Finding Forever (23 page)

“I know,” Simone said. “It sounds shady, but you gotta believe me!”

“Beyond shady,” Brooklyn said, rolling her eyes at Simone through the phone. “And, no, I don't have to believe you.”

“Taylor was not on drugs. And Taylor did
not
try to kill herself! She also didn't shave her head—there's no way! That
STARSTALK
story is fake, total fiction.”

“Simone, I really want to believe you. I like you. But I need more proof. I mean, they have a picture of her shaved head! It's all over the web! And it looks legit.”

“I realize that, but . . . look, no offense, but do I have to go tell another blogger?”

“Even if you go calling some other journalist, they're going to need the same thing from you—I mean, if they are credible. So at this point, maybe you should just go to the cops if you really think Taylor has been taken against her will or has been kidnapped or whatever. Just go and report her missing. Because honestly, if I were to post a story right now saying that she was missing or kidnapped and that the
STARSTALK
story was false, even suggesting it—with no verified evidence—I would be laughed off the Internet.”

“But I can't go to the cops right now because—”

“Because you're afraid you'll get arrested. I get it. The bottom line is that I don't have the facts to back up your kidnapping theory. Like we would go to the cops and say, ‘Even though it looks like an intervention and there is a report she is in rehab, we think she was kidnapped, but we have no idea where she is or who took her and, we have, oh, zero proof?' But, hey, feel free to call the police if you feel like it's a last resort.”

“Okay, okay,” Simone said. “You and I both know we can't go to the cops yet. And you—”

“What about me?”

“You'd rather break a story than hand the cops a case.”

Brooklyn slid her baseball cap around backward. “You really don't know a damn thing about me, do you?”

“If you really knew
me
you wouldn't accuse me of lying.”

“I am not saying you're lying. All right, maybe at first I did think you were lying. But can you blame me for thinking that?”

“No, I totally realize how insane this all seems.”

“But this story isn't about me or you. It's about the truth and about finding Taylor,” Brooklyn said.

“I don't know what else I can do.”

“Well, I have some ideas.”

“Okay, like?”

“You could find that pretty boy from the party. You know, your drug buddy. If anyone at that party was involved in snatching her, he would seem to be the prime suspect.”

Brooklyn's father would have called Pretty Boy a “person of interest”—a suspicious person who seemed like he knew more than the facts at hand. In Brooklyn's investigative journalist lingo, she called him a “primary source.”

“Can you track the dude down?” Brooklyn asked.

“I already gave you his number,” Simone said. “Can't you trace it?”

“I've tried. No luck. So far, at least.”

“Should we just call him?”

“I've tried that, too. It doesn't pick up and has no voicemail. He obviously has your number, so he might pick up if you call. Or you can text him. It's worth a shot. I mean, time is running out.”

“What do you mean?”

“If that
STARSTALK
story is fake, and Taylor really was
taken against her will, that can't be a good thing. She could be in danger.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Simone sighed. “I'll try to find the guy and see if he knows anything. But can't you just call rehabs and see if Taylor's a patient anywhere? Won't they tell you?”

“It's not that easy. But I'm working on it. I'm doing
my
job. Now you can help me, and help Taylor, by doing
your
job.”

Their phone chat fell into awkward silence. Brooklyn filled it.

“That thing you said about me wanting to break a story more than letting the cops get the credit?”

“Yeah?”

“My dad investigated crimes for over twenty years. Murders, robberies, rapes, assaults, even kidnappings. And he solved most of them. Rarely did he ever get credit. And never did he send a case to his bosses or to the D.A. without knowing in his heart that what he was reporting was total truth.”

“Sounds like a great man,” Simone said sincerely.

“All I'm doing is my best to live up to his standard. I don't need credit. My ego doesn't need attention. You're the one who pointed out that I never post pictures of myself on Instagram. That's because I don't want to be the story, I want the truth to be the story.”

“I apologize for—”

“Are you at a computer?” Brooklyn asked.

“Staring at my laptop as we speak.”

“If there's ever any doubt about my intentions, just go to the top of the
Deadline Diaries
home page and click on ‘TIPS.'”

Brooklyn could hear Simone tapping her keyboard. “When you click on it, what appears at the top of the page?”

Simone replied, “There's a quote from Henry David Thoreau. ‘Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.'”