Since She Went Away (15 page)

Jenna always felt dirty when she did it. Almost as if she were logging on to look at pornography. In a way, she was. Before Celia disappeared, Jenna never realized an entire world existed online devoted to news and theories about missing persons cases and unsolved crimes. It made sense once she thought about it—there was something on the Internet for everybody. Every fetish, every hobby, every obscure interest or wish.

In the first weeks after Celia’s disappearance, Jenna found herself visiting the sites simply hoping for more information. The police only talked about so much, and the media, national and local, devoted only a certain amount of time and energy to any one case. And the reporters and journalists selected only the juiciest details to share, the ones that played best on a national stage.

But the Web sites and message boards struck the right balance. Yes, crazies and rumormongers jumped into every conversation, spinning the most outrageous theories possible, including alien abduction, satanic cults, and government conspiracy. But that was the lunatic
fringe. A lot of people on the sites seemed to want to help. They approached the scant evidence with a logical mind-set and offered constructive ideas that managed to make Jenna feel comforted. She never knew what the police were doing or thinking, but she imagined they were tracing some of the same connections, no doubt with more thoroughness and more practical experience than the amateur sleuths on the Web.

Jenna went to the Dealey Society page first. They kept their breaking news section current, and the message boards were always active. A thread, dedicated to Celia’s case, received constant traffic and updates from members. Jenna posted from time to time. If a thread or a conversation was going in an interesting direction, and she wanted the discussion to keep going, she would jump in and ask something pointed to keep things in motion. In an effort to avoid a flood of private messages and possible attacks, she used a pseudonym, Polly Baker, a name she chose at random, and she tried to never reveal anything that would let others know how close to the case she really was. When she clicked on the thread about Celia, a cascade of new information unrolled before her. Understandably so. A number of things had happened in the last couple of days, and everybody wanted to offer their opinions about them.

People went after Reena Huffman, calling her a sensationalistic hack who exploited the tragedies and vulnerabilities of crime victims. A few people dissented, defending her and giving her credit for keeping victims’ stories in the news. But it wasn’t a majority opinion.

A number of people talked about Jenna and her
f
-bomb on Reena’s show. For the most part, the commenters sided with Jenna. Either they found her outburst funny or they took Reena to task for sticking a microphone in her face in the midst of tragedy, never mind the fact that it wasn’t Reena who held the microphone. It was Becky, her local minion. A few people openly wondered about Jenna, picking up on
Reena’s comments from the previous night. Some even speculated that Jenna should be a suspect, that she might have killed her friend for some reason no one knew yet.

Jenna had seen those comments before, but they always hit her like a slap. To be thought capable of murder, even by the craziest of the crazy. To wonder how many people in Hawks Mill suspected her of a deeper, more sinister involvement. A convulsive shiver passed through her body, the equivalent of stepping on a slug while barefoot.

Was that part of the deal with the patient at work?

He attributed it to her “foul mouth,” but what if it was something more? Some darker crime others suspected her of committing? And if that was the case, what if they never really found out what had happened to Celia? Would she live under that cloud forever? And when would it leak over and affect Jared’s life as well?

She navigated away from that section. She couldn’t give in to it, couldn’t let the poisonous thoughts of others seep inside her head. She clicked the mouse a few times with her right hand and grabbed a couple of carrots with her left. Advanced multitasking, she and Jared called it. Eating while using the computer.

And then there was an entire thread devoted to the earring being found. New messages popped up in that thread every few seconds. The dominant theory seemed to be that Benjamin Ludlow was the guy who followed Celia. He killed her and held on to the earring until he needed the money and tried to pawn it. People called him scum, homeless, vagrant, worthless, and a hundred other names.

Jenna sat back. For a moment, just a moment, she felt a kinship with Benjamin Ludlow. He was being tried in the court of the Internet. A message board and a group of mostly anonymous posters as judge, jury, and executioner.

Hell, she’d judged him the same way based on how he’d acted in high school.

The private message icon lit up and dinged.

The site allowed any two registered members who were active at the same time to carry on their own conversation in private. Jenna suspected she knew who it would be. She experienced a mixture of dread and anticipation as she clicked the chat icon.

Just as she expected, it was Domino55.

Haven’t “seen” you in a while,
Domino55 wrote
.

I’ve been busy. Work and other things.

I hear you.

Domino55 reached out to Jenna, or Polly, from time to time. He—she assumed Domino was a he—liked to ask probing questions about Celia’s case, both on the public board and in their private conversations. He appeared to be one of the most informed posters, someone who absorbed every new tidbit of information that was made public and then used that knowledge to spin out ever more elaborate but still plausible theories. They often lacked consistency. If they contradicted one another, so be it. Domino didn’t appear to care. He seemed more interested in playing the role of provocateur, a guy trying on a lot of different poses just to see if any of them stuck.

About once a week, he sent Jenna a private message. He liked to try some of his theories out on her in private before he took them public. Jenna didn’t know if she was the only person he spoke to in this way. She suspected she wasn’t. Domino needed an audience, and one person didn’t add up to an audience.

Ten days ago they’d chatted. Domino’s words felt more pointed that time, more probing. He started asking Jenna what part of the country she lived in and where her interest in Celia’s case came from. When Jenna kept her answers vague or avoided engagement altogether, Domino told her he thought she was really close to the case, might even be a good friend or relative of Celia’s. Jenna left the conversation, vowing to avoid the message boards. But she couldn’t stay away. She
liked, almost needed, the conversations and contact with other people who wanted to talk about the case.

