daughter. But Leyna had seen enough press conferences to know that a parent who begged for a child’s safe return could be arrested days later.
As if reading her mind, Hal Green posted: Think one of them is involved?
SouthernBella: I hope not. They seem like good people. The dad’s a teacher.
CrimeChaser2000: The Red Ripper taught literature.
Taryn Is Still Missing: *groan*. Red Ripper? Really?
SouthernBella: Let’s focus on Ellie here.
CrimeChaser2000: Just saying. Even Bundy took calls on a suicide hotline.
Boston Betty: You think she ran away?
Ferret Girl: And abandoned her friend’s car like that?
Boston Betty: Like a teen can’t stage her disappearance.
Boston Betty wasn’t wrong. How many times on this forum had Leyna read of a teenager sneaking away to be with her boyfriend or the soulmate twice her age she’d met online?
But CrimeChaser2000 had a point too. How many young women had been lured by a trafficker promising opportunity, a jealous classmate with a knife in her pocket, or a stranger drawn to her hair, her smile, or her proximity?
The dad bowed his head, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked, his hands flitting like wounded birds. “Ellie is… she’s special. A really special young woman. And smart.”
Since Leyna had never met Paul Byrd, she couldn’t tell if his awkward gestures and the way he fumbled his words indicated deceit, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. Most people didn’t lie nearly as well as they thought they did.
“When she was about four, we’d take her with us to do laundry. She loved to watch the bedding spin in the large washing machines. If there was a kid within a hundred feet of the laundromat—the grocery store too—she’d try to invite them over for a playdate. She thought… she didn’t see a problem with inviting a stranger to our home. We had to give her a fake address so she wouldn’t give out our real one.” He stilled and blinked as if surprised to see so many members of the media staring back at him. As if he’d forgotten why he was standing in front of them. “One time when another mother pulled her child away, Ellie tried to bribe her with chocolate chip pancakes.” He attempted a smile, but his lips refused to lift. “Ellie’s always been like that. She loves everyone. She wants to be everyone’s friend. Please be her friend now and help us find her. We’d really…”
Unable to finish the sentence, Paul Byrd stepped back to rejoin his wife. Her hand circled his forearm, and Leyna wondered if even that simple gesture meant there was hope for them.
CrimeChaser2000: Wife’s kind of cold, don’t you think?
And then Leyna’s pulse quickened when Taryn Is Still Missing typed: Her friend Amaya posted a video.
Leyna clicked on the link and hit Play. A young woman’s round face filled the screen, her box braids flowing over the collar of her yellow shirt and out of the frame. Her dark eyes appeared swollen. From crying or exhaustion? Likely both. Leyna recognized the look from those early days searching for Grace, back when she’d believed a video like this might make a difference.
“Hey, I’m Amaya. You might’ve heard, but if you haven’t: My best friend, Ellie Byrd, is missing.” She paused to take a deep breath and moved closer to the camera. “Ellie texted me Thursday night to let me know she was on her way back to Sacramento. She never made it.” Her voice cracked, but she went on without stopping. “She was driving my car, and the police found it at a campground near Truckee. Ellie hates camping.” Her lips thinned in an attempt at a smile. “All that dirt, and the bugs. One time, this centipede climbed across her bare foot and she screamed so loud, you’d have thought she was being murdered.”
Leyna clocked the instant Amaya realized what she’d said—her eyes went wide and the almost-smile blinked out. But Amaya Dutton was determined. Her jaw tensed, and when she continued, her voice was steady. “Ellie wouldn’t’ve stopped in the middle of nowhere, not even if she needed to pee, because no way would she use one of those disgusting port-a-potties. And she wanted to get home. She’d been texting me all day how much she couldn’t wait to be home.”
Leyna found herself leaning toward the laptop. She wanted to reassure this sad, strong girl it would be okay, even though she didn’t believe it would be.
“Ellie was out in the middle of nowhere for personal reasons, but she wouldn’t’ve stuck around longer than she needed to. She’d be home now if she could be.” She reached for something, but whatever it was remained off-screen. “There’s not much out there where she disappeared. I’m really hoping someone knows something, because that’s what it’s going to take to find her.”
Amaya held up the item she’d reached for, which turned out to be her phone, and pushed it toward the screen. On it was a photo of Ellie. Not the one of her in her soccer jersey that they’d been showing with news reports. In this photo, Ellie looked more like the girl Leyna had met. Her hair was brown, not yet dyed, but the tilt of her chin and smile were the same.
