If this note is found after I’m gone, I want someone to tell my parents that I loved them. Let them know I’m doing everything to keep hoping this will work out. Tell them that I stayed strong. My dad is always saying that—?stay strong—?it’s a Bonnet family motto. I don’t know what I can do to get away, but I’m not going to stop trying. Maybe being brave is what happens when you don’t have a choice.
Paige
Ten
“Don’t be nervous,” Mr. Lester said.
Easier said than done. The windowless interrogation room in the police department wasn’t exactly set up to make a person feel comfortable. Not that they called it an interrogation room; the tiny plastic plaque outside the door labeled it INTERVIEW ROOM #2. The table and chairs weren’t bolted to the floor, but there wasn’t a single thing in the room to give it personality or comfort. Nothing on the walls, not even a pro–seat belt or antidrugs poster. It was painted a flat, industrial, oatmeal beige that looked washed out. There was a long mirror on the side wall that years of watching crime TV had taught me was a two-way mirror. The space felt oppressive, which I guessed was the point.
The door opened, and the detective poked his head in. “Sorry to keep you folks waiting. Skye, we’re still trying to reach your mom. You have any other ideas of how we might find her? We’ve left messages at the places you suggested, but so far we haven’t heard anything.”
My mom never remembered to charge her phone. She might as well carry around a plastic brick. “Maybe we should just talk without her,” I said.
The detective frowned. “We’d prefer to have a parent present. I know you’re eighteen, but you’re still in high school. What about calling your dad?”
Mr. Lester squirmed in his seat. “Skye’s dad isn’t involved in her life at this time.”
That was an understatement. The last time my dad was involved in my life, I was a fetus. Unless you counted my imaginary father, and I was hoping the police wouldn’t connect that ancient story with me.
“It could be a long time until my mom shows up. Mr. Lester’s here. I’m okay talking to you as long as he stays.” In a perfect world, my mom would keep out of the whole thing. Besides, I wanted this conversation to be over. The longer I sat, the more it seemed as if they would somehow be able to tell I was guilty. Like the stink of what I’d done would leak out of my pores.
Mr. Lester sat a bit straighter, taking on the mantle of parental responsibility. He raised his chin in the air. “I could step in, assuming this isn’t any kind of formal statement?”
“No, we’re just gathering some information.” The Asian detective wore a suit. There was a tiny brown spot on his white shirt collar. A burn mark from an iron. I focused on that to keep my nerves in line. What did that tell me? I was willing to bet he was single, and while it wasn’t important for him to look stylish, he wanted to look professional and in charge. He didn’t have the money for dry cleaning, or at least he didn’t spend his cash that way. He waved to someone in the hall to join us.
Once the other detective came in, it was snug. If my mom showed up, I’d have to sit on her lap. The first detective opened a notebook. “I’m Detective Chan, and this is Detective Jay. We’re overseeing the Paige Bonnet case. The things you told Mr. Lester yesterday were helpful. We wanted to talk to you further to see if we might be able to learn more.”
“Sure.” I cleared my throat.
“Can I get either of you anything to drink? We got one of those fancy pod machines that pretty much makes up anything—?latte, cappuccino, tea?” Detective Jay had a tiny divot in his earlobe. At one point, most likely long before he was a cop, it had been pierced. He was a few years older than Chan, but I was willing to bet light years more fun.
“No, thanks,” I said. Mr. Lester also declined.
Detective Chan opened a file and spilled some photos onto the table. There was a shot of a Dairy Queen, the sign out front reading DILLY BARS 2—?4—?1! Then a shot of a barn, a couple of cows posing by the fence, and the picture I’d been waiting for.
A large billboard with the giant face of a woman smiling out, her blond hair tossed over a shoulder. She looked like she was about to rupture with joy. welcome to county regional airport! your gateway to the world!! Clearly, whoever designed the airport’s marketing materials believed if one exclamation point was good, two was better.
“Detective Jay is the one who put your clues together,” Detective Chan said.
Jay shrugged. “I’m addicted to the fish and chips at that tiny restaurant right by the airport. The Flying Moose. You ever been there?”
Mr. Lester and I shook our heads.
“You should try it. Friday nights you get the second dinner half off. Anyhoo—?yesterday afternoon I was headed out there. I passed the Dairy Queen, then the farm, and when I saw the billboard as I rounded the curve, I thought—” Bam! We all jumped in our seats as his hand smacked down on the table. “It just fell into place. It had to be the airport.”
“And then you found her car,” Mr. Lester said.
Detective Jay nodded. “Here’s the interesting thing. They number the spaces there, and when you pay for parking, you have to put in your stall number. Care to guess which stall we found Paige’s car in?”
“Something with a six in it,” I said. Giving them an idea of the number had been risky. It was a specific detail, but because it was so clear, it would have been hard to ignore. Almost impossible to chalk it up to being lucky. In general, it was better to give vague information, but once in a while you needed a home run. Something that stretched the concept of coincidence. Something that made people believe you.
Detective Jay made a finger gun and shot me to indicate I’d nailed the number with one guess, which struck me as completely inappropriate, given the situation. “Six twenty-four, to be exact.”
Mr. Lester gave a low whistle.
“We looked into where you were the night she went missing,” Detective Chan said.
“What?” Mr. Lester’s mouth dropped open. He looked back and forth between the two detectives as if he expected them to declare they were joking. I kept my face blank. I’d always known they’d check out my story. They’d have been stupid not to. It was far more likely that I was involved in some way than that I was a real psychic. At Pluto’s direction, I made sure I worked Thursday night. I dropped a full tray of burgers and milkshakes on purpose. People would remember that. A long list of witnesses who could verify my alibi. Even on the way home, when it was late enough to not matter, I stopped into the 7-Eleven for some gum and collected a receipt, smiling directly into every security camera I saw.