1:00 p.m.
She pulled her denim-clad legs closer to her body, rested her chin on her knees. The afternoon sun warmed her face in brief snatches, only to be shooed away by the nearly steady ocean breeze.
March was still cold at the beach. Jacket-and-pants kind of cold. But there were signs that winter was losing its grip. The gloomy cloud-filled days were becoming less frequent, the air temperature increasing by a few degrees each week.
Elise dug her bare toes further into the cold sand and pushed at an errant strand of wavy brown hair that blew across her forehead. Other than a few brave sandpipers and an occasional pigeon, she was alone as far as the eye could see. And had been for several hours.
The amusement pier on the southern edge of town sat dormant, waiting patiently for the start of the summer tourist season in a little over eight weeks. She closed her eyes gently, tried to imagine the crowds that would soon cover every inch of this beach—people from all over the bistate area flocking to Ocean Point for their annual family vacation. But she couldn’t. It seemed a world away.
A slight vibration against her skin broke through her woolgathering, made her stop, focus.
Mitch?
She pulled the cell phone from her waistband and grinned at the text message icon on the upper right-hand corner of the display screen. Flipping the phone open, she pressed read.
Hi ’Lise. Got here safely. Hope ur 1st day of school was good. I’ll call 2night. Love you. Mitch.
Mitch.
The corners of her mouth tugged upward as a warmth emanated from her chest and spread outward to her arms and legs, toes and fingers. Even after ten months, Detective Mitch Burns still made her heart race, her palms dampen. He was everything she’d ever imagined and then some.
She smiled at the delicately placed diamond on her left ring finger as she pushed the corresponding number-to-letter buttons on her phone.
I Love you too, sweetheart. Have fun today. Be safe. Talk to you tonight. Yours, Elise.
She watched the hourglass tumble in the center of the screen, her mind conscious of the one portion of his text she’d chosen to overlook. But if she told him, he’d be on the first plane home.
Besides, she could handle Jacob Brown.
She reattached the phone to her waistband and reached into her backpack for the homework sheet Ms. Daltry had given everyone. The assignment was simple enough. Tap into a raw emotion from your life and use it to create a memorable scene in which your readers experience that same emotion.
Curious, Elise began reading the teacher’s example, the words sucking her in from the very first line.
The black metal cave was cool against my tears, the carpeted floor a buffer for the tremors in my body. I bit down harder on my lower lip, the pain a constant reminder of my need to stay quiet . . . to fight the urge to scream for help.
The end to Mommy’s noises meant we could no longer hear each other. I was certain of that. But if I cried like I wanted to anyway, the men would hear me, find me. Maybe even hurt me.
I couldn’t let that happen. I had to save Mommy. Somehow. Some way.
I hugged my legs tighter as I watched their calves pace back and forth, their steps getting faster and crazier with each breath I took. Two of the men wore brown work boots, like Daddy’s. The other man wore white sneakers with a dark blue squiggle, his laces coming untied like mine always do.
Blue Squiggle Man seemed scared. Like me. Every time his hands dropped to his sides they shook. Like mine.
Work Boot Guys gave Blue Squiggle Man lots of orders. Hold the bag. Stuff the bag. Close the bag. Watch the window. Hurry . . . hurry . . . hurry. If I were him, I’d tell them to stop being so bossy. Nobody likes a bossy Betty.
But maybe he’s afraid. Like me. Or maybe he doesn’t know it’s okay to play with other people. His mommy should tell him that. And maybe she should tell him it’s not nice to scare people too. I bet he’d listen. He seems to be a good listener. Like me.
A funny sound made them stop yelling and bossing. It sounded like a whistle or a— Hey, I know that sound. It’s a policeman!
I smacked my hand over my mouth to stop it from getting excited. Help was coming. Mommy and all the other people would be okay.
One of the Work Boot Guys ran by me, his feet smacking against the carpet real loud. The other one was next. They were really, really fast.
Squiggle Man ran too. But he didn’t tie his shoes so he tripped. I’ve done that before. Only when I do it, I don’t say bad words like that.
I bit my lip really hard as Squiggle Man’s big body landed in front of me. Tummy first. He was tall, like Daddy. He wore a black mask and gloves like Dennis did on Halloween, only this mask didn’t have a place for smiling or making scary faces. Just two holes for peeking. I closed my eyes really fast so he wouldn’t see me.
I opened them again when I heard him making funny grunts. My grandpa sounds just like that every time he leaves the couch. Only Squiggle Man made his when he was pushing off the ground.
I knew I shouldn’t stare, Mommy says it’s not polite, but he reminded me of that girl Sara, in the other second-grade room. Maybe that’s why he hung out with bosses. Because he didn’t feel good about himself.
Work Boot Guys shouted at him to get out. Only he didn’t stomp his feet. He just listened like always.
I sat real quiet after their noises stopped . . . just in case they were tricking me. But they weren’t. They were probably too busy watching the fireworks.
If the policeman would hurry and get me, maybe me and Mommy could see the fireworks too.
She stared at the page in her hand, her eyes drawn to the power it wielded.
“Put us wherever it is you want us to be, make us feel what your character feels.”
“Oh, my God.” The wind whipped the words from her mouth as she imagined the little girl who’d been so frightened, so alone under that desk. Was she real? Or was she simply the creation of a gifted writer?
Elise reread each paragraph, her mind playing out the image Ms. Daltry had created on the page. A child cowering under the desk. Alone. Without her mother. Criminals just inches from where she hid.
Could that kind of raw emotion come from someone’s imagination? Or was it the memory of a little girl all grown up?
A series of quick vibrations against her skin brought an end to the unanswered questions that plagued her thoughts. Questions she hoped would be answered next week. Elise snatched the phone from her waistband and looked at the screen.
