The Missing Place (28 page)

“Not exactly. Look, I'll tell you the whole story in the morning. I got us a hotel room. We have it through Thursday.”

“You . . . how did you do that?”

“Aren't you
listening
? Shit, I'm sorry. Look, it's kind of a long story.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Shay's irritability weighed on Colleen, but it was tempered by the secret she was holding. She would have to tell Shay in the morning, but for now it was hers alone, a precious bit of hope in the desperate landscape of her mind.

Colleen had seen the Hyatt from the plane when they landed, the biggest and newest hotel in the area. It was brightly lit, the parking lot full. Shay drove right up to the circular drive, where a sleepy-looking bellman hurried to open her door.

She handed him the keys. “Hey, Col, do you have a few bucks for a tip?”

COLLEEN WOKE AT
nine thirty to the vibration of her phone alarm, which she'd set last night and left on the nightstand. Sun streamed through the hotel room's windows. They'd been too tired to close the drapes last night, too tired to pull out the sleeper sofa, too tired to do anything but fall asleep in their clothes.

Across the expanse of the king-size bed, Shay slept in the same compact, motionless little ball in which she'd slept at the motor home. She snored faintly on the exhale, but Colleen envied her peaceful sleep. She'd woken a couple of times from nightmares that immediately vanished, leaving only unease and dread in their wake.

Colleen closed her eyes and said the prayer she said every morning now:
Please, God. Please.
She knew there should be more, faulted herself for being unable to come up with the words, but it was the best she could do. This time, though, after focusing on Paul's face, she allowed herself to think—very briefly—of the girl, of the baby she carried.

The word slipped into her mind, past the hasty, inadequate defenses she'd built.
Grandmother.
She was a grandmother, at least in this moment. And from there it was an irresistible leap to the baby itself, probably no larger than a pea, a bean so far. Kristine had the fair complexion that was heartbreakingly lovely on young girls but didn't age well: her straw-yellow hair was thin, her milky skin already creased at the eyes. But she had dimples when she smiled,
and a sweet Cupid's-bow mouth: an old-fashioned, innocent kind of pretty.

Combined with Paul's olive skin and his good proportions, the baby couldn't help but be beautiful, could he? Or she? Paul's hair had come in curly; Colleen couldn't bear to cut it until his first birthday. How many thousands of times had she twisted the curl at the nape of his neck around her finger, just for the joy of watching it spring free? To do so again—a girl, perhaps it would be a girl, with her mother's blue eyes?

“Stop it, stop it,” Colleen whispered to herself. Imagining had left her breathless: it was a dangerous exercise, the return from even a fleeting fantasy far too painful. If Kristine wasn't going to keep the baby, Colleen needed to know now, so she could take the temptation out of the equation as she searched for Paul.

She checked her phone. Nothing. Before she could think better of it, she messaged Kristine again:
PLEASE. I only want to help.

KRISTINE FINALLY TEXTED
back when they were having breakfast in the Hyatt's dining room. Colleen had showered and dressed before waking Shay, and it was nearly ten thirty now.

Can you come to my apartment at 12:20? It has to be right at 12:20, sorry. Will explain.

“Anything important?” Shay asked.

“I . . . I'm not sure.” She wasn't ready to tell her about the baby yet. Maybe Kristine wanted to tell her she had decided not to keep it. Colleen didn't think she could bear the pain of having to talk about another loss; she wouldn't tell Shay unless it turned out that Kristine was planning to keep the baby. Maybe Kristine had class in the morning and only a brief break before her shift; that would explain the timing.

As Colleen texted back, asking for the address and promising to do her best to get there, a young man in a wool overcoat dragged a roll-aboard to the hostess stand. “Could I get a cup of coffee to go?”

“Certainly, sir,” the young woman said. “Getting ready to fly out?”

“Yes, got the last seat on the noon to Minneapolis.”

“That was lucky.”

“You're telling me. I thought I was here all week and then this morning I got called back. No offense, but I don't know how you people stand it here.”

“I'll just go get your coffee,” the woman said, ignoring the jab.

“That's him,” Shay said in an amused voice. “The guy Scott sent home so he could have his room. His job was probably wiping Scott's ass or something, and now Scott is going to have to do it himself.”

Shay had told her the whole story as they got ready. Colleen had been both impressed and vaguely sickened. She'd been certain she couldn't have pulled off what Shay had—and then she realized that if it meant getting information out of him that could help her find Paul, she probably would have done whatever he asked. The difference was that she wouldn't have been sharp enough to get the upper hand at the end the way Shay had.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “For coming to get me, for getting us the room.”

