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Frank stood with Grayson outside Gabriella Caldwell’s hospital room. Nurses shuffled in and out for thirty minutes. Then the doctor stepped out.

“How is she?” Frank asked.

“Stable. She’s lucky she was found when she was. It took us a while to get her body temperature back up. She should make a full recovery.”

“Can we talk to her now?” Grayson asked.

The doctor nodded. “But make it short. She seems . . . traumatized. I know you guys want to catch this person, but take it easy on her, okay?”

Frank and Grayson opened the door and entered the room. A woman sitting by the bed stood when she saw Grayson. “I’m Beth Caldwell. This is my husband, Ted.” They all shook hands.

“I’m Captain Grayson. And you know Sergeant Frank Merret.”

Frank moved closer to Gabby’s bed. “She looks good. Color back in her face.”

“Thank you so much for all you did. I can’t imagine—” Beth’s voice cracked—“what she’s been through. Who would do this?”

“That’s what we want to find out. Can we ask her a few questions?”

Reverend Caldwell walked to the bedside. “Gabby?”

Gabby opened her eyes, blinked slowly.

“Gabby, can you talk to the police?”

Her eyes widened as she spotted them. “I don’t want to.”

The reverend looked confused. “What? We’ve got to find who did this to you.”

“I didn’t see anything.” She shook her head. “I don’t know anything.”

Frank fingered the railing of the bed, trying to find the right approach. He pulled up the stool the doctors normally sat on. As he sat down, he patted her arm. He could tell she recognized him. “Remember me?”

She nodded.

“Do you remember my name?”

“Frank.”

“That’s right.” He smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Warm, I bet.”

“Yeah. Warm.”

“Gabby, do you know how we found you tonight?”

She shook her head.

“Somebody came forward, told us that they suspected someone from your class did this to you.”

Gabby gazed out the window on the other side of the room. The sun, plump and dark orange, had lifted just above the horizon.

“Maybe this is too much,” her mother said, stepping next to Frank.

Frank held up a gentle finger. “The person that came forward risked a lot to tell us where you might be and who might be responsible for this. I know this is scary. You feel threatened. But we can’t let them get away with this.”

Ted stepped to the other side of the bed. “He’s right. What this person did is horrible. You could’ve died.” He took her hand. “We’re here for you. Nothing is going to happen, I promise.”

Gabby remained expressionless, seemingly staring straight through her father. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything.”

18

Damien stood at the printer, his fingers tapping against its white, plastic top. The paper couldn’t come out any slower. It had already jammed twice.

“Come on,” he muttered.

He took a deep breath and turned away from it for a moment. The large east window showed the glory of morning. Soft-hued light spread over the horizon, melting into the dark sky like watercolor.

Damien walked to the window, pressing his hands against the glass, looking over the town from the eighth floor of the tallest—and newest—building in Marlo. It seemed cradled, trees and rivers swaddling it on all sides. Safe. Pure. Beautiful.

“Hey.”

Damien turned. Bruce stood behind him, a grim look on his face.

“Hey, Bruce. You’re in early.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m about to drop dead.”

Bruce stared at him, his face strangely absent of emotion. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

“Say to you?”

“Yeah. Say to me.”

“No, what’s on your mind?”

“I just believe that if there’s something you want to say to someone, you should say it to them.”

“I believe that also,” Damien said, starting to bristle.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you need to say to me?”

“I’m positive. What’s this about?”

Bruce glanced away as if he needed a moment to settle himself down. “I read something on that Web site. Someone doesn’t like how I write my articles. Doesn’t like my use of vocabulary.”

Damien groaned. “It wasn’t me, okay? I mean, is my name mentioned?”

“No. Neither is mine.” His gaze fixed on Damien. “But sometimes you gotta read between the lines.”

“And sometimes you have to trust that a friendship is more powerful than a few words you read on a Web site.”

Bruce looked caught between relief and indignation. So he just turned and left.

Damien took a moment to compose himself. After the night he’d had, this was what he had to deal with?

