“Isaidwe’re dealing with a crisis.” Erika practically shouted her reply.
Lucas ambled into the living room, munching on an apple—a far healthier choice than soda or chips.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Fiona’s missing,” Erika said.
Lucas did not react. The name Fiona seemed to mean nothing to him. If she suffered a tragedy, she’d be nothing more than a story to tell his friends. It was sad. Fiona was a person with a life and dreams, and his blank reaction was… distressing? Alarming? Deeply concerning? All of the above?
Holy shit.It was really sinking in for Julia. Fiona was gone. She had vanished with no explanation. Julia felt overwhelmed by a sense of unreality—almost dissociation—when Erika interjected something surprising, bringing her back to the moment.
“I saw Fiona head toward our house while you were outside playing guitar. Did you two talk?”
Lucas tossed the half-eaten apple into a wastebasket meant primarily for paper. His mother didn’t bother with a reaction, perhaps because she already had a disapproving frown plastered on her face. Lucas stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his torn jeans, looking unsure of himself, like a guy who wanted a guitar to hide behind.
“No,” he said blandly. “I haven’t spoken to her once since we got here.”
Abruptly Lucas turned his back to his mother and headed upstairs. As Julia finally placed a call to the police, she couldn’t help wondering if Lucas was telling the whole story.
Chapter 14
Izzy
We’re just past Grace Olsen’s house when Brody bursts out, “Hey, is that the tree?”
He points ahead to what could be the correct arboreal marker for the path to the Shack. Sure enough, there’s something of a trail that’s slightly overgrown, but not so much that we can’t follow it.
“Good job, Brody,” I say, ruffling his hair.
He beams at me appreciatively. There’s so much joy in his eyes that I briefly forget all the grief he’s given me since I started this job.
We make our way single file, with Nutmeg in front, me right behind, and Taylor bringing up the rear after the twins. Before we get far, I see, through the trees, several police cars zipping down the road. The whoosh of their wheels tells me they’re in a hurry.
Taylor and I have a silent exchange, both of us apparently sharing the same fear.
Did someone find Fiona?
I turn around and tell a white lie: “Hey, kids, I just realized I left the brownies for our picnic on the counter. Let’s head back and we’ll do this again and bring your father. Brody, I know he’ll be so excited thatyoufound the path!”
The fort doesn’t matter as much to Brody as the praise from his dad and the promise of brownies. Luckily, Becca is on the same page, her eyes brightening at the mention of the sweet treat.
We head back at a relaxed pace. There’s no crisis as far as the kidsare concerned, though I’m full of dread. Nutmeg didn’t have any luck finding Fiona, but could someone else have stumbled across her body? I can’t help but imagine the worst. Then again, I am my mother’s daughter.
Two police cars are parked in front of David’s house when we arrive, but no ambulance, so no gurney for a body. I suppose that’s a good sign. Regardless, I’m still on the clock, and I need to manage this situation with the kids to the very best of my ability—which means making it up as I go.
I’m stuck because I can’t simply ignore the scene before us. Police cars with flashing lights aren’t exactly subtle. The kids are naturally curious, but my burgeoning nanny instincts tell me that in this case, less is more. Taylor sees that I’ve got my hands full. She and Nutmeg depart with a brief wave goodbye, leaving me on my own to figure something out.
I dig deep, thinking back to my psych classes and my nannying research, and I reach the professional conclusion that I need to gaslight the children.
“What are the police doing here?” Brody asks, pointing to a burly officer who stands joylessly beside his cruiser. He has the hat, gun, blue suit, and shiny badge that would attract any young boy’s attention, but I make nothing of it.
“Well, obviously they were called here,” I say blandly. “The police wouldn’t show up somewhere without being summoned.”
Brody is so busy puzzling out my non-explanation that he neglects to ask the most obvious follow-up question:Why would someone have called the police?
“Come, children,” I say, taking their hands. “Let’s go upstairs and build a blanket fort! We’ll have our picnic there.”
Brody and Becca are befuddled enough for me to whisk them inside without protest or further inquiries.Success.
