The Feathered Bone (8 page)

While Ellie is being questioned, I dial my husband's number. He is fourteen days offshore; it isn't easy to reach him. I've already called three times, but it's not our regular time to talk. Now I try his supervisor, and Carl comes to the phone.

“Amanda?” The concern in his voice reaches me across the Gulf of Mexico.

“Carl, something's wrong.”

“What? What is it?”

“We're on that field trip today, with Ellie's class, down in New Orleans. You remember?”

“Yeah. Is she okay?”

“Ellie's safe. Yes, thank goodness. But, Carl, listen. We can't find Sarah.”

A long line of silence.

“Carl?”

“What do you mean, Amanda? Where are you?”

“We're still in New Orleans. Café du Monde. Sarah's missing,
Carl. Cops are here. They're questioning everyone. It's serious. We can't find her anywhere.”

“That's not possible. What happened?”

I fill my husband in on the timeline, and he asks to speak to Ellie. “She's with the investigator.”

“She's not with you?”

What little strength I have now crumbles. “I can see her, Carl. I'm looking right at her. They can't let me interfere with the questioning. You know that.” I steady my voice, trying to keep my husband stable.

“Is a lawyer with her? Don't let her answer anything.”

“What? Of course not. Why would she need a lawyer? They're questioning all the kids, Carl. They're just trying to—”

“What do you want me to do?” he booms, anxious and tense.

“I don't think there's anything you can do right now, Carl. I just wanted to talk to you. I wanted you to know what's happening. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I could try to take the chopper home, but it'd be a couple hours at least. Sarah will probably be back before I could get there.”

“Carl?” I don't know what I want to say, I just know I don't want him to hang up his phone. I need my husband. I need him. The fight we had before he left for the rig, his violent outburst during which he threw his hammer against the bricks, none of it matters now. I need Carl.

He listens silently.

“I overheard two of the cops. They think this might be tied to a crime ring or something.”

“Crime ring? Like the mob?” He sounds skeptical.

“I don't know. One of them mentioned trafficking. Said it's become a real problem down here. He started talking about
massage parlors and strip clubs, sleazy places on Bourbon Street. I've seen a little of that in my office. This doesn't fit. It happens to vulnerable girls looking for father figures. Or runaways desperate for shelter. Or addicts needing a fix. I can't imagine someone trying to kidnap a little girl like Sarah. From such a crowded place? With so many chaperones watching? You know she's not one to just follow some stranger out the door. Nothing's adding up.”

“Sounds like they're on the wrong track, Amanda. They're wasting time.”

“Honestly, Carl, I'm afraid she might have—” I can't say the words. It would make it all too real.

“What? What are you thinking?”

“What if she walked up to see the river? What if she fell in?”

“I thought of that.” Silence. Then Carl asks, “Are they searching the water?”

“Not yet. I'm sure they'll call in a dive team at some point.” The very idea makes me ill.

“I hate to say it, but that does make more sense.” He softens, and my body reacts with a slower pulse, calmer breaths.

“I just keep hoping she'll come strolling in, wondering what all the fuss is about.”

“How long has it been, Amanda? Since you saw her?”

I fumble with my watch, an inexpensive Timex Carl gave me when I turned thirty-five last year. He laughed when I unwrapped it, saying,
“Maybe now you'll be on time.”

But with Sarah missing, time has shifted into a strange sort of fluidity. “Almost three hours,” I tell him.
How is that possible?
“Beth and Preacher should be here soon.”

“Amanda?” Carl's voice takes a serious drop in pitch. “Don't take your eyes off Ellie.”

Within an hour Jay arrives with Beth and Preacher. I rush to meet them, but NOPD officers step in between. Mere feet away, a few journalists have joined the scene. They shout questions as photographers squeeze in to capture a mother's worst nightmare. The lens acts as a tool to numb their sensibilities.

“Amanda?” Beth's voice is hoarse. “What is happening? Where's Sarah?” She clings to Preacher, who seems to be holding her together. Her hair is a mess, and mascara traces the tears beneath her reddened eyes. It's the first time I've ever seen Beth express such raw emotion, and the impact hits me full force.
I promised to keep her daughter safe. I was trusted to bring Sarah home.

The police officer eases back, allowing me to reach my friend. I wrap Beth in a hug and release a sorrowful string of apologies.

Jay gives me a tender look of sympathy. It is all I can do to stay strong.

“Show us,” Preacher says to me. “Tell us everything that happened. Where'd you last see her?”

With officers on either side of us, I lead them through every detail of the day. Starting with the moment Beth left our group at Mardi Gras World, they track my story onto the ferry, crossing to Algiers, and then back toward the Central Business District. Then on to the French Quarter, where Sarah was given the feather from the fortune-teller before coming here, to Café du Monde, where I left her in line at the restroom playing rock-scissors-paper with Ellie.

Beth and Preacher do their best to absorb the facts. Facts that make no sense at all. “I shouldn't have left her,” Beth says, too numb again to cry. “I should have been here with my child. On her field trip. What was I doing at the church? Why'd I leave her?” Then she
shifts, and anger seeps through. “Why did you leave her, Amanda? In New Orleans? What were you thinking? This isn't like you.”

“I'm sorry, Beth. It's my fault, I know. I can't understand what could have happened. I'm so sorry.”

Beth turns to one of the officers. “The palm reader! Did you find her?”

“Yes, ma'am. We've questioned her. She'll be listed as a person of interest.”