Damien returned to the printer, grabbed the pages, and walked to Edgar’s office.

What he didn’t expect to see was Edgar’s startled face as he pushed himself away from the computer and leaned in to quickly punch a button. His face, red and flustered, remained expressionless as he looked at Damien. “Yeah?”

“Here’s our headline,” Damien said, holding up the pages.

“‘Found Alive.’ Perfect.” Edgar stood and stretched his back. “Do you know the last time we put out a special evening edition was when that bank was robbed? Nothing bad ever happens here, which makes for a great place to live and a horrible place to be a newspaperman. The only controversy around was those op-ed pieces you wrote when you were in a bad mood.” He took a breath as he skimmed over Damien’s paper. “Did you hear?”

“What?”

“The police department is offering a reward.”

“For the person who did this to Gabby?”

“No, for the person who’s running the Web site.”

“Really? I thought they weren’t investigating it.”

Edgar grinned. “I guess we changed their mind.” He sat down, folding his chubby hands together as his chair creaked to hold his weight. “All right, I want something good ready to roll tonight. This investigative piece is great. I won’t lie; you’re becoming a dandy reporter. But I also want something from the heart. What’s on your mind with this kidnapping and near murder of this girl? I want a symphony, got it?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Damien started to leave. “Hey, who told you about the reward from the police department?”

Something flickered across Edgar’s expression, then disappeared into another grin. “Maybe I read it on the Web site.”

Damien returned to his desk. Only adrenaline had caused him to go strong for the last few hours. Now all he wanted was a bed. But Edgar was right. There had never been anything like this before in Marlo. And if he could make any difference at all with what he had to say, then there was no time to waste.

Except something seemed wrong. With everything. With everyone. Like he was living inside the movie
Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

He glanced around the room. Everyone was hunched over his or her keyboard, drawn into some other world.

Damien’s hands hovered over his own keyboard. Thoughts numbered like random words on page after page. He had to organize them, make them concise, put them to use without a heavy hand. Nobody wanted to be preached to. What did they want?

Truth.

Hope.

Well-being.

But what they once had was no longer. Damien typed his headline: “What Lies Beneath.”

***

“Where’s Jenna?” Hunter asked as he cut up his Eggo.

“Upstairs. I’m letting her sleep in. This whole thing with Gabby really upset her.”

“I’m glad Gabby’s okay,” Hunter said quietly.

Kay came over and hugged him from behind. He always had such a tender heart. “I know. These things often don’t turn out well.” She stepped to the side and touched his face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m good. I better get going though.”

Kay walked back to the table. “It’s kind of early. And remember, I said that you can’t ride your bike to school. Not until this person is caught. Hold on. I’ll drive you. Let me run upstairs and throw on some sweats.”

Hunter sighed. “Look, I realize you’re freaked out and I’ll allow you some freak-out time. Just don’t go overboard. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Like insist that you embed a GPS tracking device under your skin?” Kay smiled.

Hunter laughed. “Exactly. I’ll be in the car.”

Upstairs, Kay jumped into a cozy sweat suit and slid on old sneakers. As she started back across the room, Jenna stirred.

Kay sat on the edge of the bed and clicked the lamp on. “I let you sleep in a little, but you better get up and get to school. I’m going to run Hunter in and I’ll be back. I’ll write you a note to be excused.”

Jenna peeled open her eyelids. “Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me go.”

“What?”

“Please. Can I stay home today?”

Kay smoothed the hair out of Jenna’s face and touched the back of her hand to her cheek. “You’re feeling bad?”

“No. I just don’t . . . I want to stay home.”

Kay nodded. She couldn’t imagine how traumatizing this must’ve been for her. “Sure. You can stay home. Get some more sleep and I’ll fix you some breakfast in about an hour.”

Jenna rolled over and Kay turned off the lamp. As she stood in the doorway looking at Jenna, she thanked God that her daughter wasn’t involved.

