43

Emily wrapped up a plate of coffee cake and hopped in her car. She drove straight to Mrs. Parkman’s home without calling first. Homebound was the word that came to mind when Emily got to the door. She peered into the small window and saw Shirley Parkman wrapped in an afghan on the couch staring at a game show on TV. It looked like she hadn’t moved for days. Would Emily find cobwebs fastening her to the seat cushions?

Emily rang the bell, but it didn’t sound. She rapped on the door four times, shaking Mrs. Parkman from her trance. Emily waved through the window.

Mrs. Parkman labored to come to the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Parkman. I’ve been thinking about you with all this snow and thought I’d stop by to make sure you’re okay and bring you a treat.”

“Thank you, dear. Would you like to come in?”

Absolutely.

Emily stepped in and almost gagged. The house smelled of stale popcorn and moldy mushrooms and body odor and urine. Is this how she spends every day? Is this how she spent Thanksgiving?

“How was your holiday?” She didn’t know why she felt the need to raise her voice.

“Shhh. Quiet. I’m not deaf,” said Mrs. Parkman, leading Emily to the living room. She lifted a stack of newspapers from a rocking chair and pointed. “There you go.”

Emily sat, cringing when she slid back in the chair and something sticky tugged at her pant leg from the seat cushion.

“Did you have Thanksgiving with Tiffani?” said Emily.

“No. She had to work,” said Mrs. Parkman, settling into her couch. “When I saw you at the door, I was hoping you had some news about Sandi.”

“I wish I did. We’re all working very hard on the case.” Emily handed her the plate of coffee cake.

“Thank you. Just set it there on the coffee table.”

Emily looked for a spot, landing on a stack of magazines, the top one dated nine years ago.

“I was wondering about Tiffani. You said you remember she went to a friend’s house that day after school. And you said that the friend was kinda tiny and scraggly. Any chance that name came to mind since we last talked?”

Mrs. Parkman’s attention was back on the game show. “What’s that, hon?”

Emily wanted to tell the television, Shhh. Quiet. It was at least ten decibels louder than it needed to be.

“Tiffani’s friend. Where she went after school the day Sandi disappeared?”

“What about her dear?” said Mrs. Parkman.

“Do you remember who that friend was?”

Mrs. Parkman shook her head. “No, no, I haven’t got a clue.”

Emily smiled. “I just keep thinking about Tiffani. You said she changed a lot after Sandi’s death. Can you tell me about that?”

“I dunno. I guess we all have our ways of grieving. I just kinda left her alone. She was one of those self-sufficient types.”

Emily nodded. She could tell this wasn’t going to be an easy nut to crack.

“Did she start hanging around a different set of friends?”

“Couldn’t say. Like I said, I really didn’t know her friends.” Mrs. Parkman leaned forward and peeled back the foil on the cake. Her chunky thumb and forefinger selected a piece, and she crammed the whole thing in her mouth. “I was working a lot in those days.”

Maybe this was one big, fat waste of time.

Mrs. Parkman chomped away, making no attempt at conversation as Emily patiently watched her stare mindlessly at five minutes of commercials.

Mrs. Parkman went for the last piece, and stuffed half of it into her maw. It didn’t seem as if she had anything helpful to offer about her daughter’s disappearance. Emily cleared her throat to excuse herself from Mrs. Parkman, when a commercial for skinny potato chips cued up. Mrs. Parkman watched for about fifteen seconds before her glossy eyes found focus on Emily.

“Skinny chips. You know what? I do remember this one friend Tiffani had. Skinny Minnie,” said Mrs. Parkman laughing. “Skinny Minnie.”

“Was that her real name?” Emily asked.

“That’s what Tiffani called her.” Mrs. Parkman turned back to the screen. Her recollection was final.

Skinny Minnie. Emily rolled it around her brain a few times to seal it into her memory.

“Is that where she went that day … when Sandi disappeared?”

“You asked if I knew any names. There you go.” The second half of the cake disappeared. “That was delicious.”

“Thank you.” Emily smiled politely. “Does she still live in Freeport?”

Mrs. Parkman shrugged. “I gotta hit the crapper.” Mrs. Parkman pushed herself off the couch and tottered into a hall, using the walls to steady herself. Emily heard the door shut and rose from her seat to take a little tour of the living room. This place could definitely be a featured home on that TV reality show about hoarders. She found the remote tucked into the couch cushion where Mrs. Parkman had just been sitting and notched the volume down on the TV. When she did, a soft scritch-scritch turned her head to the opposite wall. Scritch. Scritch-scritch. She followed the noise, moving across the room. Scritch-scritch. Scritch. Then it stopped. She froze in place, listening. Just when she was tempted to believe her ears had deceived her, the scratching started up again at the base of the wall. Scritch-scritch-scritch. Emily’s skin crawled. Scritch-scritch. Mrs. Parkman had rats!

