“They’d say the same about you?” A.L. asked.
“I think they would,” Leah said.
“Brother’s name and number?” A.L. asked.
“This seems like a waste of time,” Troy said. But, nevertheless, he pulled up the contact information for a Travis Whitman. It was a different address than the parents. A.L. copied everything down.
“Married? Children?” A.L. asked.
“Divorced. More than ten years now. No children. His ex is remarried with two kids and lives in Montana. And before you ask, there are no issues between us and Travis.”
“Great, thanks,” A.L. said. “Now let’s talk about your cell phone.”
When A.L. filled him in on the details, Troy raised an eyebrow. Not unexpected. Who would like the idea of somebody listening to all his or her private cell phone calls? He said nothing, however, until A.L. was finished. Then he asked, “When will that start?”
“As soon as we can make a few phone calls,” A.L. said.
“Fine. Do whatever you need to do.”
A.L. entered his number and Rena’s into Troy’s cell. Just as he finished, Rena’s cell phone buzzed.
She looked at it quickly. Then at the Whitmans. “Amber Alert is out. Social media requests for volunteers to search are circulating. We’ve got resources outside that will organize the people who show up.”
“I want to search,” Troy said.
“That’s fine,” A.L. said. “But I think one of you needs to be home. In the event that Emma somehow winds up there. Can you do that?” he asked, looking at Leah.
“Of course,” she said.
“We’ll send an officer with you. You won’t be left alone.”
Leah simply shrugged. A silent whatever.
A.L. understood. She wanted her kid found. Nothing else was really important.
There was a knock on the classroom door. Alice Quest stuck her head inside. “Kara Wiese is here. And I just saw Elaine Broadstreet pull into the parking lot.”
Probably better to keep those two apart for now. Their recollection of the morning events appeared to be very different. “Thank you,” A.L. said. Alice nodded and shut the door.
He motioned Rena to go outside before turning to the Whitmans. “Excuse us, please.”
“I want to talk to my mother,” Leah said.
“That’s fine,” he said. “Just give us a minute.”
Once he and Rena were in the hallway, he said, “I’ll take Kara Wiese. You’ve got the grandma. Let’s try to figure out what really happened.”
Two
Kara Wiese was early thirties, dressed in workout clothes, with her dark shoulder-length hair pulled back into a ponytail.
A.L. stuck out his hand. “I’m Detective McKittridge. Thank you for coming back to the day care so quickly.”
“Of course. I just can’t believe this,” she said. “Emma is so sweet.” She paused. “Not that all the kids aren’t great. But, you know, some are just really special. Emma is one of those. You know what I mean?”
He did. Traci had been that kind of little kid. She’d sparkled. “Smart?” A.L. asked, motioning for Kara to enter an empty classroom.
“Very. She’s already reading.”
Maybe she could read street signs. Or signs on buildings. That could be helpful.
“What time did you arrive this morning, Kara?” A.L. asked. He took a seat on one of the small chairs. He knew he probably looked ridiculous but he didn’t want to tower over Kara, who was barely five feet. She also sat.
“About 6:15. We open at 6:30 and I always want time to start a pot of coffee.”
“Was anybody else here when you arrived?”
Kara nodded. “Alice was in the office. She’s usually here when I arrive.”
“But she doesn’t start the coffee?” A.L. asked.
Kara smiled. “She doesn’t drink coffee. I don’t get that,” she added, laughing nervously but stopping suddenly, as if she was embarrassed that the sound had come from her at a time like this. Her hands were clasped together, so tightly that her fingers were white.
“After you started the coffee, then what?” A.L. prompted.
“I waited until there was enough in the pot to pour a cup and I carried that back to my room. Turned on the lights and started the music.”
“Music?”
“I play all kinds of music all day. The kids seem to like it.”
When Traci was four, she’d known all the words to Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffet’s “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere.” His mother-in-law hadn’t thought it was that cute. “Was your music loud this morning?” he asked. “Would you be able to hear it outside the classroom?”
“Maybe if you were standing right outside the door but no farther than that with the door closed.”
“Do you keep the door closed all the time, even when there are no kids?”
Kara seemed to consider the question. “I guess I do. Habit, you know.”
“What time did children start arriving?” A.L. asked.
“Shortly after 6:30.”
A.L. pulled the sign-in sheet from Kara’s room. “Can you verify that this is the sign-in sheet from your room today?”
“Why is it...in plastic?” Kara asked, sounding concerned.
“We’ve started the process of gathering anything that might be evidence,” A.L. said.
“Of course,” Kara said. She glanced at the sheet. “Yes, that’s our sheet.”
“Our?” A.L. repeated.
“Claire’s and mine. Claire Potter is my co-teacher. She starts an hour after me and stays an hour later. I leave at 4:30 and she stays until 5:30. We need a second staff member once we have more than thirteen kids. Early in the morning and late in the afternoon, the number of kids makes it so that one of us can handle it.”
It had worked that way at Traci’s day care. “I suppose the math doesn’t always work out perfectly. I mean,” A.L. clarified, “you might have too many kids arrive before 7:30 or too many stay later than 4:30.”
“On rare occasions, but parents are pretty predictable with their drop-off and pickup schedules,” Kara said.
“Were Emma Whitman’s parents predictable?”
“Usually. Her grandma dropped her off a couple days a week and then her mom the other days. I’m not usually here when she gets picked up.”