***

Frank got out of Detective Murray’s car, and both men stood on the curb for a moment, observing the house. A small sign near the mailbox boasted lawn service. The sidewalk leading to the house was swept clean enough to belong on the inside. Bushes lined the porch, and a grotesquely large Christmas wreath hung on the red front door. Two luxury SUVs were parked in the driveway.

“Somebody’s home,” Murray said, running his thumbs along the inside waistband of his pants before hiking them up a notch. “Let’s go.”

Frank tapped on the front door and stepped back to provide a clear view from the peephole.

A few seconds later the front door opened. A middle-aged woman with crunchy-looking blonde hair pinned back with diamond-studded barrettes blinked at them. “Yes?” she asked, shading her face from a sun that had barely made its entrance into the sky.

“I’m Detective Dean Murray. This is Officer Frank Merret. Are you the mother of Caydance Sanders?”

“Yes. Susan. What’s the matter?”

“Is your daughter home?”

“She’s upstairs getting ready for school.”

“We’d like to speak with her for a few moments.”

Susan clutched the side of her door. “About what?”

“You heard about the girl who was found last night?”

“Yes, of course. We were so thankful she was found alive.”

“We have reason to believe your daughter might know something about what happened,” Detective Murray said.

“We’re interested in talking with several of her classmates,” Frank added.

Susan looked confused but nodded and opened the door wider. She gestured toward a sitting room off to the side. “Wait here. I’ll go get her.”

Frank stepped in, observing the giant floral patterns that engulfed the tiny room. It smelled as if the carpet were made of potpourri. Or that eighty scented candles were burning all at the same time.

Murray put his forearm up against his nose. “Good grief,” he choked out.

“No kidding,” Frank said. He dropped his weight onto a couch that was less comfortable than it appeared. He lowered his voice. “Should we bring up the cat incident, see if it’s connected here?”

“Not yet. I want to keep it to this thing first, see what, if anything, we can get out of the girl.”

They both heard footsteps above them, some muddled conversation, and then the padding sound of feet coming downstairs. Susan entered, her daughter behind her, hands on her hips and attitude worn like an expensive accessory. “Caydance, this is Detective Murray and Officer Merret.”

“Am I going to be late for school?” she asked her mother.

“Just sit down, please. These men need to talk to you.”

She eyed them suspiciously, her arms now tightly folded across her chest. She plopped down in a floral chair and tucked her feet underneath her.

Murray said, “You’re Caydance Sanders?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know Gabriella Caldwell?”

“Yeah, she goes to my school. She was found last night, right?” Her eyes grew round at her own words.

“That’s right.” Murray took out his notepad. “Did you see Gabby at school yesterday?”

“I don’t know. Might’ve. We don’t hang out.”

“So you’re not friends?”

“She’s not a cheerleader, so no. We’re not friends.”

“Are you enemies?”

Caydance looked put out. “I don’t think about her. She’s not on my radar. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Susan stood beside her daughter. “Caydance, just answer the questions.”

“I am,” she said, rolling her eyes up toward her mom.

Frank watched Caydance’s every movement. Her face looked at ease, but her hands were telling a different story as they wound and unwound a piece of thread hanging from her tight-fitting jeans.

Murray scooted forward on the love seat a few inches, giving his full attention to the girl. “We have reason to believe you might know something about what happened to Gabby.”

Susan gasped. “What? What are you talking about?”

Murray kept his focus on Caydance. “If you know something, you need to tell us. It’s a serious offense to lie to the police or to withhold information you know would help in an investigation.”

“Do we need a lawyer?” Susan asked Frank.

“I don’t know, ma’am. That’s not up to us to decide. We’re just here to ask your daughter what she knows that could help us in the investigation.”

Caydance stared at Frank. Frank stared back at her. The kid was brash, as if the word
authority
had no meaning to her. She tucked her hair behind her ears and examined her cuticles.

“Caydance, do you know anything about what happened to Gabby?” Murray’s tone was kind, familiar, as if he were a favorite uncle chatting about holiday traditions. The intent was to lower her guard, though she didn’t seem bothered by anything other than being inconvenienced.