Emily backed away and scanned the room, trying to drown out the sound with her mind. Soon her eyes came to one uncluttered wall shelf that displayed a set of four tarnished three-by-five frames with a layer of dust coating the glass. In each frame was a picture of Sandi, a life span. Sandi as a baby. Sandi’s first day of school. Preteen Sandi on a horse. And prom-picture Sandi. With a young man. Emily did a double take. She picked up the frame and wiped the grime off the glass. A clean-cut, tuxedoed James stood out. She leaned in to get a closer look. He was holding up Sandi’s hand in one of those awkward posed-portrait shots. And that’s when she recognized the black-onyx class ring. James. Odd as it seemed, it could be no coincidence that Tiffani possessed the same black onyx stone cut in a diamond shape. Why did she have the same stone? Did it belong to the guy in the Facebook picture? And was that guy James? There was most definitely a connection between James and Tiffani. This proved it.

If Nick had any hope of proving his innocence of this crime, he would need to hunt James down. Emily quickly captured the image of the prom picture on her phone seconds before Mrs. Parkman waddled back in.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, dear?” said Mrs. Parkman, heading toward the kitchen. Emily’s stomach curdled at the thought of the rats in the wall and what might emerge from the Parkman fridge.

“I think you have rats in your house, Mrs. Parkman,” Emily said.

“Oh?”

“I heard scratching in your wall. You should call an exterminator.”

“Oh?”

“They could be carrying diseases. And that’s not safe for you.”

“I’ve never heard them,” said Mrs. Parkman.

“Maybe because you have your TV turned up?”

“I’ve never seen any droppings.”

“Maybe not. But I heard them just now.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll tell Tiffani. She’ll know what to do,” Mrs. Parkman said, opening the fridge. The smell of curdled milk and rotting vegetables wafted out. And Emily quickly thanked Mrs. Parkman and made her exit.

*   *   *

Emily waited in her car in Nick’s driveway until his truck pulled in an hour after dark. She got out of her car and walked over to his as he shut off the engine and hopped out, dressed in his hunting gear.

“I know what it looks like,” he said with a tired lilt in his voice.

“Who told you?”

“I was with Paul. A text came through from Jo as soon as we were in signal range.”

“Nick.” Her voice was trembling. “What was your jacket doing buried in that woods?”

Nick reached into the back of his truck to unpack his gear. Emily could see the lifeless form of a buck under a black tarp in the bed of his pickup. Nick popped the gate down.

“She was cold. I lent her my jacket.”

She scrutinized him. “Look at me and tell me that again.”

He turned to face her, leaning against the truck. “I’m not looking for your trust or approval. I know who I am and I know what I did. Or didn’t do.”

“Then what are your theories? Because you’d better start producing some in light of this new evidence.”

“I don’t know. Okay? I’ve talked to everyone I know to talk to.”

“I think Tiffani knows where James is.” Emily whipped out her phone. “Look at the ring from the Facebook photo. Now look at the picture from the Parkman’s. James’ ring from high school. Same stone.” She held up Sandi’s prom picture.

“How do you know that’s the same stone?”

“It’s a very unique cut.”

He took a look at the photo. “That’s not definitive.”

“I have a gut feeling.”

“‘She has a gut feeling, Your Honor!’” he mocked.

“Come on, admit it. It’s not a coincidence.”

“You’re right. It’s an impossibility.”

“If you can’t find James, at least start with Tiffani.”

Nick didn’t respond. “I know how to do my job, Em.”

“Why won’t you call her in for questioning? What’s the problem?”

“I did. After you told me about what the girls from the club said, I went to check it out, and there’s shady business going on. I put some undercover cops in place to watch Wanda.”

“Good. Thank you. And what did Tiffani say?”

“Nothing I don’t already know.”

“I talked to Mrs. Parkman. Skinny Minnie,” blurted Emily. “She was one of Tiffani’s best friends. I thought that might ring a bell, since you’re the king of nicknames.”

“You should stop looking into this.”

“You need help, Nick.”

“You’re undermining me and making me look ineffective.”

Nick went around to the back of his truck. Emily took a deep inhale.

“I gotta get this thing hung and dressed.”

How could he spend the day traipsing around the woods with his buddies when his head was about to be placed on the chopping block?

Nick proceeded to tie a rope around the deer’s hind legs. A pulley system was in place to lift the deer from the back of the truck. Emily didn’t want to stick around to see the rest. She huffed back to her car as more snow began to fall. His stubbornness would be his downfall.