Shay didn't say anything for a moment. She set down her fork and stared out the window, across the parking lot to the airport. Banks of plowed snow glittered in the blinding morning sun, and a small plane like the one Colleen had arrived on waited outside the terminal.

“That room you said Andy got?” Shay finally said.

“Yes.”

“You owe me now. That room's half mine. As long as we're here, as long as it takes.” Her face had darkened slightly.

“Of course.”

“And it's not charity. This isn't you doing me a favor. We need to get that straight.”

“I never said—”

“Let me finish. I just want it understood between us, I did my part last night. You probably think it's easy for me, with him, letting him put his hands on me, just because you look at me and think I give it away every chance I get.”

Colleen wanted to object, but she kept her mouth shut, her hands clenching in her lap.

“Look. Okay, I see people,
men
, it's all casual. I'm not all hung up, like, what society thinks if there are two of us having a good time, responsible adults, whatever. But last night? I don't
do
that. Not with a guy like that. Thinking he was going to have me in that bed when he could barely remember my name? His hands on my ass while I could hear his phone buzzing because his wife was calling for the third time?

“He made me
sick
,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “So no, that wasn't easy. I did it for the same reason you asked that girl to come meet you, because we've got to do
everything
we can.”

A moment passed. “That's it,” Shay said, her voice nearly back to normal. “I guess that's all I have to say.”

“I understand.” Colleen pushed her plate to the edge of the table, no longer hungry. “I don't . . . take it for granted. I don't take you for granted.”

The bill came, and while Shay signed it to their room, Colleen remembered something else she had thought of, a way to do her part.

“Listen, I think we need to get some better media coverage. Not just the papers, but TV.”

Shay snorted. “Right. Didn't you hear what Chief Weyant said? They have guys walking off the sites all the time. How are we going to convince them this is any different?”

“You aren't going to like this, Shay, but hear me out. This is different because it's two white boys with money. Back in Boston, who do you think gets covered? In Chicago? In any big city? How about Sacramento, out by you? Kids from rich families.”

“But Taylor doesn't—”

Colleen stopped her with a shake of the head. “They're together,” she said firmly. “That's the story. Look, I'm sick of trying to explain myself all the time, but there's some things in this world you can buy. Let's go out to the affiliate and see if we can talk to someone. I'll get Andy to call the bigger outlets.”

Shay nodded slowly. “Okay. You know where it is?”

“Yes, I looked it up while you were in the shower.” She allowed herself a small smile. “On my
phone.
See, there may be hope for me yet.”

THEY TOOK A
poster off a drugstore window on the way. The affiliate was located a few miles out of town on a flat, snow-thatched field, the transmission tower spearing the chalky sky. There were only a few cars in the lot, and inside, there was a lone woman sitting at a desk, cleaning her glasses on a cloth and staring at her screen.

“Help you?” she said.

Colleen had reapplied her lipstick in the car and arranged her scarf carefully around the neckline of her coat, while planning exactly what she wanted to say. Now she raised her chin and took a breath.

“My name is Colleen Mitchell, and this is Shay Capparelli. We
are the mothers of the boys who went missing from the Hunter-Cole job site that has been plagued with shocking safety violations. The local police have been unwilling to help, and there are rumors that someone in the department is being paid to stonewall the investigation. We're ready to speak out on camera to get the message out that we need to get Paul and Taylor home.”

She was shaking when she finished speaking. The women lowered her glasses to the desk and frowned. “Seriously? You think the cops are covering it up?”

“We don't—there's no proof, but we were hoping that KUXC might be willing to do an investigation,” Colleen said, some of her certainty slipping. “We're also working with several media outlets in Boston and Sacramento, where the boys are from, as well as Bismarck.” With any luck, that would soon be true.

“Wow, I wish you luck. I can try to get someone to call you this afternoon,” the woman said, reaching for a pen.

“Isn't there anyone we could talk to now?”

The woman waved at the closed door to her right. “Honey, there're only three people here besides me. Lester at noon and Anna on weather, and one engineer.”

“You can put on the news with so few people?” Shay asked. “What about all the reporters? And the, you know, sound and camera people?”

“It's all automated now.” The woman shrugged. “Ten years ago there would have been more than a dozen people running the show. Now we got cameras that think for themselves. Hey, do you want me to go ask if you can come in and watch?”

“Thanks, but we don't have time,” Colleen said, deflated. “It would be great if you had someone call. And here's a poster with the boys' pictures.”

She wrote down their names and cell numbers. The woman wished them luck again on their way out.

BACK IN THE
car, Shay didn't turn the key right away. She looked out on the desolate horizon, a few snowflakes drifting aimlessly in the steely cold winds. “You did good,” she said quietly. “You knew how to talk to her.”