“This is Ellie. She hates camping and bugs and port-a-potties, but she loves musicals and just about everything else, and everyone loves her. That centipede? She made me take it outside because she didn’t want to hurt it. She’s just—she’s an amazing person, and we all want her home.” Her eyes went soft, but she didn’t cry. That would probably come once the camera clicked off. “If you saw Ellie, if you talked to her that day, if you know anything—please call the hotline or DM me. Please. I want my friend back.”
Leyna found the social media account linked to the video and navigated to private messaging. There, she typed the four words she thought would get the quickest response: I found Ellie’s bracelet.
CHAPTER 14
OLIVIA
Saturday, 10:30 a.m.
Meredith hadn’t come up for air in five minutes, and the shouting had drawn the attention of all the neighbors. It reminded Olivia of Leyna’s performance ten years earlier, when she’d attacked her and Richard with all that bullshit about Adam. The last thing Olivia wanted was another Clarke in her front yard and the neighborhood taking an interest in her family.
The Kims had been the first to notice Meredith screaming at Richard. Nari, Daniel, and their six-year-old twins, June and James, were packing their Honda Pilot when Meredith launched out of her house bellowing that Richard was a moron. For several minutes, the Kims had watched, until Meredith switched to more colorful synonyms for moron, at which point Daniel ushered the kids inside for another load, and Nari crossed the street to stand beside Olivia on the porch.
Serena and Frank Silvestri emerged next, Frank shirtless in athletic shorts with his stainless-steel water bottle and Serena in a jersey lounge set with her glass of white wine. It was ten thirty in the morning, but Olivia tried not to judge. Of all the neighbors, Serena Silvestri wore her curiosity most openly, peering over the rim of her glass with something close to delight.
Olivia caught glimpses of Thea at the window, watching too, and Dominic, who stood a safe distance away, as he always did. He didn’t seem to notice her watching him, so her gaze lingered. He’d always been such a handsome boy and so much stronger than Adam. Always her rock. Adam’s too. Now, years of burying his grief so she wouldn’t see it had etched premature lines in his face. Seeing that pain grew quickly uncomfortable and she looked away.
She looked for Rocky. Where was he? Meredith’s shouting would’ve provided the cover for a private conversation. Not that she’d be able to have one now that Nari was standing only a couple of feet from her.
On the edge of the Durans’ driveway, Meredith had transitioned from a lecture on the stupidity of using power tools on a red-flag day to one on Goose crapping in her yard.
“My garden is not your dog’s toilet,” she said, voice rasping from all the shouting. If her throat got sore enough, maybe she’d go back inside and play with her paints, and Olivia could avoid seeing her again for another few months. “If you and your wife can’t control your dog, then perhaps you should buy him diapers.”
Where was Goose, anyway? He seemed to be missing. The French bulldog mix had been a rescue from Greenville after the Dixie Fire burned through the town, and Olivia worried that he would take off one day in search of a home and a family that were no longer there.
Richard was trying to keep calm, but Olivia heard the stress in his voice. “A person’s character can be easily measured by how she treats animals,” he said.
“And a moron’s character can be easily measured by how often he lets his dog crap in his neighbor’s yard.”
Olivia felt her body tense. The shouting reminded her too much of her parents toward the end. They’d died in a car accident a month before their divorce would’ve been final. Olivia was an adult living in another state, so she never knew what had brought them together that last time or why her father was drunk when he got behind the wheel. Had they planned one last scotch-fortified dinner to discuss the division of assets? Or had they celebrated a reconciliation with too much champagne?
Olivia hoped it wasn’t the latter. She liked to picture her mom resolute at the end. She hoped her dad hadn’t been able to sway her with one more lie about how his latest lover meant nothing to him.
Nari took a long drink from her tumbler of green juice. In the heat, condensation beaded the glass. She whispered, “Think she’s got much more left in her?”
“Meredith always has more in her.”
Nari rolled the cup between her palms, popping the tiny beads of liquid.
“At least Richard’s handling it well enough.” She took another long drink, finishing it. She looked down at her empty glass with obvious disappointment. “Got any kale?”