“Does she have Sarah? Does she know who does?” Beth shouts out questions, talking her way through her own thoughts. “She's supposed to tell the future, right? Get her to tell us where Sarah is!”

“Anyone else on that list? Any suspects?” Jay asks this one, stepping up as sheriff more than friend, even though we're not in his parish right now.

“We're talking to a lot of folks,” the officer says. “We just have to find the right person.”

I lean closer to Beth. “She probably got turned around in the crowd. Just went the wrong direction. We'll find her.” Maybe if I say this enough, it will come true.

“What can we do?” Somehow Preacher remains rational. But his dark eyes dart in all directions, and he pulses his fingers as if playing an instrument. He's a small-built man with a gentle heart, but I get the sense he could blow at any moment.

“Are you calling in more help? State police? FBI? What's the plan?” Jay again.

As the officer explains the procedure, I step toward Ellie, who has just been released from yet another interrogation. She rushes back to me and accepts my hug. “It's going to be okay. We'll find her.” I guide her back to our friends and pull out a chair for her. I do
the same for Beth, but she can't sit down. Finally finished with her second interview, Raelynn also joins us at the table, explaining that she'll send Nate back home on the bus with the other kids. They have all been waiting patiently for their driver to carry them back home. “They asked me a lot of questions about Gator,” Raelynn tells Jay.

We direct our gaze toward the bus driver, who is being questioned by three officers.

“I'd better get over there.” Jay heads Gator's direction as Miss Henderson moves toward us, apologizing every step of the way. She rushes into Beth's arms as much to receive comfort as to give it. The two stand together, sobbing, while the rest of us look away.

“I should have known better than to come to New Orleans.” While the teacher weeps, the female investigator offers coffee to Preacher and Beth. They decline, each now taking a seat.

“Why won't they let us leave?” Preacher asks, drumming his palm against the table in nervous pulses. “We need to be out there looking.”

Jay finally returns to our group and takes the lead. “All right. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to work with the NOPD. Anything they need. If they want to question us again, we let them. If they tell us to sit, we sit. If they tell us to wait, we wait. And when they tell us we can hit the streets, we hit the streets and join the search. Right now they are in charge. They know their city. We have to trust they'll do a good job. And I believe they will.”

Accepting his support, the investigator smiles.

We sit in silence, staring anywhere but at one another. And we wait. Chaos takes shape around us. A million moving parts, all trying to achieve the same goal: find Sarah.

“Can't you make them go away?” Beth stares at the journalists
with a spiteful eye. A familiar Baton Rouge reporter by the name of Frank Doucet jams his microphone toward us. “Mrs. Broussard, how did you feel when you were told your daughter had been lost on a school field trip?”

Beth ignores him, so he shouts more questions, hoping one will hook. “Is there any reason to think your daughter simply ran away? Do you know of anyone who might be involved if this is an actual kidnapping? Anyone who might have a grudge against your family? Any enemies?”

“Be glad they're here,” Jay says, centered as always. “The coverage will only help.”

Placing her hand over her husband's to still him, Beth lowers her head in silent prayer. By contrast, I want to shake my hands at the heavens.
How dare you?

I run scenes through my mind like the series of images we viewed earlier today on the oversized screen in the Mardi Gras film room. Only there is no well-rehearsed narrator making sense of this sequence. I focus, trying to find clues we're overlooking.
Who was here? Why didn't Sarah come back from that restroom? Why did she leave the backpack? Where in the world can she be?

Beside me, Ellie twists her hair into knots. “Sarah wouldn't let anybody take her.”

“You're right, honey. She wouldn't.” I pull Ellie's hand into mine, feeling both gratitude to have my child with me and guilt that Beth's hand cannot reach Sarah's.

Beth lifts her head. “Ellie, you know her better than anyone. Where do you think she is?”

My daughter glances out to Decatur, then over to the broad-limbed oak where the jazz band no longer plays, then back toward the colorful alley. She turns toward the now-vacant takeout window,
then toward the rear of the café where she last saw Sarah standing in line for the restroom. The rest of us follow Ellie's stares and try to reason along with her.

“Honestly, Mrs. Beth,” Ellie whispers, “I have no idea.”

Chapter 6

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Halloween

O
UR
B
ATON
R
OUGE NEWS REPORTER
, F
RANK
D
OUCET
,
IS UPDATING
us from the television screen. A New Orleans station shares his footage here in the hotel lobby. “Sarah Broussard was last seen day before yesterday, when her sixth-grade class took a field trip to New Orleans. Friday at approximately 1:30 p.m., she waited in line for the restroom at Café du Monde. That was the last time Sarah's classmates saw their friend. Today the Livingston Parish School Board, ignoring the advice of legal counsel, has sent their entire fleet of buses to New Orleans, carrying full loads of LP volunteers who are determined to find Sarah. The school district's superintendent is with us now. Sir, what's the latest on the search?”

The superintendent is a family friend, a lifelong member of our church, and a well-respected leader with the parish Rotary. “We're doing all we can to find Sarah,” he says. “We've filled every seat on every bus today. And we'll do it again next weekend. And the next. For as long as it takes until we bring our student home.”

Doucet takes the microphone again, summarizing the efforts of law enforcement and showing photos of Beth, Preacher, Ellie, and me on the screen. He explains our connection to Sarah.

“He showed Ellie?” Raelynn fumes, expressing what I'm
thinking. His footage violates our private struggle. Posting Sarah's photo on air is helpful, but broadcasting my daughter's tearful face is another thing entirely. Especially when he tells the world that Ellie was her designated buddy of the day.