فصل 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ornament

ELLERY

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 29

This time, unlike after the hit-and-run with Mr. Bowman, I’m a good witness. I remember everything.

I remember taking the paper clip from Brooke’s hand, and picking up a second one from the floor. “Paper clips?” Officer Rodriguez asks. He went directly into questioning mode as soon as Ezra told him we’d left Fright Farm with Brooke. We moved into the kitchen, and Nana made cocoa for everyone. I grasp the still-warm mug gratefully as I explain what happened before Ezra joined Malcolm and me.

“Yeah. They were pulled apart, you know, so they were almost straight. People do that kind of thing sometimes, like a nervous habit?” I do, anyway. I’ve never met a paper clip I didn’t immediately twist out of its preexisting shape.

I remember Brooke being sort of goofy and funny and rambling at first. “She made a that’s what she said joke,” I tell Officer Rodriguez.

His face is a total blank. “That’s what she said?”

“Yeah, you know, from The Office? The TV show?” I cock my head at him, waiting for it to click, but his brow stays knit in confusion. How can anyone in his twenties not get that reference? “It’s something the lead character used to say as, like, a punch line after a double entendre. Like when someone says something is hard, they could be referring to a difficult situation or, you know. To a penis.” Ezra spits out his cocoa as Office Rodriguez turns bright red. “For heaven’s sake, Ellery,” Nana snaps. “That’s hardly pertinent to the conversation at hand.” “I thought it was,” I say, shrugging. It’s never not interesting observing Officer Rodriguez’s reactions to things he doesn’t expect.

He clears his throat and avoids my eyes. “And what happened after the … joke?” “She drank some water. I asked her what she was doing in the basement. Then she started seeming more upset.” I remember Brooke’s words like she’d just spoken them five minutes ago: I shouldn’t have. I have to show them. It’s not right, it’s not okay. What happened? Wouldn’t you like to know?

My stomach squeezes. Those are the sort of things that seem like nonsense when a drunk girl is babbling at a party, but ominous when she’s missing. Brooke is missing. I don’t think that’s really sunk in yet. I keep thinking Officer Rodriguez is going to get a call any second telling him she met up with friends after she got home. “She got a little teary when she said all that,” I say. “I asked her if it was about the pep rally, but she said no.” “Did you press her?” Officer Rodriguez asks.

“No. She said she wanted to go home. I offered to get Kyle and she said they’d broken up. And that he wasn’t there anyway. So Malcolm offered her a ride home, and she said okay. That’s when I left to get Ezra. Driving Brooke home was …” I pause, weighing what to say next. “It wasn’t planned. At all. It just happened.” Officer Rodriguez’s forehead creases in a quizzical frown. “What do you mean?” Good question. What do I mean? My brain has been whirring since Officer Rodriguez said Brooke was missing. We don’t know what it means yet, but I do know this: if she doesn’t show up soon people will expect the worst, and they’ll start pointing fingers at the most obvious suspect. Which would be the person who saw her last.

It’s the cliché moment of every Dateline special: the friend or neighbor or colleague who says, He’s always been such a nice guy, nobody ever would have believed he could be capable of this. I can’t think everything through clearly yet, but I do know this: there was no master plan to get Brooke alone. I never got the sense that Malcolm was doing anything except trying to help her out. “I mean, it was just random chance that Malcolm ended up giving Brooke a ride,” I say. “We didn’t know even know she was in the office at first.” “Okay.” Officer Rodriguez says, his expression neutral. “So you left to find Ezra, and Malcolm was alone with Brooke for … how long?” I look at Ezra, who shrugs. “Five or ten minutes, maybe?” I say.

“Was Brooke’s demeanor any different when you returned?”

“No. She was still sad.”

“But you said she wasn’t sad earlier. That she was joking.”

“She was joking and then she was sad,” I remind him.

“Right. So, describe the walk to the car for me, please. Both of you.” It goes on like that for another ten minutes until we finally, painstakingly get to the moment in our driveway when I asked Brooke if she was going to be okay. I gloss over the part where Malcolm asked if he could call me, which doesn’t seem pertinent to the discussion at hand. Ezra doesn’t bring it up, either.

“She said, Why wouldn’t I be?” Officer Rodriguez repeats.

“Yeah.”

“And did you answer?”

“No.” I didn’t. It hits me with a sharp stab of regret, now, that I should have.

“All right.” Officer Rodriguez snaps the notebook shut. “Thank you. This has been helpful. I’ll let you know if I have any follow-up questions.” I unclench my hands, realizing I’ve been knotting them in my lap. They’re covered with a thin sheen of sweat. “And if you find Brooke? Will you let us know she’s all right?” “Of course. I’m heading to the station now. Maybe she’s already home, getting a talking-to from her parents. Most of the time that’s—” He stops suddenly, his neck going red as he darts a glance at Nana. “That’s what we hope for.” I know what he was about to say. Most of the time that’s how these things turn out. It’s the sort of thing police officers are trained to tell worried people so they won’t spiral into panic when somebody goes missing. But it’s not comforting in Echo Ridge.

Because Nana’s right. It’s never been true.