Unknown caller.
Disappointed, she flipped the phone open and held it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hello, Elise? Elise Jenkins?”
The voice sounded oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place a name. “Yes? Who’s calling?”
“Hi, Elise. It’s Madelyn. Madelyn Conner. From Creative Writing class.”
Elise slipped the paper between her knees, held her empty hand against her exposed ear. “Hi, Madelyn. I’m sitting on the beach and it’s a little hard to hear you with the wind. I could call you back lat—”
“That’s okay, I can talk louder. See? Is that better?”
Pulling the phone a good six inches from her ear, she nodded. “Much.”
“Good. I’m so glad we got a roster. Now we can stay in contact with everyone.” The woman’s voice slowed for a second, then resumed its rapid speed. “Have you had a chance to read Ms. Daltry’s writing example yet?”
Elise’s eyes dropped to the page flapping back and forth between her bent knees. Seventeen paragraphs that conveyed fear and innocence. Seventeen paragraphs that sucked you in and left you wanting more. “I just did. It was amazing.”
Madelyn took a big gulp of air on the other end of the line. “I know. I never knew there’d been a little girl there that day.”
She shoved her hand harder against her ear, strained to understand the words she was hearing. “So it’s real?”
“Yes, I think it is. In fact, I think I know the event she is describing. It was a bank robbery in Paleville about thirty-five years ago. Two of the three robbers were shot and killed. A third escaped without any money.”
Shot and killed?
Pulling the page from between her knees, Elise’s gaze flew down the page. Searching.
I sat real quiet after their noises stopped . . . just in case they were tricking me. But they weren’t. They were probably too busy watching the fireworks.
“Ohhhhhhh. The fireworks were gunshots,” she mumbled under her breath.
“What did you say, Elise? I didn’t catch that.”
She shivered, then stuffed the page into her backpack. “I’m sorry, Madelyn. I was just thinking about Ms. Daltry’s work. But what was that you said a few seconds ago? About not realizing there was a little girl?”
“The papers never mentioned it. They just talked about the employees and patrons who had been locked in the vault during the robbery.”
She looked at the ocean one last time then pushed herself off the sand, brushing remnants of the beach from her jeans. “Sometimes the police leave details out. And with the safety of a child in jeopardy, I’d be more surprised if they didn’t hold back a detail like that. But what makes you think it’s the same robbery?” She balanced the phone between her shoulder and chin, reached down and plucked her shoes off the sand.
“If I’m right, Ms. Daltry is somewhere around forty-one or forty-two years old.”
Elise agreed as she walked across the sand toward the Dunes Road access point. Forty-two seemed like a pretty good guess.
“The robbery I think she’s referring to happened thirty-five years ago. That would’ve made Ms. Daltry about six or seven.”
Dropping her shoes onto the pavement, Elise balanced on one leg at a time, shaking loose granules of sand from her feet. “You know, I think you’re right on the age. She said something about second grade in her handout, didn’t she?”
“Did she?” Madelyn’s voice paused for a beat before rushing to answer her own question. “Yes, she did.”
So it was a true account . . .
“Have you started working on yours yet?”
Elise laughed. “No. I literally just finished reading when you called. But I’m sure I’ll get started on it either tonight or tomorrow.”
She glanced down at her watch, silently cursed the hours she’d wasted staring at the ocean. Print Right closed at two. There was no way she could get there, look at hundreds of invitation samples, and choose one . . . in under fifteen minutes.
Darn.
“Janice was working on hers when we talked a few moments ago. Paul and Al hadn’t even read Ms. Daltry’s yet, but that’s not really a surprise. They’re both fairly”—the woman’s voice dropped to a whisper—“lazy men. Then again, show me a man who isn’t.”
Elise grinned. Madelyn Conner was a hoot and a half.
The woman continued. “Do you have any interest in getting together as a group one day this week? Perhaps Wednesday or Thursday? We could all share what we’ve written.”
She closed her eyes briefly, ran through the schedule of interviews and meetings that dotted her week’s calendar. “I can’t meet during the day because of work, but I could do Wednesday night if that works for everyone else.”
The woman’s smile was audible through the phone. “Wednesday night is perfect. Six o’clock?”
“Six sounds great. Where?”
“There’s a great little Chinese restaurant on Second Street. How about there?”
“Mia’s.”
“You know the place?” Madelyn asked.
“I sure do.” She hoisted the shoulder strap of her backpack higher on her shoulder and continued walking. “Thanks for the invite, Madelyn.”
“Thank you. For agreeing to meet us. I still can’t believe you’re Elise Jenkins, the reporter.” The woman sighed in her ear. “I’ll call everyone and give them the date and time. With any luck, Al and Paul will get off their butts and read Ms. Daltry’s work. Maybe even bring something of their own to contribute.”
Get off their butts? She couldn’t imagine her grandmother using an expression like that. Madelyn really was one of a kind.
“Oh. Elise?” the woman’s voice trailed off into silence.
She pulled the phone from her ear, saw they were still connected. “Madelyn? Are you still there?”
“I am. I just wanted you to know that I’m not going to invite that young man who was so rude to you this morning, so don’t worry.”
She crossed the street and headed south on Dolphin Way. On one hand, Madelyn’s consideration would make Wednesday night more enjoyable. But, if she was going to get through the next eight weeks in the same classroom as Jacob Brown, she was going to have to find a way to deal with him.
“Madelyn, we need to invite everyone, including Jacob. If he doesn’t want to show, he won’t. But it needs to be his decision, not mine.”
“Are you sure?”
Was she? Suddenly she wasn’t so certain.
She breathed in deeply, willed her thoughts to agree with her words. “Yeah. I’m sure.”