Nari had once run a juice and smoothie shop. That was after she’d tended bar and taught yoga but before she’d signed up for paralegal courses. Nari bored easily. After the twins were born, she’d settled into remote work as a medical transcriptionist, though she still checked the online job boards weekly. In the twenty years Olivia had known her, only three things had held her interest: her children, her shakes, and her decoupage. When she’d first knocked on new neighbor Olivia’s door, Nari had carried a decoupaged basket nearly as big as she was, loaded with seasonal fruit, her greeting a breezy “Where’s your blender?”
“I might have spinach,” Olivia said now.
But neither left the porch. There were two kinds of people on the street: Those who’d moved in after the kids went missing—the Millers, the Silvestris—and those who were there that night. The latter Meredith had always blamed for not being able to change what happened and for siding with Olivia in their feud.
Richard had spent years trying to convince Olivia they should move. He’d come home with flyers from houses that were newer, bigger, and more elegantly appointed. “This neighborhood is toxic,” he’d say, and Olivia would accept the flyers and tell him she’d think about it. Then she would bury them in the garbage. When he pushed her on the subject, she would point to the ticks on the walls that marked Adam’s height or the bedroom with the always-closed door, no furniture in it but boxes of stuffed animals, textbooks, and academic trophies crammed in the closet.
Richard would look at her with sympathy then, but at least it wasn’t the pity he would’ve shown had she told him the truth.
If we leave, how will Adam find his way home?
But was this still home?
“We’re taking the kids to Daniel’s parents’ house for the weekend,” Nari said. “You got someplace to go?”
“We’re fine here.” In the twenty years she’d lived at Ridgepoint, a wildfire had come close only once, burning to the edge of the highway a mile to the south.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
With everyone’s attention on Meredith and Richard, Olivia considered pulling Nari aside and telling her about Richard’s cheating. But, like so many times before, she kept silent. She told herself it was to protect Thea, but really, Olivia didn’t want Nari to look at her the way her childhood neighbors had looked at her own mother. She wouldn’t let Richard cast her as a woman to be pitied.
“You want us to take Thea?” Nari asked.
When Olivia’s gaze darted to the window, Thea ducked out of sight.
“She’s been complaining of a sore throat. Probably nothing, but I’d like to keep an eye on it.”
The lie was easier than telling Nari she didn’t trust her to take care of Thea. It wasn’t personal. She loved Nari, but she didn’t trust anyone outside the family with her daughter.
“Consider it, at least. There’s a dark energy around the neighborhood today.”
Olivia didn’t argue. She felt it too. Ellie Byrd’s disappearance had set everyone on edge, her most of all.
Nari rolled her empty cup in her hands, expression unusually serious. “I feel like something bad is about to happen.”
Olivia’s friend had fancied herself a psychic ever since she found her stolen bike in a creek after having a “vision” of running water. The vision had involved a faucet emptying into a sink, but, Nari claimed, such things were often hard to interpret.
Olivia had never asked Nari the obvious question: If she was truly psychic, how had she not known Adam would disappear? And why had Nari never gotten a vision as to where he might be? Every time Nari mentioned that missing bike, Olivia wanted to stick a wadded sock in her mouth.
Still, Olivia scanned the tree line. Where was Rocky? And her dog?
When she pulled her gaze away, she caught Meredith staring. The other woman strode toward her, eyes chilly.
“Where’s Leyna?”
“She’s your daughter.”
“She was with your son.”
Grief swelled, anger too, and she was too exhausted to hold the words back. She fired, knowing she would draw blood. “Seems after what happened with Grace, you would’ve learned to keep a close eye on your remaining daughter.”
Meredith’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch—Meredith Clarke wasn’t the type to show weakness like that. Beside Olivia, Nari sucked in a quick breath, then hissed her name in shocked accusation. Even Richard gaped, his forehead knitting in obvious surprise.
Though Olivia knew she shouldn’t have spoken the words, she didn’t regret them. Not a bit. She felt a loosening in her chest, as if their release had made more room there. Meredith knew something about Adam’s disappearance that she had kept secret for sixteen years, and because of that, Olivia would never apologize to her for anything.
Never.
Meredith pulled her shoulders back, her posture rigid, and Olivia sensed her composure required great effort. She waited for the other woman to fire back her own retort, but her lips compressed into a thin line and she remained quiet. The wind keened and the heat clawed, and a minute more passed. Yet still Meredith said nothing.