That Reena is a hack, isn’t she?

Sure,
Jenna wrote.
I never liked her show.

That stuff with the deer bones was insane.

Yes.

A ridiculous stunt.

Yes.

Jenna waited, but Domino wasn’t writing anything else. The icon showed he was still there, still active, but no words came.

She chewed some more carrots, biting down and feeling the cold crunch against her teeth. She paused once, listening behind her, trying to see if Jared was up. The house remained silent except for the soft hum of the computer and her own crunching. One good thing about being single, she thought, no need to worry about chewing in a ladylike fashion. She crunched and crunched without worrying about the noise.

What do you think happened to Celia?

The directness of the question caught Jenna off guard. In her mind, she knew what happened. She couldn’t contemplate anything else.

She was taken,
she wrote.
A crazy person. A killer.

No immediate response came, so Jenna added.
Another woman just disappeared in the same area. Could be a connection.

Holly Crenshaw.

Yes.

Could be connected.
A brief pause.
Likely a coincidence.

Jenna took the bait. She knew he wanted a response, knew he sought the reaction on the other end. But she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to know what Domino was thinking.

Why do you seem so certain?

Another long pause, one that stretched so far Jenna started to
think Domino had given up, withdrawn as he so often did when the conversation grew complicated.

You should know. You knew her well.

Jenna gasped.

What do you mean?
Jenna typed.

You were there. I mean, you were almost there when it happened.
A pause.
Jenna.

Jenna stood up, the motion of her rising body knocking the chair backward and away, where it banged against the closet behind her. Her body heaved as if she’d just run a mile.

He knows who I am. Really.

She thought of the crank phone calls. Not the ones that took her to task for cursing on TV or for simply being late the night Celia disappeared. Other ones came during the previous months. Pointed questions asking Jenna
why
she’d been late that night. They didn’t always sound like the same man. She felt certain they weren’t. But could one of them be this guy, Domino55?

Don’t talk to me anymore. Don’t try to message me.

We should talk more. Maybe in person. Celia might be alive. People have reported seeing her—

Jenna slammed the lid of the computer down, severing the connection.

“No,” she said.

She looked around the room. The blinds were closed. No one could see in, but she couldn’t see out.

Was he out there? Watching?

Someone knocked at the door. Jenna jumped, gasping again.

“Mom?”

The door opened, revealing Jared. His hair messy, his eyes sleepy.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I heard something.”

“Where?”

“In here. You said something.”

She brushed past him, heading for the front of the house. She checked the lock and chain, then breezed back down the hallway and through the kitchen.

“Mom? What is it?”

She reached the back door and checked the lock and chain there.

Jared came up behind her. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“I have to call the police,” she said. “Someone knows something about Celia, and they might be watching the house.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T
he police lingered for close to two hours. She felt safe with them inside the house and milling around outside. But what about once they left? Would a baseball bat and pepper spray be enough to let her sleep?

The first officers to respond checked the outside of the house. They walked around with flashlights, their jackets zipped to their chins in the cold night. Jenna imagined the neighbors taking in the show and just shaking their heads. The police had been to her house so many times over the past three months, the neighbors would have to work hard to summon any real outrage. The police visits also freed them from their mundane lives. They could judge Jenna, and then go to work or the beauty parlor the next day with yet another story to tell.

The cops were over there again last night. I don’t know what it was this time, but did you see her on Reena Huffman? What a mouth.

While the cops poked around outside, Jared opened cabinets in the kitchen. “What happened to that promise of grilled cheese?”

Jenna tried to take it as a good sign that her son could be so unconcerned by the arrival of the police. She went to work on the sandwich,
hoping it would distract her. But her hands shook as she buttered the bread, and Jared stepped in.

“I’ll finish,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Are you feeling all right now?” Jenna asked. “You said you were sick.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Was there a problem at school?” Jenna asked. “Or is this girl trouble?”

Recognition flickered across Jared’s eyes. So it was girl trouble. But he didn’t offer anything else, and before Jenna could follow up, the doorbell was ringing again.

“I . . . we can talk about this,” she said.

“Just get the door, Mom,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“But you’re not fine.”

“I’m finer than you are right now.” He placed his sandwich on the griddle. “That’s probably the cops. Maybe they found an opossum sneaking around outside.”

But then a small smile crossed his face. It looked forced, and Jenna imagined it said more about his own unhappiness than any judgment of her.

“Okay,” she said. “But we will talk.”

•   •   •

Detective Poole wore jeans and a sweater, and her white tennis shoes squeaked against the hardwood floors in the living room.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Jenna said as she took the detective’s coat and hung it on a hook.

“These guys know to call me when the important stuff happens.”

“I guess your evenings at home get interrupted a lot.”

“The cat doesn’t mind.” Her clothes made her look older and more
dowdy. She could have been anyone’s mother, just arriving home after an evening at Bible study or book club. “Tell me about these messages.”

Naomi listened carefully and then asked if she could look at the conversation online. Jenna led her back to the office. They passed Jared in the kitchen. He sat at the table chewing his sandwich, staring straight ahead and looking lost.

Naomi patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, handsome.”

“Hi, Detective.”

“Naomi. Call me Naomi.”

Jared smiled a little again, but he still didn’t look like his usual self. Jenna felt a twinge of jealousy. She envied all the parents who had to worry only about typical teenage stuff. Broken hearts, parties, acne, proms.