He had never done that before. He wasn’t telling her the whole story. Not yet. But as she wallowed in her own pity, in her own misery, in this awful hole in her own life, she reminded herself that it was a much bigger and more awful hole for Matthew, growing up without a father, growing up, especially, without that father, without that good and kind man, who had been the best of Hester and even more Ira—Ira, who died of a heart attack, she was convinced, because he could never get over the heartbreak of losing his son in that crash.
Tim slid back into the driver’s seat.
“You heard what Matthew said?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What do you think?”
Tim shrugged. “He’s hiding something.”
Hester did not reply.
“So back to the city?” Tim asked.
“Not yet,” Hester said. “Let’s stop at the Westville police station first.”
CHAPTER
FOUR
Well, well, well, as I live and breathe. Hester Crimstein in my little station.”
She sat in the office of Westville police chief Oren Carmichael, who, nearing retirement at age seventy, remained what he’d always been—a grade-A prime slice of top-shelf beefcake.
“Nice to see you too, Oren.”
“You look good.”
“So do you.” Gray hair worked so well on men, Hester thought. Damn unfair. “How’s Cheryl?”
“Left me,” he said.
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Cheryl always hit me as dumb.”
“Right?”
“No offense.”
“None taken.”
“She was beautiful,” Hester added.
“Yes.”
“But dumb. Is that insensitive?”
“Cheryl might think so.”
“I don’t care what she thinks.”
“Me neither.” Oren Carmichael’s smile stunned. “This back-and-forth is fun.”
“Isn’t it?”
“But I somehow don’t think you’re here for my middling repartee.”
“I could be.” Hester sat back. “What do the kids call it when you do more than one thing at a time?”
“Multitasking.”
“Right.” She crossed her legs. “So maybe that’s what I’m doing.”
Hester would say she’s a sucker for a man in a uniform, but that was such a cliché. Still, Oren Carmichael looked mighty fit in that uniform.
“Do you remember the last time you were here?” Oren asked.
Hester smiled. “Jeffrey.”
“He was dropping eggs on cars from the overpass.”
“Good times,” Hester said. “Why did you call Ira to pick Jeffrey up instead of me?”
“Ira didn’t scare me.”
“And I did?”
“If you want to use the past tense, sure.” Oren Carmichael tilted his chair back. “Do you want to tell me why you’re here, or should we keep with the banter?”
“Think we’ll get better at it?”
“The banter? Can’t get worse.”
Thirty-four years ago, Oren had been on the posse that found the young boy in the woods. Everyone, including Hester, thought that mystery would be solved quickly, but no one ever claimed Wilde. No one ever found out who left him in the woods or how he’d gotten there in the first place. No one ever figured out how long the little boy had lived on his own or how Wilde had survived.
No one—still, after all these years—knows who the hell Wilde really is.
She debated asking Oren about Wilde, just to get an update on him, maybe use that as a way to ease into the rest.
But Wilde wasn’t her business anymore.
She had to leave that alone, so she dove into the real reason she was here.
“Naomi Pine. You know who she is?”
Oren Carmichael folded his hands and rested them on that flat stomach. “Do you think I know every high school girl in this town?”
“How did you know she’s a high school girl?” Hester asked.
“Can’t get anything past you. Let’s say I know her.”
Hester wasn’t sure how to put it, but again the direct route seemed the best. “A source tells me she’s missing.”
“A source?”
Okay, so not so direct. By God, Oren was handsome. “Yes.”
“Hmm, isn’t your grandson about Naomi’s age?”
“Let’s pretend that’s a coincidence.”
“He’s a good kid, by the way. Matthew, I mean.”
She said nothing.
“I still coach the basketball team,” he continued. “Matthew is hardworking and scrappy like…”
He stopped before he could say David’s name. Neither of them moved. For a few moments, the silence sucked something out of the room.
“Sorry,” Oren said.
“Don’t be.”
“Should I pretend again?” he asked.
“No,” Hester said in a soft voice. “Never. Not when it comes to David.”
Oren, in his capacity as police chief, had gone to the scene the night of the crash.
“To answer your question,” Oren said, “no, I don’t know anything about Naomi being missing.”
“No one called it in or anything?”
“No, why?”
“She’s been out of school for a week.”
“So?”
“So could you just make a call?”
“You’re worried?”
“That’s putting it too strongly. Let’s just say a call would put my mind at ease.”
Oren scratched his chin. “Is there anything I should know?”
“Other than my phone number?”
“Hester.”
“No, nothing. I’m doing this as a favor.”
Oren frowned. Then: “I’ll make some calls.”
“Great.”
He looked at her. She looked at him.
Oren said, “I guess you don’t want me to do this later and call you with the results.”
“Why, are you busy right now?”
He sighed. Oren called Naomi’s house first. No answer. Then he called the school’s truant officer. The truant officer put him on hold. When the officer came back on the line, she said, “So far, the student’s absences have been verified.”
“You spoke to a parent?”
“Not me, but someone in the office.”
“What did the parent say?”
“It’s just marked as excused.”
“Nothing else?”
“Why? Are you requesting that I take a ride out there?”
Oren looked over the phone at Hester. Hester shook her head.
“No, I’m just checking all the boxes. Anything else?”
“Just that this girl will probably need to either repeat the grade or do extensive summer school. She’s been absent a lot this semester.”
“Thank you.”
Oren hung up.
“Thanks,” Hester said.
“Sure.”
She thought about it. “I get how you know Matthew,” she said slowly. “From me. From David. From the basketball team.”